Page 1 of Love You Always

CHAPTER 1

Archer

Sixteen inches high.The stack of growth plans, invoices, and business proposals on my desk is sixteen inches high, and I know this because I measured it. I took valuable time out of my morning to scrounge up a tape measure and measure my goddamn stack of shit rather than tackling any of the things on my to-do list. It’s procrastination taken to its highest form.

Closing my eyes and tilting back in my desk chair, I imagine the stack of papers disappearing, like some kind of Jedi mind trick. When I open them, my desk will be empty, and my mind will be clear.

“Ooh, this looks serious.” My youngest sister, PJ, short for Penelope June, sounds so cheerful that I almost can’t be irritated. But I manage a scowl anyway.

My eyes pop open, and I find her standing in the doorway of my office in the old brown barn at Buttercup Hill, our family winery. I took this office on purpose—so that no one wouldhappen to walk by and feel the urge to stop in and say hello just for the fun of it. The only reason anyone has to come to the end of the hallway is if they need me specifically, and I try to discourage that as much as possible.

I need solitude and focus to manage the wine-making operations, which are the crux of our multimillion-dollar business. My four other siblings are in charge of other areas of business at the winery, but wine making is my domain, which has the power to make or break us financially. Not at all stressful.

“What’s up, Peej?” I try to banish the annoyance from my voice, but I can’t bring myself to offer a smile. Fortunately, PJ is a straight-shooter and doesn’t need me to pretend.

“I like the vibe I just saw. Were you manifesting?”

Running a hand over the scruff on my jaw, I growl at her like a territorial lion. “I don’t even know what that means.”

PJ winds her mass of blond hair into a knot and perches on the arm of the old leather sofa in the corner. I could point out that I didn’t invite her in, but she does what she wants, and as the youngest sibling, she’s survived in our type A family because of her fiery, independent streak. “You know, like putting your hopes and dreams out there and getting a little assist from the universe in making them happen.”

I roll my eyes. “What makes you think the universe gives a shit? Besides, I don’t have hopes or dreams.”

“Everyone has hopes and dreams.”

“Not me.”

“Well, that’s just sad.”

“Whatever. I can’t rely on hoping and dreaming with Dad doing everything he can do to sabotage us.”

I’m not being dramatic. Our father’s terrible business decisions make optimism nearly impossible. In our dad’s defense, he’s battling Alzheimer’s disease and has a hard time recognizing us, let alone making sensible decisions. We had to take over the business from him, and we’re all scrambling to pick up the pieces—Beatrix designing and running the inn and restaurant, Dash handling hiring, Jax balancing the books, and PJ managing publicity—but the monster job of running the day-to-day operations fell to me, the oldest.

I never aspired to take over from my dad, but it is what it is.

“Have you gotten a chance to talk to him about the fire?” PJ asks, studying her sculpted pink nails. She’s talking about the fire that broke out on our property six months ago. The wind blew it toward Autumn Lake, a winery next door owned by Graham Garcia, a half brother we only recently heard about. Twenty-eight years ago, our dad had an affair with Graham’s mother. If our mom knew, she never said anything, but their divorce seems awfully well-timed in hindsight.

The first sign of trouble was five hundred million in missing money from the Buttercup Hill coffers. It turned out that Dad had siphoned money from our business to buy the plot of land next door, which he gave to Graham. It’s sort of forced us together, united against a common clusterfuck.

“Don’t you think if I’d talked to him, I’d tell you all?”

She shrugs. “Not if it didn’t go well.”

“How could it possibly go well? Not bad enough he nearly bankrupted us in order to buy a vineyard for Graham, but now he may have hired someone to torch everything we have left? It makes no sense.”

The fire was just the latest terrible turn for Buttercup Hill, but the vineyards survived. We still aren’t producing enough grapes to meet our sales targets, and my sixteen-inch pile is full of unsigned deals and partnerships that might get us there if I’m lucky. Which is why I have no time for my sister and this conversation.

“And no, I haven’t talked to him. If his nurse says he’s having a lucid hour, I’ll rush over, but it’s been a bad week. Talking to him when he doesn’t recognize me gets us nowhere.”

“This is why you should manifest. Tell the universe you needanswers from Dad, and you may get what you want, is all I’m saying.”

I huff out a breath at her insistence. “When did you get so into all this woo woo stuff?”

“Since I manifested myself a billionaire fiancé. Maybe you should manifest yourself a girlfriend. Or a wife, even. Might make you less of a grump.”

“Good one.”

I’m not interested. My family depends on me doing my job. The last thing I need is the distraction of a woman. If being my father’s son has taught me anything, it’s that I shouldn’t have a wife. Or kids. It’s not in my DNA.

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