Page 70 of My Grape Crush
The sensible thing to do is ask Sawyer to leave.
Which is exactly when I hear Dani’s voice behind me: “Rhys? Who are you talking to?”
There’s silence for a good five seconds. The thick kind that can be cut with a knife. The pluck in Sawyer’s stance melts away, and he whips off his sunglasses to glare into my eyes. It’s like having a flashlight shine into my face, but I won’t look away.
“I didn’t know you had company,” he says through a tight mouthful of teeth.
I glance over my shoulder to find Dani frozen in no man’s land between the bedroom and us. I’m acutely aware of everything: the terry cloth robe, wrapped and tucked and belted around her; her scent; her panicked eyes. I want to smash my mouth against hers, take her against the wall. Savor her hot and hungry kisses. Live out the morning from five minutes ago.
Instead, Sawyer steps to one side and gives Dani a good hard look. I suppose I should be grateful she doesn’t say,“This isn’t what it looks like.”
Because it’s exactly what it looks like.
“Hi, Sawyer,” she says in a small voice.
My chest tightens, the automatic response of bracing for combat with my older brother. The idea of Sawyer letting this slide is unthinkable.
“Can you give us a minute?” I ask her.
“Yeah. Sure.” She eyes the roses in a confused way that twists a knot tighter in my stomach.
I lied to her about Sawyer and his intentions. And the truth is about to bleed out ugly.
Dani slinks into the bedroom and shuts the door. In the suffocating silence she leaves behind, the laser beam of Sawyer's fury burns a hole into me.
“Thanks a lot, asshole,” he hisses.
“Listen,” I capitulate instead of standing my ground because I might feel a morsel of regret, “it just happened.”
His eyes narrow on me. “Let me guess. It happened right after I told you I was interested in her.”
“If it’s any consolation, she’s not your type.”
He puffs out a bitter laugh. “Says the guy who lives on another continent.”
“Things might be changing.” I voice it for the first time, Sawyer uncaring, or rather, too incensed to care.
“Does Evelyn know?” he demands.
“Not officially.”
“You’re promoting her wine. What do you think the optics are if you’re sleeping with the head of marketing?”
His tone. Always that tone. Mr. Superior who knows best.
Not today,says the voice in my head. Not after last night. I am done being the Trenton whipping boy.
“Can something real happen in my life without being shoved through a lens of optics?” I fire back. “And why would it be okay ifyouslept with her? You’re now in bed with the winery as much as me.”
Sawyer chucks the roses, knocking into the chandelier before thumping to the floor. “I’m not touting Pink Pearl as God’s gift to wine, pocketing a million dollars, and shoving my dick into the winery marketing machine. Do you not see the conflict of interest?”
He pulls a face. Anger boils up inside me.
“You’re just jealous,” I spit out. “You’ve always been jealous of me.”
“Give me a break,” he scoffs. “Even as a kid, your calling card was doing the bare minimum. Why do you think Dad wanted to make you his gofer? Because you’d slay the day? You were a listless vagabond. He wanted to drill some common sense into you. And now you just flounce through life, swinging in your hammock, la-di-fucking-da. Zero idea,” he snarls, “of what real hard work means.”
Sawyer steps forward, his presence filling every inch of space. A flicker of something dark in his eyes tells me he is on the verge of going ballistic.
