She was very busy looking at said asses while on the phone with a silk and embroidery screener because Cora wanted the winery to open an apparel shop, and this fell into Lanie’s territory. She was talking about the design she hoped to use and still staring outside—specifically at Mark’s ass—when she realized he’d straightened and was looking right at her.
Watching her watch him. Brow raised.
Oh, crap. She ducked low, grimaced, and then peeked out the window. He’d been interrupted by three women. Winery guests, who were all dressed up in pretty sundresses, hats, and heels, looking like a million bucks as they sipped wine and flirted. That they were flirting with the same men Lanie herself had been ogling didn’t ease her annoyance one bit.
Neither did the fact that Mark laughed at something they said, spoke a few words that made them laugh in return, and that’s when Lanie remembered—she didn’t like him much.
She was reminding herself of just that when her phone vibrated. It was a frantic text from Mia to come to the employee bathroom.
Good. Something to do. So she rushed down the hall where she found Mia in the bathroom on her knees praying to the porcelain god.
“Hangover,” Mia moaned and curled up on the floor. “Drank too much last night. In other news, if you know a guy looking for a slightly alcoholic, psychopath girlfriend who swears too much, eats too much, and will probably try to fight him while drunk, I’m the girl.”
“Good to know,” Lanie said. “But I’m off men at the moment so I don’t have any guys to recommend you to—in spite of those attractive attributes.”
Mia laughed and then groaned, holding her head. “Do you have future plans?”
“Yeah. I’m hoping to see Australia sometime.”
“No,” Mia said. “Beyond that.”
“Oh. Lunch?”
Mia snorted. “I really do like you. I need you to cover for me and take the tour I’m supposed to give in half an hour to a group of fifteen.”
“Oh no. No, no, no,” Lanie said, horrified at the thought. “I couldn’t possibly give a tour.”
“Why not? Are you bitchy with people too?”
“Of course not, I’m a delight.”
Mia grinned and pointed at her. “You’re doing this.”
“Okay, first,” Lanie said, pointing back, “I don’t like people enough for that, and second, I don’t know the first thing about giving a winery tour.”
“Go to my desk. Ignore the planners, highlighters, ballpoint pens, to-do lists, and anything else that gives the illusion that I’ve got my shit together. Grab my iPad. There’s a file marked ‘Tours’ on it with everything you need to know. Take it with you. Password is ihateeveryone247, all lowercase.”
“Oh my God,” Lanie said. “I was going to laugh, but I’m not sure you’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Are you afraid of public speaking?”
Only slightly less than, say, facing down a psycho madman. At her last job, she’d been in the middle of a presentation when Kyle’s third wife had shown up.
“Yeah, I have a question,” the woman had yelled from the back of the full conference room that had also held her boss and her boss’s boss. “What kind of a bitch keeps all her dead husband’s assets to herself when she wasn’t the only wife?”
Lanie closed her eyes. “I’m not afraid of public speaking,” she said to Mia. “I just don’t do it anymore.”
“Okay, but this is different,” Mia said reasonably. “You’re at a family winery and it’s just chitchat. You can even make stuff up if you want. I do it all the time. Just don’t tell Mom.”
Lanie’s heart was threatening secession from her rib cage. Just say no. It’s okay to set boundaries. “Listen, you look much better now, not nearly as green, so—”
Mia leaned over the toilet and threw up some more, and then rested her head on the toilet seat.
Lanie sighed. “Maybe I should help you to bed—”
“No, I need you to help yourself to my iPad and do this tour. Please, Lanie.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
“I’ll tell Uncle Jack you like older men and want to date him.”
“Wow,” Lanie said, and dammit, she went to the door.
“Wait—you’re going to do the tour, though, right?” Mia called. “And not tell anyone why?”
So much for not getting personally involved. And now she was keeping secrets, which was like the ultimate involvement. “You’re going to owe me,” Lanie said.
“Anything. What?”
“A favor,” Lanie said. “An unspecified favor to be chosen at a later date.”
“Damn,” Mia said. “I’m impressed. But yeah. Okay. A favor.”
Lanie went to Mia’s desk and easily found the iPad because Mia’s desk was neat and organized—not a mess at all. There was apparently far more to Mia than sarcastic, caustic party girl, but for some reason Mia hid behind the image. But hey, Lanie was hiding too. Maybe everyone was.
The “Tour” file was extensive and she sat down right there at Mia’s desk and began to read. The history of the winery turned out to be fascinating. Grandma and Grandpa Capriotti had come over from Italy, getting married on the boat—not for love but for family’s sake—though it turned out to be a really incredible love story after all.
Half an hour later Lanie, heart pounding in her ears, stood in front of the tour group and . . . choked. She tried reading directly from the iPad but her voice was too quiet and quavery and everyone kept yelling at her to speak up. She was working on that when her cell rang. “Excuse me,” she said and grabbed at the phone like it was a lifeline, hoping that someone, anyone, was calling to say they could take over the tour for her. “Hello?”
“Is this Lanie Jacobs, formerly Lanie Blackwell, married to Kyle Blackwell?”
She pulled the phone away to look at the number. She didn’t recognize it. “Who is this?”
“Kyle’s other wife, apparently. I understand you were the first, and as such the only legit wife, meaning you got the insurance policy.”
Wow, that made wife number four. Impressive, really. She turned away from the tour group. “How did you get this number?”
“I paid a private detective to find you. Kyle and I got married the year after you did, on the very same day. Apparently Kyle didn’t want to have to remember dates. I deserve half of that life-insurance policy payout. I earned it being married to that cheater!”
Lanie, incredibly aware of her audience, pasted a smile on her face. While she agreed that she wasn’t any more worthy of the insurance money than any of the other women in Kyle’s life, she hadn’t yet figured out a way to make it right for everyone. In the meantime, she was over being painted as the bad guy. “You’ll have to get in line,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“Don’t you hang up on me! I can find you, you know.”
On that lovely thought, Lanie turned off her phone. She took a deep breath and shoved the phone away. “Okay, so where were we?” she asked, turning back around.