Temptation (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #4): A Second Chance Billionaire Romance Page 4

  “Thank you. We’ll use any excuse to get together.” I chuckle at how something I thought was such a disaster really isn’t. I’m so lucky to have so many wonderful friends to make sure I get past this.

  Cynthia hugs me and kisses my cheek. “My date was a little too self-absorbed. I’m so grateful for the excuse to leave. I just have a bad picker.”

  Sara walks up just then. “What’s a bad picker?” she asks.

  Without skipping a beat, Cynthia explains, “Well, if there’s a player, married man, or overall self-centered asshole, then he’s attracted to me.”

  I chuckle. “I must have a bad picker, too.” Turning to Sara, I say, “Can you fill her in on the details of my bad picker and why we ended up here while I show Trey to the grill and make sure he can get it going? And you can tell her everything. No use having any secrets with my friends.”

  Sara gives me a big hug. “Cynthia, our good friend Greer here had her heart broken by a monster jerk…”

  I miss the end of the conversation, but with all my friends circling, I feel like a million bucks. Trey and I wander outside to the garden terrace and my outdoor kitchen. My home is a penthouse that used to belong to CeCe’s godmother. She sold it to me a little over two years ago, and I couldn’t wait to move in after some slight remodeling. We used to come here as little girls, enjoying a view of the Golden Gate, Alcatraz, Marin, and the East Bay. But what I love most are the English gardens. I learned quickly that I needed a gardener to manage them, though; I’d rather be out with friends than digging in the dirt.

  “Hopefully you can make this grill work.”

  Trey looks me over carefully. “I know I’ve been saying this ever since I met him, but you were too good for him. It’s truly his loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pulling me in for a brotherly hug, he murmurs, “Remember, we all meet our soul mates at different times. Yours is out there, he just needs to find you.”

  “Thank you,” I repeat, biting back tears.

  I hear the voices increasing inside before Dillon says, “Save a hug for Emerson and me.”

  They envelop me into a big hug, and my heart grows with my friends and the love they give me. They may not be the family I was born with, but they’re the family I’ve chosen. I’m so lucky to have them in my life. I’m not sure where I’d be without them.

  Emerson announces, “We brought kebabs for the grill. Lamb, chicken, and beef.”

  “Sounds delicious.” I give her another welcome hug.

  Cameron and Hadlee arrive, producing several cuts of steak, chicken, and pork. No one is going hungry tonight.

  I’m quickly surrounded by all my good friends, CeCe and her parents arriving as I walk back inside. My dining room table is full of salads and side dishes.

  “For an impromptu dinner gathering, we’re going to eat well,” I announce.

  CeCe’s father, Charles, dryly says, “Well you did offer Johnnie Walker Blue.” Everyone laughs as he takes a bottle out of a bag.

  Mason and Annabel are the last to arrive. Annabel stands at Mason’s side, and no one really seems to greet her. It’s too bad that none of us seem to like her. She worked as the receptionist when I started at SHN, then became Sara’s legal assistant, but she recently left the company because she and Mason moved in together.

  She just doesn’t seem to fit into our group, not because she’s younger than all of us, but I think she tries too hard. But as CeCe says, “She must be able to suck a golf ball through a garden hose,” because Mason’s positively whipped.

  We have a corporate spy feeding our confidential information to our competitors, and Annabel’s eagerness and constant hovering has her high on most people’s lists as the spy. Recently she moved in with Mason, but he required her to find another job. My understanding is that she isn’t working, just living with him and waiting for an engagement ring. I’m not sure she’s our mole, but I do think my mother is right with her “She’s a gold-digger” assessment.

  The guys are standing around the grill outside, probably talking about sports. The girls are inside rehashing our week in New York.

  Standing around my home, we have the comfort of a family. We can tease and be fun loving. Having grown up an only child with half-siblings, I was often alone. Looking out at the pockets of friends, I hear conversations about wedding planning, trips being planned far away, trips being taken locally, gossip about our jobs and friends, and the sharing of our lives. I notice several people are without drinks, which means I’m shirking my hostess duties.

  “So, what are we drinking?” I ask the group

  “Emerson brought a pitcher of lemonade,” Annabel volunteers with a broad and plastic smile.

  I’m surprised by that, as usually Emerson is our amateur bartender and has fun, creative drinks.

  She laughs and tells us, “It’s adult lemonade.” I’m not sure what that means, but before I can ask, she hands me a glass with a sugared rim. “It’s equal parts lemon juice, limoncello, vodka, and sugar.”

  I take a small tentative sip. Wow. A nice pucker and a little sweet, but it hides the liquor well. This is good. “That’ll knock me on my ass if I’m not careful.”

  “Thankfully we all live close and can either walk or take a Lyft home.”

  CeCe holds her glass up. “To Greer, for always being a lady when she rightfully should be a bitch.”

  “Here, here,” everyone echoes.

  CeCe leans in and asks, “What can we do to make Mark regret using our good friend to bolster his political career and then leaving her for a mouse?”

  I smile and hold back the tears. “You all are wonderful and incredible friends. Thank you. I can’t lie, it hurt to see Mark and his pregnant wife, but having all of you here this evening means the world. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate having each of you in my life. Now, let’s eat.”

  We enjoy a fun dinner, and I forget about Mark for a little while.

  CeCe is the last one, sitting on the couch opposite me after we’ve said goodbye to our other friends. “Okay, hon, I’ve known you since we were eight years old. I know this hurts, but don’t let your brain go into overdrive. You aren’t your mom. You’re smarter and much more adept at managing this.”

  “I know.” I fight back the tears that are pushing to come out. “I want to blame her for this, but I know it’s her illness.”

  “Exactly. He was looking for an excuse. He may have had the charisma, good looks, and charm, but he doesn’t understand his constituents, and you were the one behind him making him look like a rock star. He’ll die a terrible political death, and quickly.”

  I nod, knowing if I say anything, I’ll crack and the tears will come nonstop. I just sit and watch the lights on the sailboats along the bay.

  “Do you want me to stay tonight?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. You just got home after being gone for a month. Go. Sleep in your own bed and get caught up on your life.”

  CeCe stands and I join her. Giving me a big hug, she whispers in my ear, “You’re beautiful, smart and fucking awesome in every. Single. Way. You don’t need any man to validate you. Just remember that.”

  “Thank you.” We walk to the front door, and she squeezes my hand before she leaves.

  I look around at my house and think of what my friends did for me tonight.

  CeCe is right. I’ve given Mark too much of my time and energy. I’m ready for a change.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Andy

  I hear the door from the tasting room open. “Sophia? Can you help me with this issue in QuickBooks?”

  “I’m on my way. We have a little over $3,000 in sales today. Not too bad for a Tuesday.”

  “I’m balancing the books, and I’m stuck with this $5,240 check. What is it for?”

  “Why are you balancing the books? That’s my job.”

  “I need to send the P&L to Dad and Giovanni for the quarterly financial meeting.” Looking at the screen again, I ask, “So, what is this
check for?”

  She looks down at her hands and studies them as if she’s never seen them before. I wait patiently for her to answer.

  Looking up at me through the hair that’s fallen in her face, she finally mutters, “Me.”

  “What for?”

  She whispers, “A bonus.”

  I’m stunned. “Sophia, we can’t afford any bonuses right now. We’re hiring like crazy to prepare for the crush. I need interns, pickers, drivers, pruners, and the water bill is sky high. We need that money back. You know half of this business belongs to you, but we can’t take anything out of it right now.”

  “I really needed it.”

  “Sophia.” My blood pressure is skyrocketing. “I haven’t had a paycheck in several months. You make a very good living. You need to repay that tonight.”

  “I can’t. I spent it.” In rapid Italian, her voice becomes angry and bitter. “You get $3,000 a month and have no expenses because you live here rent free.”

  We go through this argument every few years, where she feels that things aren’t equal. “Yes, and you earn $50,000 a year, and you could live here rent free, but you and Luke choose to live in town.”

  “You and Luke don’t get along,” she pouts.

  “He stays home and smokes pot all day. You work. Forgive me for wanting him to pull his own weight.” I’m tired of this fight, and I’m still pissed that she just wrote herself a check. She’s never done anything like this before. When we argue, it’s usually about when I’ll sign the vineyard over to her, but the bank owns over 90 percent right now, and it’s in Bellissima Holdings with me as the guarantor. There’s no value to this yet.

  I know Napa Valley is expensive, but had she talked to me, I would’ve lent her the money from my own account. She’s right. I don’t have many expenses, and I would’ve given her a loan. But now I have to figure out how to make it work in the books, and she has to know that surprising me isn’t the way to make a smooth transition with my father and brother. “I’ll bring it up with Papa and Giovanni. They’re going to be more upset than I am.”

  She’s becoming upset by the conversation. “Too bad. I work myself to the bone for this vineyard, and everyone treats me like I’m a hired hand and my opinion doesn’t count.”

  “What are you talking about? I value you and your opinion. You know why I can’t sign it over today. It’s against the terms of Bellissima Holdings. It isn’t you specifically—it goes back to our great-grandfather and his wanting to be sure the wine remained in our family. This affects all of our sisters. We all agree that when Giovanni takes over for Papa, he’ll change that provision. Plus, you and I make all of our decisions together knowing this is half your vineyard.”

  “Not on paper where it counts.”

  “What the hell is Luke feeding you? You know the moment the holding company allows us to make you a full partner, I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Sophia walks out and slams the door. We have this fight more often when Luke isn’t working. I hate that she’s stuck supporting his lazy ass. He sits home all day watching sports television and getting high.

  She can have the money. She works hard, and I’d be lost without her. But how do I explain this to my dad and Giovanni? If my brother hadn’t gone to business school, I wouldn’t have to worry about it, but he’s the unofficial chief financial officer of Bellissima Holdings, Ltd., our parent company, and he’ll immediately know something’s off.

  My monthly meeting with Giovanni and my father is over Skype and in rapid Italian. The conversation does not go particularly well. I know they meet with all seven of the vineyards over a few days, but it’s a lengthy meeting, and sometimes I feel like we go through every expense and have to explain each one. Bellissima Valle has been the most expensive undertaking of all the vineyards we’ve started, and there are a lot of eyes on every expenditure. It’s a crown jewel—or at least it will be once we’re fully producing. Currently, we’re barely in the black.

  “She wrote herself a check?” Giovanni asks incredulously. I swear I can see a vein pulsing in his neck through the computer screen.

  “Yes.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

  My father is turning red with anger and is hardly understandable, but I can make out “Then she doesn’t get a paycheck until she pays it back, and we take all check signing abilities away from her. We can’t trust her.”

  “Papa, this is Sophia. We can trust her, but I can’t hold her check. Luke isn’t working. They need the money,” I implore.

  “Tell them to move home,” my father answers simply.

  “Papa, it isn’t that easy.”

  “Yes it is. I want her off the checking account, and if she can’t pay her bills, she moves back to the villa, either there or here.”

  If only it were that easy. I end up agreeing to put her on a payment plan, though I know I’ll be the one who really pays it back. She truly works hard for the company, and maybe I don’t appreciate her as well as I should. Times are rough, and when things get better, she can pay me back.

  After the call, I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. Sometimes I wish the vineyard was all mine and I could just gift her part of it.

  Sophia walks in. “What did they say?”

  “They’re very angry with you.”

  “I don’t care.” She shrugs, pretending it doesn’t matter, but I know it does.

  “I’m going to cover the money this time, but if it happens again, Papa is going to require you to move home. And I don’t mean here, I mean Bellissima Grande.”

  She snorts. “That’ll never happen.”

  “I love you, baby sister. Don’t take money from the accounts again unless we discuss it first. I’ll lend you the money this time, and you will pay me back when you have it.”

  Turning to look at me, her eyes are pooling. “I only took what I needed. I won’t do it again. Everything is just so hard with Luke not working right now.” Before she leaves, she hugs me. “Thank you, big brother. Luke has a job starting next week. We’ll be fine.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Greer

  Stretching as I lie in bed, I think about last night. For the first night in how many months, I didn’t think of Mark, nor did I dream of him. A wave of happiness envelops me at the thought.

  It’s still early, but I want to go for a run before the heat of the day makes it too oppressive. I dress and head downstairs, nodding at my neighbor who must be thinking the same. After we stretch in the front portico, I follow him, trying to keep up with his grueling pace without complaint. He has a good eight inches on me, and for every stride he takes, I cover about two-thirds the distance.

  The suffocating humidity of the warm morning weighs down on me, making me sticky. My clothes and hair, slick with perspiration, cling to my skin, sweat rolling down my body in thick, salty beads as my heart throbs inside my chest at four times its normal pace. My skin feels the heat of the morning sun like it’s roasting. I bounce slightly as I jog in place at the red lights, which wears me out quickly. I eventually settle to stumbling along behind my neighbor as fast as I can. I’m vaguely aware of a burning in my legs and lungs.

  Reaching the waterfront at the Marina, I go to the public drinking fountain and gulp down deep pulls of refreshingly cool water, trying to catch my breath. My lungs feel like they’ll burst and my throat is so dry. With my hands on my head, I walk slowly in circles until my breathing becomes regular once more.

  As my breathing slows, I smell the salted air of the bay and the thick scent of coffee from a stand nearby. It’s a siren’s call—I love the taste, the smell, and sound coffee makes when it hits the bottom of a paper cup. This spot is out of the way for tourists, and the line forms early and persists until the beans have run out. We chase our need for a caffeine fix as a city.

  Taking a sip of my coffee, I pick up a newspaper and walk out onto the pier, loving the way the sun warms my skin. I find a quiet spot to let my legs dangle off the edge and st
art reading the paper. I spot a different article about Mark and his bid for Congress, and his dagger turns in my gut again.

  I’m not vindictive, but I plot. I’ve always considered revenge to be a much-belied concept. Knowing I’ve always served people what they’ve truly earned kept me happy and serene. They can play their passive-aggressive bullshit games, and I’ll smile, nod and give every impression that I’m the gracious loser of the skirmish.

  I’m not going to go after him directly. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll contribute and volunteer for his opponent, but my revenge is pretty simple—I’m going to live my life and be happy without him. I’ll love again, and my next boyfriend isn’t going to be a narcissist who’s only concerned for himself. I want a nice guy who will appreciate me for me and wants to live a quiet life.

  I lift my arms into the air and stretch. It’s almost seven, and I need to get to work. Dumping my empty cup and the newspaper in the recycle bin, I begin my moderate jogging pace home. The exercise allows me to clear my head and think through everything, helping me figure out what I need to do at work and my personal life.

  I need to help come up with a plan to help catch our mole. Every time we get close, I feel they slip through our fingers. As I jog back, I work through the challenges of my day and how I’ll work through the problems. I don’t have all the answers, but I do come up with some.

  I’m going to go out on a few dates, though I’m not looking for Mr. Right, maybe just Mr. Right Now. I want to have fun and have someone to enjoy my time with. It doesn’t need to lead to anything more than that.

  After a quick shower and choosing an outfit for work, I apply my makeup. I’m almost presentable. My brain wanders to my schedule as I paint my lips with lipstick; they’re a shade darker than my flushed cheeks when I decide that’s enough. I like the soft contrast of my face against my dark hair and eyes. Slipping on my dress, it fits like it was tailored for my curves. It makes my hips round, my breasts seem larger and my waist small.