American Honey

Well, they’re all going to be in for an even bigger shock when they see me pick Elle up for our date later.

***

“Oh, my goodness!” Rosie exclaims, clamping a hand over her mouth. “You look like one of those GQ models, Owen.” Standing in front of me, she runs her hands over the sleeve of my leather jacket. “One of those bad-boy GQ models,” she adds dreamily.

“Thanks, Rosie.” Tipping my head at the door, I ask, “Elle in?”

“Of course. Go ahead.” Rosie smiles and I have to think she’s more than okay with our date. Not that we need her approval, but I’ve seen the relationship between her and Elle.

“Hey,” I announce as I walk in the room. With a pen sticking out of her messy bun, Elle is scouring through papers, a frantic energy filling the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s nothing.” Her attempt at deflection pisses me off something awful. Standing in front of her desk, I lean forward and place my palms on the cool, dark wood.

“Cut the ‘it’s nothing’ shit, Elle. Something is clearly wrong and this is my company, too. So tell me what the problem is so we can both fix it.” My voice is calm and controlled, demanding but not mean.

She flops back in her seat. When she looks up at me, her eyes lazily rove over my body. Now, that’s the reaction I was going for – eyes wide, mouth open, rendered speechless. When she regains her sense of composure, she swallows hard, allowing herself one last lust-filled glance.

Whatever she’s been working on is clearly exhausting her. It’s clear as day in her warm brown eyes. “I lined up another investor. They want to meet with me, I mean us, tomorrow.”

“That’s good, though. Right?” Pulling the chair up, I sit back, trying to figure out why this would be such a bad thing.

“They want plans for the venue that I just don’t have. Numbers and figures I didn’t even think of. They want a blueprint – not a finalized one, but one that would give them enough of an idea of the vision. Staffing, food costs, things like that; things I hadn’t thought of.” Her words come out in a rush, but the disappointment in her own lacking forethought is there nonetheless.

“It’ll be okay, Elle. You put this together on your own, and from what I can tell, it was your first solo project. You’re allowed to make mistakes.” My words do nothing to make her relax.

“No. I’m not. Mistakes are for the weak. I need to make this project work, not just for Vincent but for myself, for the future of this vineyard. I can’t tell you how important this is to me.”

“Can you try? I’m going to help you one way or the other, but I’d like to know why this is so important.” Reaching across the desk, I pull her hand into mine. Our eyes meet and she nods, letting some of the weight lift from her shoulders.

“It could take all night,” she adds, sarcasm hanging on her words.

“I’d love to spend all night with you, but let me make one call first,” I add with a wink. Making her laugh and smile helps to lighten the mood. Because it feels like whatever she has to tell me is going to be anything but light.

Chapter 8

Elle

“My dad beat my mom, a lot.” Those words used to be so difficult to say, but they aren’t anymore. They’re the truth, after all. With years of therapy behind me, I now realize it’s not my fault.

Looking over at Owen, his reaction t

o my confession is anything but calm. “Did he ever beat you?” Owen seethes. Visions of what happened yesterday flash in my mind, and through his I’m sure.

“No,” I assure him. “Mom kicked him out before he ever got the chance. That might have been her one shining moment.” My shoulders sag thinking about what my childhood could have been like.

“What is she like?” Owen asks, quiet concern lacing through his words.

Shrugging, I search for the words to put her in the best, but still honest light. “She was a good mother. She tried her best, really she did, but she was a drunk and we were poor. So I was on my own a lot. She never sobered up enough to take Dad to court or ask for child support, so when I was old enough to get a job, I did. When my high school opened up its intern program, there was a spot here and I saw the possibility that I could make something of myself. I wanted to run a company and never have to go without. So now, instead of worrying about Mom taking care of me, I take care of her. Her drinking is under control, but she’ll never be able to stop.” Steadying my voice, I add, “At least now, she doesn’t have to worry about paying for rent.”

“You and I aren’t all that different,” Owen’s words break me out of my state of self-pity. When I look up, he finishes his thoughts, “I spent my whole life trying to prove that I wasn’t a product of my environment, that I could be more than people thought I could. That’s why you pissed me off so much,” he adds with a soft chuckle.

“I’m–” he cuts my apology in half.

“I know you’re sorry. It’s okay, really. We were both thrown into this situation blindly, but the more I think about it, the more I realize my father probably had a larger plan in mind.” As Owen scans my face, his eyes take on a bit more of a seductive look.

“Oh, yeah and how’s that?” I walk around the desk and prop myself on the edge, crossing my legs. This cat and mouse game of the last few weeks has worn me down. Seeing Owen’s compassionate side warms me to him in ways I wasn’t initially ready for.

Owen stands in front of me, running his hands up from my calves to the hem of my skirt. “I can’t be certain, but let’s just say him pushing us together like this,” his fingers dig into the soft flesh of my thighs, “is a coincidence I’m more than happy to deal with.” His fingers flirt with the edge of my stockings and his voice comes out in a low growl. “Fuck, I knew it.”