Page 6 of My Grape Crush
“I’ve got to jump on another call,” he says. “But I’m coming up on Tuesday afternoon to tour the property with Dani.”
Tuesday. Damn. There goes my plan for avoiding him.
“And I was hoping you could do me a favor,” Sawyer adds.
He’s trying for casual, but within his usual flat and domineering delivery, I hear a sliver of uncertainty.
I slurp down some coffee. “I’m listening.”
“You met with Dani today, right?”
I try to deaden my curiosity. The truth is, I’m still feeling the echo of interest in my shorts. “Yeah. Why?”
“We’ve exchanged a few emails since Evelyn officially booked you. She seems on it. Professional. Her LinkedIn photo is cute.” He clears his throat. “Can you do some recon?”
Juggling the coffee in one hand, I use the other to slide open the patio door. “As in, suss out if she’s single?”
“Don’t tell her I asked,” he immediately says.
I step outside and, despite talking with Sawyer, my mouth twitches into a smile. Strung between two posts and overlooking the still turquoise water of my plunge pool is the one thing in my rider I care about. Bless Dani. She picked the perfect hammock.
I ease into it, legs dangling off one side. “Does this mean you’re officially out of your divorce mourning period?”
“After a year, it’s about time,” Sawyer admits, which, for him, is a floodgate of emotions opening up. “And, speaking of time, are you planning to visit Dad while you’re here?”
I finish my coffee, which now leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. “How’s he doing?”
“As good as someone forced to leave behind the only thing that matters to him can be.”
Dad had a stroke eight months ago. Sawyer took the CEO reins, and from what JC has told me, he’s doing a decent job of running the joint.
“I have to see what the schedule’s like.” I’m noncommittal as ever with the topic of my father.
“He asks about you all the time,” Sawyer says quietly.
My heart does this funny up-and-down thing. The great Peter Trenton. Self-made millionaire. Universally adored. Always the brightest smile and the coldest eyes.
“Really? Does he have dementia now, too?”
Sawyer sighs dramatically. I can see him pinching the bridge of his nose, strangled by his tie and relentless commitments, sitting in his cave of an office and wondering what happened to the best years of his life.
“Why do you have to be such a dickwad?” he asks. “Ditching the family not enough for you?”
“You know damn well why I left.”
“Despite what you think, Dad never hated you.”
The knot in my stomach tightens.Any psychologist armed with the basics of my life could lay down a surefire assessment of why my life unfolded the way it did—why I live alone on an island and make a fortune connecting with strangers. They say success is the best revenge, but when you wake up feeling hollow inside, how is that a win?
“Yeah, whatever,” I say. “Take your other call.”
“Don’t forget about Dani, okay?”
I hang up, the memories crowding in—blurry, yet sharp enough never to forget. I can still hear Dad’s voice drifting out of his study, laying out his genius plan to straighten out his youngest son. And Sawyer, he had the chance to back me up but didn’t. So, at fifteen, I bought a one-way ticket to London and left home with my heart falling apart.
And now he wants my help?
What I didn’t tell him is that I clocked the no ring on Dani’s finger—a long-standing and necessary habit. The married Crazies are the worst.
