American Honey

Though, he didn’t really lie. I think to myself. Seeing as I called him a bastard farm boy, without even thinking to ask him anything of where he was from or what he knew, I didn’t exactly give him an opening.

Just as the final page prints out, the door to my office opens. Owen stands in front of me. Work-worn jeans, beat-up boots, tight-as-sin T-shirt, the man is sexy as hell. Quickly, I shove his profile papers into the stack of folders on my desk.

“Can I help you?” I ask, primly sitting back in my seat. The feeling of being lied to weighs heavily on my mind.

“We need to talk.” He sits across from me. “Look, I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have…I mean, it was wrong of me to assume.” Hearing him stammer through an apology, one that’s completely unnecessary if you ask me, might be the most endearing thing ever.

“It’s fine.” My words surprise him, the shock registering on his face. “We just can’t let it happen again.” Curt is the word I would use to best describe my tone.

He shoots up from his chair, offering me a snide look. “Clearly,” he snaps. When he gets to the door, he turns around, to add, “I’ll be out in the fields, where I belong.” Dejection hangs on his words and I feel like a jerk for making him feel that way, but I need more time to make sense of this new information.

Resting my elbows on my desk, I cradle my head in my hands. When I hear the door creak open, I look up. “Hey, Rosie,” I greet her as she brings me a cup of tea.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” she asks, not as a secretary, but as a friend.

“Just peachy,” I answer with a smile that’s brighter than necessary.

She smirks at me, “Uh huh,” she mutters under her breath. When she realizes she’s not going to get anything else out of me, she walks back toward the door.

“Oh, Mr. Robertson called earlier.” She lean

s against the doorframe recalling the details she obviously forgot to tell me.

“And?” I prompt her anxiously. He still hasn’t decided if the wedding reception venue is a venture in which he wants to invest.

“He wanted to see if you had time for a tour of the facilities. You were free this afternoon so I penciled him in.” She looks down at her watch as if it’s no big thing she forgot to tell me this. “He’ll be here in about an hour.”

Realizing she meant no harm, I smile calmly at her but in my head, my thoughts swirl around like some crazy cyclone. Rosie excuses herself and I pull together any last-minute details Mr. Robertson might need.

***

An hour later, right on cue, Rosie ushers Ethan Robertson into my office. Extending a hand to him, I greet him warmly, and hopefully. “Good afternoon, Mr. Robertson.” The sly and seductive look on his face, the one that was there when we went to dinner the other night instantly puts me on edge.

“Elle,” his smile is anything but business professional, “call me Ethan. I told you that the other night.”

Yes, yes you did and I got the creepy crawlies when you said it then, just like now.

Shaking away those thoughts, I suggest we start our tour with the fields. “I want to show you where couples could do their wedding photos. I think you’ll be impressed by how beautiful the vineyards are.” As I escort him out of the office, I grab my files. Having enough foresight, I actually booked a mock-wedding photo shoot at the vineyards last week, after the field crew left for the evening. I knew that my words would never do the pictures justice.

By some magical power, I manage not to trip and break my neck as I show him the vines wearing my heels. “Just so you can see the full visual.” I stop and pull out a few pictures. “Look at the way the sun filters through the leaves. Brides will go crazy over perks like this.”

His fingers graze mine as he takes the pictures from my hand. His eyes lock on mine as he says, “They are quite beautiful.” A chill courses through my body as a feeling of discomfort and unease surround me.

“Excellent, Elle.” He hands me back the photos and shoots me a look that makes me feel anything but excellent. “I think I’d like to see the cellars now.” His voice is filled with determination, and, though it hadn’t been part of my plan for the tour, I can’t deny him.

“Certainly, Mr. Robert–” he cuts me off mid-word, waggling his finger in front of my face. “Ethan, I mean,” I correct myself and ignore the odd look in his eyes as he turns away from me.

On the way out of the fields toward the cellar, he catches a glimpse of the cottage. Looking at it curiously, I try my best to explain my visions. “That’s where the main reception venue would be,” I say, silently kicking myself for not having the plans already drawn. I held off on those, figuring whoever would be investing in the project might want to have some input.

“Is it opened to the public now?” he asks as he eerily scans the area surrounding us. My senses go on high alert, but before I can come up with some kind of explanation as to why we shouldn’t go in there, he’s already walking away from me.

My heels dig in the ground as I try to catch up to him. By the time I reach him, I’m out of breath and completely off-balance. He stops abruptly, forcing me to stumble into him as I regain my footing. Bracing my arms in his strong hands, he scans my face. “So sorry for that, Mr. Robertson.”

He rights me, letting his hands linger on my arms longer than he should. Holding the door open for me, he lets me walk in front of him. I feel his eyes on me and just as I turn around to move past him, he shuts the door behind us.

“What are you doing?” Panic rises in my voice.

“Nothing you haven’t already asked for.” His words set my world spinning. “You and those tight skirts. I see the way you look at me. You’re nothing but a woman trying to use sex as a means to get what she wants. Well, here I am.” He steps in close to me, turning us so my back is pressed up against the door. “I’ll give you what you want, but you have to give me what I want first.”