Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess, #2)

Natalie’s pulse was just about jumping out of her skin. This was it. Really it.

Clearly, August was on his way out of St. Helena. Giving away his final supply of wine, as if it had no value. And it didn’t. To be clear. It was like drinking gasoline that had been marinating with dog shit for a week. But hearing him acknowledge it in such a self-deprecating way made her stomach drop.

Her fingertips started to buzz, the way they did before a hefty trade.

Oh God, she could almost hear the bad idea coming toward her on a conveyor belt of doom. Just bumping along, getting closer and closer even as she tried to talk herself out of acknowledging the possibility of . . . helping August and herself in the process. She should let him drive out of town, never to darken the doorway of St. Helena ever again. They were oil and water. He had a chip on his buffalo-sized shoulder about her status and privilege in this town that he would never shed. And Natalie . . .

Well, offering to help this man and being rejected was just about the scariest thing she could imagine. All her life, she’d offered herself as a friend, a fiancée, a coworker, a sister, and a daughter, and at some point her presence—and even love—was rejected. She was rejected. Fired, dumped, asked to go home. Still, she didn’t even like this man. So why was her heart beating at the pace of a hummingbird’s wings at the thought of him saying no?

Why did she care so much?

Don’t do it.

Not worth the sting.

Natalie started to back up into the shadows to wait out August’s departure, but in the wake of Teri driving away, he rounded the back bumper of his truck and spied her, doing a double take. “Natalie?” He paused mid-stride, frowning. “What are you doing lurking over there in the dark?” He snapped his fingers. “Let me guess. Sucking the souls from children caught outdoors after eight p.m.?”

“That’s right. I wait until they’ve been stuffed full of chicken fingers and ice cream all day. That’s when I strike.” She shrugged. “But you have the IQ of a child, so I guess you’ll do.”

“You sucked the soul out of me months ago, princess.”

“You must have retained some of it if you made a point to give Teri your wine supply on the way out of town.” He reared back a little at the rare—and accidental—compliment. “I mean . . . a broken clock is correct twice a day, right?”

He was still giving her that narrow-eyed look.

Nerves jumped in her belly.

Turn around and go.

She sauntered forward instead and watched his chest muscles tighten, his spine straighten. Did he do that every time she approached? Why was she only recognizing it now? That proof of his awareness pushed Natalie over the border into bad-idea town. Because at least she wasn’t an afterthought to him. Even if he couldn’t stand her, at least her presence had an effect on him. “So I was thinking . . .”

“You wish you’d kissed me in the bathroom earlier.”

“I’d sooner kiss an active lawnmower.” She realized her hands were gesticulating wildly and folded them at her waist. “Actually, I was thinking you could use my help.”

He snorted. Leaned back against the truck and crossed his thick arms. “What now?”

Natalie kept her features serene, even as the harbinger of rejection hung over her head like a freshly sharpened machete. “You mentioned the bank refusing you a small business loan. For Zelnick Cellar. But if, um . . .” All at once, the ludicrous nature of her idea registered, but she’d said too much to stop now. “If I was an official employee. And attached to . . . you . . . in some way, well, you would almost be guaranteed an approval. As you’ve pointed out on numerous occasions, my last name does carry a lot of weight in this industry.”

For several moments, he stared at her in silence. “I’m waiting for the punch line.”

“There is no punch line, you baboon. I’m suggesting . . .” She felt like she’d swallowed a fistful of dirt, her stomach beginning to churn. “I’m suggesting that—”

“Holy shit.” August pushed off the truck, his arms dropping slowly to his sides. “Earlier. You told me Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t release your trust fund unless you’re married.” His mouth opened and closed. A hand raked through his hair. “You’re not suggesting . . .” Something she couldn’t quite define flickered in his eyes. “You’re not suggesting we get married, are you?”

The way he said it, like she’d proposed a stroll through a minefield, had Natalie backing up a pace. A marriage between them would be a minefield. Even though they would be . . .

“Fake married,” she enunciated. “For financial purposes. Obviously this wouldn’t be a romantic union. We would simply need to convince Ingram Meyer, the man who has the ability to solve both of our problems. We would just be in it for the monetary advantages.”

His jaw was slack at this point.

The silence stretched, so she filled it out of nerves.

“The wine train event is tomorrow afternoon. Its inaugural ride after the interior was redesigned. We’re cutting the ribbon—”

“See, it’s shit like that—wine trains and ribbon cutting and redesigned interiors being a big-ass deal that had me looking forward to seeing the back of this town.”

“You’ve made it clear that wine culture is trivial to you, August. Also, the way it tastes. Lest we forget.” She crossed herself. “Anyway. If you are interested in my offer, we could . . .” Her courage was beginning to wane in the face of his visible astonishment. “We could meet with my family in a neutral setting and discuss how to proceed.”

“You’re actually serious,” he mused with a slow, incredulous headshake. “You just proposed to me, Natalie?”

Speaking of souls being sucked out, hers exited her body in that moment and observed the scene from above. There she was, asking this man she hated to be her husband. “Desperate” was the only word she could use to describe herself. Out of options, with nowhere to turn. And this man had to be enjoying every single second of it. Any moment now, he would tell her she was even crazier than he’d originally thought and he’d burn rubber to escape her.

The possibility of that pressed down on her chest.

God, she was weary of being dismissed. She couldn’t let it happen again, especially from August. It would cut especially deep from this Neanderthal. Giving him leverage over her burned like a cattle brand to the throat.

“Forget it,” she managed to push past dry lips. “I don’t want to be married to someone who doesn’t know to seize a good opportunity.”

Laughter burst out of him. “Marrying you is a good opportunity?”

Natalie turned and stalked away, ignoring the twist in her breast.

An arm wrapped around her waist before she made it three steps.

“Don’t get pissed,” he said a few inches above her head. “I only meant you’d skin me alive in my sleep.”

“We wouldn’t sleep together, ding dong. It would be in name only.”

“I fail to see the advantage for me.”

Natalie resisted the urge to relax back against his chest. He was so warm. And that stupid, tatted-up arm could probably lift a station wagon. Why wasn’t she pulling away? Any second now. She would. Facing the opposite direction was just . . . easier. She couldn’t see his scorn and disbelief this way. “Let me lay it out for you, August. We have the same man standing in the way of our success—Ingram Meyer. Loan officer at the bank, trustee of my money, and one of my father’s many fanboys. If I’m married, he’ll release my start-up capital from his clutches. As for you? Marrying and employing a Vos will help you secure a small business loan.” She threw an absent gesture in the general direction of his vineyard. “You could continue making wine. Maybe even wine people can stand to swallow, with my help. Don’t you want the winery to be a success?”

“I did.” Her brows drew together over the gruff note in his voice. “I did. But I resigned myself to the fact that this is the one thing I’m terrible at.”

“You’re forgetting basic human hygiene.”

“I must not smell that bad,” he said against the side of her neck, his lips brushing that sensitive patch beneath her ear, warm breath coasting down the collar of her shirt—and that arm. It flexed where it banded across her belly, making hidden parts of her tense, too, in the process. “You know. Since you’re melting on me like an M&M on the dashboard of a hot car.”

Natalie twisted out of his hold like a shot, ordering her skin to cool down as she turned. It wouldn’t. Was his chest rising and falling faster than before? “Look, if you want to leave St. Helena, I’m not going to stop you.”

A line snapped in his cheek. “That was the plan.”

“Plans can change.”