Page 25 of Vine (Island Love #3)
CHAPTER 24
CASPIAN
Rotating my shoulders, I sucked in a few breaths and let my eyes shutter closed. I could do this. I could do this. Three more weeks. Only three. Then I was free.
“Hi.”
Leigh loitered in my eyeline. He was always going to corner me alone sooner or later. As casually as I could, I took another bite of my apple, determined to swallow it down even though it had turned to sawdust. My ex’s fake orange tan had developed into a real one over the last week or two, and his nose was peeling. Orange peel. I almost smiled.
“You okay?” he tried again.
There was a longwinded, complex answer, which he didn’t want to hear, and I had no intention of sharing with him. “Yep. You?”
“Not bad. The vines are looking good. The segments on the birdlife are all done; I’d say we’re on track.”
So we were still pretending it was all about the vines, were we? Whatever.
His voice took on a whiny tone. “Where have you been? I went over to the gatehouse, and your stuff had gone. I thought you’d fucked off. We can’t afford not to finish, Casp. There’s only about eighteen days of filming left.”
Hah. Now we were getting to the nub of the conversation: less a concern for my welfare, more a concern for his wallet.
“I’ll finish,” I answered, tossing my apple. “I want to see these vines harvested, given how much work I’ve put into them. As well as collect my money.”
His eyes widened. “What? Are you going to hang around afterward to join in the vendage? It’s not part of the TV contract.”
“Why not?” I shrugged. “It’s not like I have anything to rush back to.” And everything to hang around for.
“Except for signing the breakfast telly thing. Libby texted this morning, pushing for our commitment.”
“She can wait.” There was a delicious thrill in making Leigh sweat and then dropping my bombshell. I recalled my conversation with media-savvy éti. “Jonas’s wonderful unfolding exposé on the state of my mental health might push our value up.”
“Oh. Yeah. I hadn’t thought of that.” Impressed, he plopped down next to me, leaving a nervy foot of grass between us.
“Don’t worry. I’m still sane,” I added. “Just. Despite yours and his best efforts.”
“Look, I had no idea Jonas had planned the show to be like that, Casp. I’d never have gone along with it. You know that. I swear I found out exactly the same time as you. Jonas doesn’t tell me everything,” he insisted. “He thought it would be more authentic this way."
Didn’t know, or didn’t want to know? His lips pinched as his forehead creased in a veneer of care even thinner than the veneers bonded to his imperfect teeth.
Despite my interactions with either of them these days leaving me as limp as a used chamois leather, I stifled a smirk. There was the Leigh I’d always known. Always pushing forward down whichever track best suited his career. Always playing a part, a chameleon, his handsome features nothing but a superficial text-based emoticon. This one was labelled faux concern .
"I admit it came as a shock, and I’m not entirely sure it paints me in a totally good light either, to be honest.”
A very wise, very strong man recently told me there should be no secrets in a relationship. I’d carried the flavour of that man around with me all day. Even now, a little bit of him still lingered in my mouth.
“And you’re happy with that state of affairs, are you? Still happy to let him bang you against that rattly headboard every night?” I leaned across and whispered in his ear. “Who knows what he’s plotting next? I’d keep working on your blowjob technique if I was you, just to be sure he hasn’t got you in his sights.”
Leigh shook his head as if humouring a small child. “Now you’re just being melodramatic. And, having had time to reflect, I think we’re both going to love what he’s done with the footage when it comes out. Studying a relationship breakdown when times are tense and deadlines are looming in the sphere of live television is cutting edge, to be honest.”
Christ they were up themselves. No consideration of a world beyond the television studios. “Forgive me if I disagree,” I said drily.
“You’ll agree when you see it.”
“I very much doubt that.”
Why had it taken me so long to notice how weak he was? Adapting his opinions to suit other peoples? Always parking the blame elsewhere, dodging responsibility, getting his excuses in first.
Feeling my annoyance rising, I stood and brushed myself down, careful as always to keep my cuffs low over my wrists. Leigh’s spiteful gaze missed nothing. “He’s got a still image of your arms, by the way,” he offered, picking at grass in an offhand fashion, like he was passing that on as an afterthought. Knowing him, it was probably the whole point of the visit. “From when we did the Broadway show.”
My pulse quickened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Sorry, Caspy. Obviously, I told him using it was unfair, but, you know, can’t interfere with a genius at work, can we? Though if you get on and sign the breakfast telly thing, I might be able to persuade him not to use it.”
My stomach contracted into a tight ball. I really needed to get away from Leigh. A few minutes longer and I could. Thank fuck this hot endless day of filming was drawing to a close.
On cue, the low rumbling of a heavy diesel engine cut through my escalating disquiet. A big blue tractor slowed down outside the vineyard gates, turning both our heads, and I blew out a long breath.
“It’s only that weird bloke from the other gatehouse,” observed Leigh. The engine rumbling swelled in volume as the tractor turned through the gates. “Bit odd him hanging around all the time, isn’t it? Except he came in handy when you took a nose-dive, didn’t he? Mind you, manhandling you like that. Where did he take you, by the way? Not sure I’d want to be alone with…”
“His name’s Max,” I interrupted. “Max La Forge. He’s an oyster farmer.”
Parking the tractor next to the gatehouse, Max switched off the engine and jumped down from the cab with much more grace than I expected from him. His blue waders, hugging his big frame like a second skin, matched the colour of the paintwork on the bonnet. At the sight of him, my heart rate slowed a little more. Shielding them from the glare of the sun, Max’s eyes searched the vineyard.
“I wouldn’t want to meet him down a dark alley,” Leigh commented. “He’s got a screw loose, I reckon. Always looks ready to start a fight with someone.”
“Nah,” I grinned to myself, feeling quite restored. “That’s his I’m-going-to-haul-you-back-to-my-lair-and-fuck-you-against-the-kitchen-counter-face. Subtly different.” It was more his ‘hey-Caspian-you-must-listen-to-this-thing-I-heard-on-the-radio-about-slugs face’, but my retort was so much better.
“What?” Leigh snorted. “No thanks. I’m not sure the oafish caveman vibe he’s got going does it for me.”
“You’re missing out, mate.”
I gave a little wave. Max responded with a curt nod, then swaggered over, as if he owned the place. As if he owned me. Can’t lie. It was kind of hot.
“Works for me just fine,” I said, stepping forward. “Feel free to keep the cameras rolling, Leigh. Take as many snaps as you like. I’m off on a date.”