Page 13 of Bourbon Wishes (Wine Country Alphas #3)

Bastian

" W e're going to karaoke."

I glance up at Oliver, my brows furrowed. "What?"

"Karaoke," he repeats. "Lucy said to tell you that you aren't allowed to get out of it this year. And that you have to bring Constance or Aunt Luna might accidentally find out that she saw Constance leaving your place three mornings in a row."

"Jesus Christ." My face falls into a scowl. "Is your wife blackmailing me?"

"Yep." He links his fingers together behind his head, all proud, husbandly smile and wicked amusement. "She's brilliant, isn't she?"

"She's fucking diabolical, is what she is." I shake my head, not entirely surprised she's threatening to spill the beans to my mom. Lucy is a tiny little pixie with a heart as big as the state—and she's never satisfied unless everyone around her is as happy as she is.

It's precisely why Ridley is currently stomping around like someone kicked his puppy.

Paisley Molina is here, and he hasn't seen her since she disappeared the morning he went to buy her a ring a few years ago.

Until recently, the man wouldn't even come home from Italy because of what happened between the two of them.

"You don't have to come," Oliver says. "There will be consequences, obviously. But it's totally your call. You do you."

I lift my middle finger, flipping him off. "We'll be there, you prick. And tell your wife to stop staking out my property. It's weird."

"She isn't staking it out. She's pregnant. She pees a lot. It's not her fault she can see your house from the bathroom window."

"Still weird," I mutter.

Oliver just laughs, completely unbothered.

"Is that why you're in here bugging me?"

"Pretty much."

I grunt, not really surprised. I swear to Christ, the only time my cousins ever darken the doorway to my office is when they want to annoy the fuck out of me.

It'd be amusing if it didn't irritate the shit out of me, which, I suspect, is precisely why they do it.

At this point, I wouldn't be surprised to find they've made a game of seeing who can piss me off the most every week. God only knows what the winner gets.

"Message delivered. Now, get out."

"Why?" He smirks. "You have plans or something?"

I eye him levelly, not about to walk into that trap.

I don't know why Constance is so adamant about my cousins not finding out that we're fucking all over my office, but she's unwavering on that front.

Frankly, it's starting to piss me off a little.

I have no interest in hiding that we're together, but every time she thinks we're going to be caught, she gets this panicked look in her eyes.

I wish like hell that she'd talk to me about what's going on in her head, but she won't. And as much as I want to force an answer out of her, I'm trying like hell to be patient and do things the right way here.

That means not being an autocratic asshole who pushes and demands and does everything his way.

If I want her to fall in love with me, I have to give her space to accept that I'm not going anywhere.

I can't rush her into trusting me with her heart, as much as I want to do exactly that.

But fuck me, every day, she tips me a little closer to the edge.

I don't want her down the hall all day, pretending we aren't fucking every time I can get my hands on her.

I want her in here with me, on my lap. On my cock.

Sprawled across my fucking desk, making a mess of the paperwork on top of it.

Fuck the rules. I want to make my own.

"Constance sure has been cleaning her office a lot lately," Oliver says, still smirking at me. "I believe there was even broken glass the other day. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Oliver, if you don't get the fuck out of my office, I swear to Christ, the next thing your wife sees from your bathroom window will be an eight-foot replica of my dick painted on my garage door."

"I will murder you in your sleep, motherfucker," he growls. But my empty threat works like a charm. He hops to his feet, stomping out of my office.

Fucking finally.

I lean back in my chair with a sigh of relief.

Only to immediately mutter a curse when Gabe strides through the door, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Now what?" I growl, glaring daggers at him.

"Damn." An amused laugh rumbles from his lips. "I really thought fucking up Constance's office every day while you're doing dirty shit to her would make you less of a crabby bastard. Somehow, it's made you ever worse. How the fuck does that work?"

My left eye twitches. "What do you want, Gabriel?"

"Constance has an idea. I think you should hear her out."

My brows furrow. Why the hell is she taking her ideas to Gabe instead of bringing them to me? "What idea?"

"Ask her about it," he says, being intentionally ominous.

"Why the fuck was she talking to you about it?"

"Uh, because she's allowed to talk to other people, you jealous asshole?"

I grit my teeth. "That's not what I meant.

" It was precisely what I meant, but I will choke on my own tongue before I admit to this asshole that I'm jealous she's talking to him instead of to me.

If it were up to me, I'd monopolize every second of her time.

She'd never even see my asshole cousins…

at least not until she's pregnant with my kid and wearing my ring.

I'm kind of hoping she doesn't figure out that's basically my plan—getting her pregnant before she realizes it's happening.

Is it fucked up? Absolutely. Will I regret it? Hell no. I want her tied to me. And a baby will give me plenty of time to convince her that she loves me.

"You sure?" Gabe asks.

"Yes."

"Fine. She was down in the cellar recording a content video when it came up. I told her to talk to you about it." He leans against the doorframe, eyeing me. "She seemed awful fucking reluctant to do that, by the way."

"What the fuck?"

"So, you don't know why she didn't want to bring it to you," he says, like this is breaking news. "Interesting."

I frown at him, suddenly worried as hell. Constance has no problem telling me what she thinks all day, every day. She makes a sport of it, in fact. So why the sudden reticence to speak up? I don't like it.

I need to know what she's thinking before I snap.

"Talk to her," Gabe suggests before ducking out of my office.

I snatch my cell off my desk, texting her.

Me: Where are you?

Constance: Hello to you, too.

Me: Constance.

Constance: Bastian.

I swear, I've never wanted to spank someone as badly as I do her at least fifty times a day. She drives me up the wall, and she does it intentionally. It shouldn't be as sexy as it is…and yet, my cock is constantly hard because of her.

Me: If you aren't in my office before I come looking for you, you'll have my dick down your throat wherever I happen to find you.

Three little dots appear, then disappear, and then reappear again. All I get in response is the middle finger emoji, though. I'm not entirely sure if that means she's on her way or not, but I'm willing to give her a five-minute head start if she isn't.

It only takes her three to reach my office. She stomps in like a fiery little storm, her hands on her hips and murder in her eyes.

"Which of your cousins is in charge of HR?" she demands.

"Why?"

"I need to file a harassment complaint," she growls, shoving the door closed behind her. "My asshole boss won't stop threatening to do sexual things to me all over the property anytime he doesn't get his way."

My lips curve into a grin. Christ, she has no idea how badly I want to bend her over and fuck the attitude out of her when she's mouthing off. "I believe your asshole boss threatened to make you do sexual things to him."

"Same difference," she scoffs, crossing her arms to glower at me. "What do you want?"

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Burying your body if I'm lucky. Why?"

"We're going to karaoke with Lucy and Oliver."

"Uh…I do not recall agreeing to this."

"You're going, Constance."

"Maybe I don't want to go."

"Why the fuck not?"

She huffs at me. "You didn't even ask me if I wanted to go.

You just informed me that I'm going. I'm not a dog who jumps on command, Bastian.

I'm a whole person, with a whole life. I know that's probably a foreign concept to you since your entire life revolves around torturing me, but mine is full of things I enjoy, like drinking wine in bubble baths and watching junk TV. "

She has a point, and her point is that I'm a presumptuous asshole. Honestly, it'd save us a lot of time if she'd just skip the rants and get right to the insults.

"Would you please come to karaoke tonight?" I ask.

"Will you be singing?"

"Does my answer change yours?"

She shrugs. "Depends on if you sound like Trystan."

"I won't be singing."

"Well, thank god for small favors." She beams at me. "I still don't want to go."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Maybe because you're my boss?" She throws her hands up, exasperated. "Honestly, Bastian, you'd think I wouldn't have to keep reminding you of that fact since you love lording it over me."

"I don't give a fuck if I'm your boss or not, Constance. You're going to karaoke."

"No, I'm not."

"Why the fuck not?" I ask again, my hands curled around the arms of my chair to keep myself from stomping across the room to drag her into my arms. If I get my hands on her, this will end with me nine deep and her moaning my name. As fun as that is, I want answers first.

She'll sleep in my bed every night. She'll let me fuck her over my desk—or hers—every day. But she does not want to be seen with me. I don't like it.

"Because we're not supposed to be dating!" she cries. "It's probably in the employee handbook. Thou shalt not fuck thy employees."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "There is no handbook. And if there were, it wouldn't sound like it was etched in stone and involved a goddamn burning bush."

"Well, there should be a handbook."

"I'm not going to be your dirty secret."