Page 5 of Bourbon Wishes (Wine Country Alphas #3)

Constance

" I haven't heard anything about a meeting," Haven says into the phone while I rummage through my closet, trying to figure out what to wear. "Are you sure he said it was a meeting?"

"Positive," I grumble, still fuming over the entire conversation. "I swear to God, Haven, I love Luna and Carter, but if Bastian weren't freaking identical to Jareth, I'd swear he was birthed in the bowels of hell."

Haven's loud laughter echoes down the line. "He may have been. He could be one of those things. What are they called?"

"Demon spawn? Knights of Hell? Agents of Evil?" I supply helpfully, pulling a dressy blue suit from the closet.

"No, not that. The thing where someone switches out a baby with one that looks just like it, but it's actually like a demented fairy or something."

"What did you read as a child?" I ask, making her laugh again as I survey the suit.

It's professional enough, but…is that the vibe I want tonight?

No, not really. Part of me—the irritated part who loves being a problem for Bastian—doesn't want to be professional and accommodating. I want to tempt fate and taunt a beast.

I hang the suit back beside the others I rarely wear, reaching for the little black dress I've never worn. I bought it on a whim when Haven and I went shopping last month. It's gorgeous and daring, not at all appropriate for a work dinner.

Bastian will be furious when I show up in it.

Maybe that's what prompts me to tug it from the hanger. He's my problem today, so I intend to be his tonight. Maybe next time, he'll think twice about threatening my job if I don't dance on his strings.

"What time do you have to be there?" Haven asks.

"Seven." I glance at my phone screen and sigh. "I should probably change."

"Changeling!" she cries.

"What?"

"They're called changelings. Maybe that's what he is."

It's a theory. A terrible one, but a theory, nonetheless.

"I doubt it," I sigh, snagging a pair of red heels from the shelf before wandering out of the closet. I toss my dress on the bed before dropping the shoes beside it. "Fairies, even the demented ones, have souls. Your cousin definitely doesn't."

"He has a soul," she says, laughing in protest. "It's just pinned beneath the weight of that stick up his butt."

"Has he always been like this?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Yes." She sighs. "No, not really. Even as a kid, he was super serious and dedicated.

But he didn't turn into the Fun Police until he took over the vineyard.

Honestly, I think he's just forgotten what it's like to have a life that doesn't revolve around making money. He does it for us, but sometimes…"

"What?" I ask when she trails off.

"Sometimes, I wish he'd find something he's really passionate about," she whispers. "All he does is work so the rest of us can breathe. We try to help, but he won't let us take anything off his plate."

"He cares," I murmur, a little of my irritation fading.

Even when he's a tyrannical pain-in-the-ass, it's obvious how much he loves his family.

He's the first at the office every morning and the last to leave every night.

Even when they're busy, everyone has fun around him all day, every day, and he never tries to stop them or complains.

He just lets them do what they enjoy while he holds it down.

"Yeah, he does." Haven sighs again before perking up. "What are you wearing? Please tell me you're at least planning to torture him a little for being a total jerk today."

"Oh, absolutely," I say, grinning. "He threatened my job and made me miss my dentist appointment. There's no way I'm letting him get away with that."

"You're my favorite employee ever," Haven says, sighing dramatically.

I laugh quietly, gazing down at the dress. Bastian is either going to lose his mind or fire me for real. Either way, I think it might actually be worth it just to see the look on his face.

B y the time I pull into the parking lot at Della's , an upscale restaurant in downtown Santa Maria, I'm ten minutes late and alternating between anxious as hell and annoyed.

My hair wouldn't cooperate. My car wouldn't start.

My Spanx are so tight I feel like a sausage poured into a dress casing.

And the temperature has dropped a full ten degrees since the sun went down.

If this meeting isn't life and death, Bastian's survival might actually be on the line tonight.

"Breathe," I whisper to myself as I shove my keys into my purse and try to paste a bright smile on my face.

I give myself a quick look in the rearview, but I do not look like I'm happy to be here.

I look like I'm marching toward the gallows.

That'll go over real well with whoever we're meeting tonight.

I still don't have that information. Bastian never sent it. He just told me when to be here. Haven was no help on that front either, since she didn't know about the meeting. I'm walking in blind.

I probably should have worn something other than the Fuck Me Dress, but by the time I came to that realization, I was halfway here. There's no changing now.

I take a minute to reapply lipstick and fluff my hair before stepping out.

Even though it was hot as hell when the sun was up, now that it's dark out, the air has cooled considerably, making me shiver.

I hurry my steps, my heels click-clacking against the cement as I dip my head and rush for the warmth of the restaurant.

The ma?tre d , Diego, holds the door open with a grin. "Ms. Maverick, it's good to see you again."

"Thank you, Diego." I hurry through, fighting another shiver. The low hum of voices and the smell of spices instantly hit me. My stomach growls, my mouth watering. The restaurant at the vineyard is, by far, the best in the area, but Della's is a close second. "Is Bastian already here?"

"Yes, ma'am. He asked me to bring you to the table as soon as you arrived."

"Of course he did," I grumble, which has Diego's lips twitching. He keeps his opinion to himself, however. He's nothing if not discreet.

He motions for me to follow him.

We wind our way through tables situated to afford diners as much privacy as possible. The candelabra chandeliers hanging over each table provide a soft, intimate glow to the restaurant. It might be my imagination, but I feel like everyone is looking at me.

I have to resist the urge to tug the dress down a little.

I exhale a relieved breath when I see Bastian in the back corner, his suit jacket stretching across his broad shoulders.

His dark head is bent as he examines a menu.

He's alone at the table, nursing a glass of bourbon.

At least whoever we're meeting didn't beat me here.

He glances up as we approach, his eyes locking on mine.

For a long moment, he just stares at me, his expression as inscrutable as ever. And then his gaze dips, drifting down my body.

I resist the urge to shiver as it lingers on my breasts.

I'm not vain, but I know they look damn good in this dress.

The silky black fabric dips low, clinging to my cleavage.

It gathers right below, giving me the illusion of a tucked-in waistline instead of highlighting my belly.

With the Spanx, I actually look more curvy than round for once.

The dress ends well above mid-thigh, at least six inches above modest and respectable. I'm not sure if it's just the lighting, but it looks like Bastian's eyes darken as they sweep down, lingering on my thighs.

He grunts softly before rising to his feet, all six-foot-four of him encased in black silk, looking like a dream.

Jesus, the man knows how to wear a suit.

"Sorry, I'm late," I mutter. "My car wouldn't start."

His lips compress into a hard, disapproving line. "You need a new car."

"My car is fine, Bastian. I was in a hurry when I got home and forgot to turn the lights off." I take a step toward the chair he holds out for me and then realize the table is set for two. A frown tugs at my lips. "Is this table big enough for a business meeting?"

"A meeting?" Diego asks from where he's standing off to the side. "I was under the impression it would just be the two of you. If there are others joining you, we can certainly move you."

"No need," Bastian says, waving him off. "I've got it from here. Thank you, Diego."

Diego offers the approximation of a bow before rushing off. Probably a good call because I'm already glaring daggers at Bastian as I slide into my seat.

"What's going on?"

"Let me order you something to drink," he says.

"I'm fine. Explain. What is this?"

"Dinner," he says, like it should be obvious, sliding into the seat across from me. His knee bumps mine, sending my heart rate into overdrive. Or maybe that's frustration doing that. "Where the fuck did you get that dress, Constance?"

"The dress store," I retort.

"It's too fucking short."

"And your tie doesn't match your suit."

"What?" His brow furrows as he glances down.

"Different shades of black," I grumble. "My point is, I don't dictate your wardrobe, you don't get to dictate mine. What I wear isn't your business."

"You're my employee. That makes it my business."

I tip my head back, staring up at the rafters as the urge to scream climbs up my throat. I manage to fight it back, barely. And then I count to five, just to make sure it's not going to erupt anyway.

"You told me that we had a meeting tonight."

"And that's what you chose to wear?" He arches a brow, meeting my gaze, all self-possessed arrogance and silent amusement. "Interesting choice."

"There's nothing wrong with my dress."

"You mean other than the fact that it has every man in here desperate to be seated across from you right now? You're right." He takes a sip of wine, eyeing me over the rim. "There's nothing wrong with it. What's wrong is how goddamn beautiful you look in it."

"You did not just say that," I growl.

He shrugs. "You chose to wear it."