Page 46 of Bitter Truth

I made a mistake.

I’m your boss.

But the truth is, all those are excuses.

And not a single one feels like a good enough reason to have ended things the way I did.

Chapter Eleven

MURPHY

Instead of returning to the house, I stomp angrily through the vineyard and over to the wine cellar. I punch in the code Micah used the other day and yank the door open.

I deflate almost instantly. The woody smell of the oak barrels mixing with the different fragrances of wine is somehow like a balm to my injured spirit.

Whenever I was upset when I was younger, I’d go into the wine cellar and hide in the back behind all the barrels, almost like I needed the lower temperatures to cool me off. That old building is gone, replaced by this new one that is taller and filled with more than three hundred barrels, according to Micah. But the feeling is the same, as if the scent does enough on its own to soothe me.

I wander between rows of different vintages, and I can’t help the way my mind replays what just happened with Wes.

The way he watched me.

The way he touched me.

The way I fell apart in his hands.

And how quickly those incredible feelings and emotions turned sour when he shut me down seconds later.

I don’t understand what the hell happened. How we could have been enjoying a moment like that, how he could make me come like that, only to deny moving things further? Was it some weird power trip? Play around with me and then pull away? Keep me wanting more?

I can’t be sure, so I do what any girl would do in similar circumstances.

I grab a bottle of wine and a glass from the display that’s kept stocked for winery tours, and I call my best friend.

“Hello?” she says, her voice groggy.

“I need to talk to you,” I tell her as I drop cross-legged on the ground in the back of the cellar, the cool cement floor quickly seeping through my shorts and chilling my skin.

“Why are you calling me so late?”

I uncork the wine bottle and pour an oversize glass as I talk. “What if I told you that my boss just fingered me to an orgasm in the kitchen of our new restaurant and then refused to let me touch him afterward.”

A beat passes, then I hear Vivian’s voice again, sounding much more awake than she did a few seconds ago. “Girl, tell me everything.”

After I take a long, healthy sip of my cabernet, I do. But I start at the beginning. What happened at the gas station, finding out he was my boss, and the way he’s continued to lure me in only to shut me out. Then the nights at the bench ... and the dirty talk outside his cabin yesterday.

When I’m finished, I’m worried she’s hung up until she clears her throat.

“Say something,” I beg, once I’ve gotten it all out. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“I mean ... What is there to say other than ‘Come-gratulations’?”

“Be serious,” I reply, half laughing.

“I am serious. He gave you one of the best orgasms of your life and barely touched you? Asked for nothing in return? Do you know how rare that is? That hasn’t happened to me in weeks.” There’s a slight pause, and then her voice comes through the speaker much louder as she shouts out, “It must be very nice that your guy is so good at making you come!”

I tug my phone against my chest, giggling. “I hope your neighbors weren’t woken up by your loud ass.”

She laughs. “It would make me feel better knowing I’m not the only one being awoken in the middle of the night.”

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