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featherymalignancy · 5 years

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CHAPTER TWO—In Vino Veritas: A Nessian Story

“In wine lies the truth”

Summary: Nesta Archeron is convinced she has everything she wants: a law degree from an ivy, a prestigious job, a gorgeous boyfriend, and excellent taste in wine. However, when she wanders into her local wine vendor and meets a handsome stranger unafraid to play her quick-witted games, she begins to wonder if the life she’s built is really the one she wants.

Cash Kahukore worked his entire adolescent life to become a sommelier, ignoring the slurs his mixed heritage have always earned him as he fought his way to the top. However, after five years abroad buying for Michelin star restaurants and dealing with rich white assholes, he’s grown bored with his life. When a gorgeous lawyer comes in to his uncle’s shop one afternoon, he immediately recognizes a worthy opponent in her. Undaunted by her sharp tongue and possessive boyfriend, he’s determined to be her friend, and—as time goes on and their circumstances change—possibly something more.

This a prequel to Navy Suits and Chelsea Boots that takes place three years before. If you love Elriel (and don’t mind finding out how this story ends) check it now.

And if you missed anything, check out the In Vino Veritas masterlist here!

Chapter Two: Ornellaia

A dinner party, Nesta repeated her herself as she drove. She’d had a dinner party. And it was true: she had had a dinner party. It wasn’t her fault that her friends had drank through half a case of the Cheval in a single evening.

And it wasn’t as if she’d thrown the party just so she could have an excuse see Cassian again. It was just a coincidence. A...consequence of the dinner party. He couldn’t question her being back so soon when she had an explanation as logical as a dinner party.

Yes, this wasn’t about Cassian, she promised herself as she parked her car. This was about the dinner party.

This in mind, Nesta only stole a quick glance in the mirror to make sure she didn’t look too harried before stepping out of the car. People had dinner parties all the time, she reminded herself as she strode to the door and threw it open. There was nothing strange about friends drinking wine at a dinner party.

She took a deep breath and stepped inside the Merchant of Vino to the tell-tale chime, her face smoothed of any telling emotion. A dinner party, she repeated to herself. A normal, boring dinner party.

Cash grinned when he saw her, and she straightened, adjusting the bag on her arm.

“There she is,” he said, straightening from where he’d been leaning over the bar organizing open bottles in the well. “Back so soon?”

“I had a dinner party,” she said breezily. “And my friends are big drinkers.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she tried to ignore how good he looked with his with his hair half-up and half-down. It was longer than she’d first thought, nearly brushing the collar of his T-shirt, and good lord did it suit him.

He smirked and made to comment, either on her dinner party or her assessment of him, but she sidestepped any further questions by looking him up and down and offering, “didn’t have you pegged as a guy who wore joggers.”

She gestured to the fitted track pants he wore, and he laughed.

“A consequence of too much time in England, I’m afraid,” he said, returning to his task. “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a chav.”

She bit back her assurance that they looked good on him, not wanting to muddy the waters.

Still, she couldn’t help going a bit slack-jawed as he continued organizing. The way the dark cotton hugged his toned backside was one shade of grey off from being downright indecent, and God forgive her, Nesta was here for it.

She glanced away as he straightened, pretending to be studying the new banquet table that now adorned the space.

“This is beautiful,” she said, trailing around it to get a better look. When she noticed the elegant M insignia branded into one corner she turned, incredulous.

“Is this a Macar?”

Given her love of beautiful and expensive things, Nesta made it her business to stay current on the hottest trends in food, fashion, and design, and right now, there was no one more adored in the design world than Azriel Macar.

He owned a studio out of LA, and despite being under thirty, he was already the darling of the taste-making elite. He’d been compared to icons like Ray Eames and Mies Van der Rohe, and a Vanity Fair article Nesta’d recently read had hailed him “The Future of Furniture.”

He was also—like any good icon—seemingly spotlight-adverse, and given how young and handsome he was, his elusiveness only seemed to add to his cache. Still, whether his talent or his brooding charm, his designs were white-hot, and owning an original had grown virtually impossible.

Cash looked up, smiling.

“You have a good eye.”

“Where did you get this?” Nesta said, still admiring the way the table’s grain flowed in elegant patterns across its surface. “The last I heard, the waitlist for a piece was two years long, and even then it was only celebrities and hedgefund managers.”

Cash turned and smirked.

“I have my ways.”

Nesta pursed her lips, and he laughed.

“Az and I—go way back. He made me that special so I can finally start hosting tasting in here. I love Dev, but he wouldn’t know a good business opportunity if it slapped him on the ass and rode him to Hong Kong.”

Nesta was too surprised too laugh.

“You’re friends with Azriel Macar? Curiouser and curiouser.”

Cash laughed.

“Don’t feed the legend, please. The last thing this world needs is Az with an ego. And I wouldn’t say friends, exactly. More like brothers. We’ve known each other forever.” Cash huffed another laugh. “Hell, I’ve known him since he was still Azriel Machlan.”

As soon as he said it, he winced.

“Fuck, please don’t repeat that. Az would be devastated if it got out.”

Nesta was dying to ask more questions, but hearing the slight desperation in his voice, she decided not to push. Instead she nodded and locked her lips, moving from the table to study a map of the Napa valley on the wall.

She could feel his gaze as he studied her in profile, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to snap at him or bask a little longer under its warmth.

After a beat she turned to face him, expecting him to look away. Men, she found, were generally adverse to maintaining direct eye contact with her. It’s their color, a male colleague had once explained. I swear, one look from you is cold enough to freeze my balls off.

Cash, however, didn’t blink. Feeling off-kilter, Nesta pursed her lips, though she refused to break contact.

“What?” She demanded. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Technically you’re also staring at me,” he said, and she could see his grin in the way his eyes crinkled. “Not that I blame you.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, finally breaking the connection.

“You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled.

“I’ve been called worse. I was just about to open a bottle from Tuscany one of my reps dropped off. Can I tempt you?”

His tone was light, but he couldn’t quite disguise the heat in his gaze as he glanced at her again. However, it faded just as quickly, and Nesta found herself wondering if she’d imagined it.

“I told you I’m not a fan of the Old World stuff,” she said, even as she took a seat.

“I thought we’d gotten past that with the Cheval! You were in love and we both know it.”

He grinned, and she had to savagely fend off a flush.

“Stopped watch is still right twice a day,” she sniffed.

He gave a velvety laugh born low in his throat.

“You’re never going to make it easy, are you, Archeron?”

“Not my style.”

He bit his lip and grinned before pulling the band from his hair and re-tying it up and away from his face.

“Fine. Get your pencil out, then. I’m taking you to school.”

She rolled her eyes to keep from smiling.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

He laughed, leaning over the counter slightly. She could smell the crisp scent of sage from the soap he used, and she tried to ignore how nice it was.

“That’s rich, coming from the woman practically climaxed from one sip of a French red.”

She should be annoyed—insulted, even—but she found she couldn’t fend off a smile this time. He grinned at seeing her reaction, raising his brows.

“Looks like I know more about women than you thought.”

“Shut up and pour the damn wine.”

“Hang on,” he said, grabbing the bottle that had been sitting on counter and heading towards the back.

“Where are you going?”

He smirked over his shoulder.

“To get the big guns. I know what it takes to impress you.”

He reappeared with a different bottle, presenting it to her as if they were in a fine-dining restaurant.

“2015 Ornellaia Bordeaux from Tuscany. This stuff is always amazing, but 2015 was the perfect harvest year. The fruit and balsamic notes come through with such clarity, and it’s incredibly silky on the tongue.”

He paused to glance up at her, expression slightly wicked. She rolled her eyes.

“You know your tawdry innuendos are wasted on me.”

He laughed.

“Sorry, force of habit. You ready?”

He pulled a wine key inlaid with turquoise from his back pocket and removed the cork in four elegant twists.

“Show off,” she said, and he grinned.

“Admit it, you’re impressed.”

“Maybe a little.”

“And slightly turned on?”

Something bright and effervescent bubbled in her stomach as he grinned at her. However, when she thought of Tomás would say if he could see her right now, the feeling curdled.

“You know I’m not afraid to slap you,” she said, finding with surprise she didn’t want to ruin the moment even though I knew she should be reestablishing firm boundaries.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time. Okay, in a perfect world we’d let this breathe a little more, but I’m going to assume you don’t have two hours to spare.”

He poured her a measure, and she held it up to admire the color before taking a sip. It was tannic and slightly sharp on the front end, but the mineral flavor quickly gave way to rich fruit and—just as he’d said—an incredibly smooth finish.

“That’s—“ she broke off, laughing as she admired her glass. “You really are good at this.”

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“It’s almost like it’s my job.”

He took a sip and let his eyes flutter shut as he held it on his tongue, and it was beautiful in the way only pure enjoyment could be.

“In England, you were a somm?”

He nodded.

“London.”

“Why did you leave?”

“When you love something, doing it for a living gets...tricky. I liked being able to teach people about wine, but there’s only so much rich douchbaggery a person can endure before the damage to their psyche is irreversible. Basically it was come back or turn into a douchebag myself.”

She gave an obliging nod.

“Seems prudent.”

“What about you?” he said, studying her with scrutiny. “I’m going to guess...lawyer.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t pretend you just pulled that out of thin air.”

He laughed.

“How else would I have known?”

Her heart thumped in her chest as she debated calling his bluff. If she was wrong, she’d look foolish, which is obviously hated doing. And if she was right...

“Maybe you asked your uncle about me. He knows I’m an attorney.”

Cash considered this before taking another thoughtful sip.

“Would you be angry if I had?”

“Depends on what you wanted to know.”

He shrugged.

“Nothing I hope you wouldn’t tell me yourself. Unless being a lawyer is a CIA cover, and you don’t like people looking too closely?”

She laughed. She wasn’t sure what to make of his admission or—more importantly—what she wanted it to mean.

“No intrigue, I’m afraid. I’m just a boring lawyer.”

He shrugged again, but he was smiling now, much of the tension melting from his shoulders.

“That’s exactly what a spy would say. And you did threaten to disembowel me with your shoe...be honest, am I on the right track?”

She leaned forward, dropping her voice.

“Stop asking questions that could get you killed.”

He laughed. A big, genuine laugh that warmed her from the inside out. She’d often be called smart, or sharp-tongued, or witty, but no one had ever thought to tell her she was funny. No one but her sisters, and even then she worried they were just trying to make her feel better. Cash though—he didn’t know her. He had no reason to pretend. She knew it was girlish and naive to be charmed by that, but she found she couldn’t quite help it.

“Alright,” he said. “Enough messing around. Admit you love this wine so I can start my gloating.”

“I never said I loved it,” she said, taking another prim sip.

Cash gave a look of theatrical dismay.

“You hate it. Fuck, I knew it. I’m so sorry, let me just—“

He reached for her glass as if to pour it out, and she quickly snatched it out of his reach.

“I never said I didn’t!” She clarified, batting his hand away.

“Such a lawyer’s response. C’mon, Archeron, don’t be stingy!”

“Fine,” she said, giving an imperious sniff. “I...like it.”

Cash grinned, leaning forward again.

“Now admit you like me.”

She opened her mouth to choke out a retort before her phone began ringing.

It was Tomás.

She glanced at the glass Cash was refilling for her and debated letting it go to voicemail. She knew she couldn’t, though; it would just lead to more trouble.

Flashing Cash an apologetic look, she picked it up.

“Carinho,” she said, flipping into Portuguese to avoid Cash’s overhearing. “How was your day?”

“Where are you, my love?” Tomás said. “I just got home and you’re not here.”

“I had to stay at work,” Nesta said, the lie slipping out before she could stop it. “I’m sorry.”

“You never mentioned that you’d be out late,” Tomas said, and Nesta could hear the annoyance in his voice. “I expected to see you when I got home. How much longer?”

Nesta glanced at her full glass and then at Cash, who’d gone about cleaning the worn bar top.

“An hour,” she said.

“We agreed you’d stop doing this. Last night you were out with your sister until almost ten.”

She fought down a searing stab of frustration. It wasn’t often that Elain could get away to come see her, and Tomás always threw a fit when she went down to Palo Alto for more than a day.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,“ she said, gentling her tone. “I love you.”

“No later than eight, querida. I’m setting a timer.”

“I’ll see you then,” she said, ending the call before he could say anything more.

What was she doing? She knew what kind of mood Tomás would likely be in when she got home, and if he ever found out the truth, he would be livid. It was dangerous game, and one she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why she was still playing.

Nesta put away her phone before looking up to find Cash watching her, eyes hard.

“What?” She snapped, voice thinner than she would have liked.

Cash’s frown softened, though his expression remained uncharacteristically grave.

“You don’t have to lie to him,” he said in a soft voice. “You aren’t doing anything wrong.”

Nesta felt her heart drop into her stomach.

“You speak Portuguese.”

Cash frowned again as if deciding whether he wanted to press the issue. He eventually settled for shrugging.

“My mom was Brazilian. I was born in Forteleza and lived there until I was twelve.”

Nesta didn’t have to ask what had changed. She felt the familiar ache swelling in her chest, and she nodded, wishing she knew how to comfort him the way he’d comforted her. Instead she forged on.

“Where did you go after that?”

“To live with my dad’s family in Hawai’i. He died before I was born, but my grandmother was there. I went to stay with her.”

“How long has your family lived there?”

He gave a puzzled frown.

“What do you mean?”

Nesta felt her tongue fizzing the way it often did before she said something she terrible before she blurted, “Aren’t you Māori? I would have thought you family would have been in New Zealand.”

He gave a humorless laugh and crossed his arms. “Am I supposed to be charmed by the fact you know there’s a difference? Forgive me, I left your ‘Woke White Woman’ trophy at home.”

“I didn’t—“ she broke off, glancing down before looking back at him. “I’m sorry if that was insensitive. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He considered this, expression still wary.

“I’m not to give you a pat on the back for every brown-person cultural detail you manage to force into the conversation just so you can feel better about your white guilt.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she said. “But I am sorry. I—won’t do it again.”

“I won’t hold my breath on that,” he said.

When he looked away, she dared to brush his forearm with the very tips of her fingers.

“Cash, I’m sorry.”

His skin was warm and surprisingly soft, and she could feel the muscles beneath flex at her touch.

When he seemed to relax, she quickly let her hand drop.

“How did you even know?” He paused, narrowing his brows. “And if you mention either Jason Momoa or The Rock, I’m throwing you out.”

She opened her mouth to point out that neither of them was Māori before quickly shutting it, knowing it would only make things worse. She’d always had a pathological need to prove how much she knew, but after the rebuke she’d very fairly earned, she knew the conversation couldn’t withstand much more strain.

“Your tattoos,” she said, fighting off the urge to tell him how beautiful they were. She didn’t think he’d be particularly charmed by that comment, either.

He rolled his eyes at her response, though the tension seemed to have melted from his shoulders.

“I’ll ignore the fetishistic implications of that, but only because I happen to enjoy the way you ogle me every time you think I’m not looking.”

She made to object, but he was already forging ahead.

“And to answer your question, yes, both my grandparents are from Waitomo. But my grandfather was a bad dude, so grandmother took her boys and moved to Hawai’i to get away from him. I know it killed her to leave, but she felt like she didn’t have her choice.”

He heaved a soft sigh.

“She made it work, though. She’s very proud of her culture, and she made sure we never forgot where we’d come from. Still, she was always very respectful of my mother’s heritage as well. She insisted I keep up speaking Portuguese so I wouldn’t lose the language when I got older. I admit I don’t speak it very often anymore, but thanks to her, I’m still fluent.”

“She sounds like an incredible woman,” Nesta said.

“She is,” Cash agreed, a grin forming as he paused. “Man, she would like you.”

Nesta flushed and looked away. She already felt guilty for lying to Tomás; she shouldn’t push it anymore than she already had.

Cash seemed to note her unease because he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You said you had two sisters. What are they like?”

She considered this for a moment, and he laughed, shaking his head.

“C’mon, Archeron. You owe me something after your little white knight routine.”

Nesta gave a begrudging nod and pulled out her phone to show him a recent picture.

“This is Elain. She’s my academic. Perfect score on her SAT and a full-ride to Stanford. She’s already looking at going to grad school at Yale. I swear, she’s going to change the face of scholarship one day.”

She paused to study the smile on Elain’s face in the photo before pointing to her youngest sister.

“That’s Feyre. She’s my artist. She starting at Berkeley next month, and she’s definitely going to be famous; her work is incredible. She’s also my workhorse. I’ve never seen anyone put their shoulder to the wheel quite like she does. It’s so great to watch.”

She glanced up to find Cash studying her, all the contempt for her early indiscretion melted from his face.

“Your folks died when you were young, then.”

Nesta shifted in her seat. “How did you know?”

“Because you talk about your sisters like they’re your kids.”

She glanced down into her glass before extending it for him to refill and beginning to speak.

“I was sixteen when my parents died, but Ellie and Fey were still little; twelve and ten. My aunt and uncle were technically our legal guardians, but they were Sacramento. I didn’t want to uproot my sisters from their lives on top of everything else, so I convinced them I could handle it.”

She paused, watching the wine as it eddied in her glass.

“The house was already paid off, and I had enough money from the life insurance payouts, so I just—made it work. I had loads of help from neighbors and family friends, and when it came time to go to college, I went to Stanford so I could still live at home with them. By the time I left for law school, Elain was in college herself, and Feyre was at art school in Boston, so I could still keep an eye on her.”

“Harvard.”

“Excuse me?”

Cash smiled.

“I assume that was you way of making sure I knew you went to Harvard Law School.”

She curled her lip.

“I’d rather die.”

He laughed.

“Yale, then.”

She shrugged, making him smile.

“I bet they idolize you.”

Nesta shrugged again.

“Elain, maybe. She was also the easy one. Feyre was a lot more headstrong. We mixed it up pretty hard when she was in high school. I got a call once that she’d been caught with weed in her dorm room, and I drove two hours up to Boston to yell at her in front of all her friends before I took her iPhone away. I think she hated me for a solid year after that.”

“How about now?”

Nesta smiled.

“Now we’re...good. She’s grown up a lot in the past two years, and she’s always been such a sweet, giving person. She’s still a little boy-crazier than I’d like, though.” She paused to give him an assessing look. “She would be all over a guy like you.”

Cash flashed a self-satisfied smirk, and she pursed her lips, pointing a finger in his direction.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Cash snorted.

“High school seniors aren’t my type,” he said, eyes glittering as they flitted over her again.

She flushed, even as she wrestled the question of what his type actually was off her tongue. It was none of her business, and besides, she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answer.

“Still,” Cash said. “I bet we would get along. I was something of a renegade myself in my younger days.”

“I can only imagine. Though I don’t get the sense that your grandmother was one to suffer much bullshit from you.”

“She was not. One time in high school she caught me with a girl in my bed, and she dragged me buck-ass naked into the kitchen and lectured me for twenty minutes about respecting women and teenage parenthood. I had to just stand there with my junk in my hands while she screamed. I’m pretty sure everyone in the neighborhood heard her.”

Nesta couldn’t help it; she laughed. She laughed so hard that she had to set down her glass to keep from spilling on herself, and after a while Cash joined in.

“It wasn’t funny,” he said, still laughing. “I think she gave me a complex. I didn’t have sex again until I was like twenty!”

When she’s finally mastered herself, Nesta made to ask him for more stories before her phone started ringing again and her heart sank into her gut.

It was Tomás. Fuck, had it really been an hour already?

“I have to go,” she said hastily. “Thank you for the wine. It was excellent.”

“Take it with you,” he offered.

She glanced down at the bottle then up at him, biting her lip.

“I can’t come home with that,” she admitted in a quiet voice, and his face tightened.

“Are you afraid of him?”

“Of course not,” she said automatically. “I just—he gets upset.”

Cash crossed his arms, and she was suddenly aware of how big he actually was. Normally that might have made her nervous, but with Cash...

“What does he have to be upset about?” Cash demanded. “You’re allowed to have a life.”

“I have to go,” she said, ignoring his searing but plaintive expression. “I’ll—see you.”

“Nesta—“ Cash protested, but she was already hurrying to the door, redialing the phone and praying Tomás would be in an obliging mood when she got home.

———————————————-

It had been three weeks since Nesta had come by the shop, and Cash was about ready to jump out of his skin. Honestly, it was getting sort of pathetic. He found himself perking up ever time the bell chimed, and getting quietly annoyed when he realized it wasn’t her.

He knew it was ridiculous for him to pine after a woman he barely knew, but he couldn’t help it. She was so damn smart, and her eyes, and that laugh—he’d gone weak-kneed when he’d first heard it, and now it was all he could think about.

Fuck. Why did she have to a have a boyfriend, and why, on top of everything else, did he have to be a huge prick?

Cash groaned. He needed a drink. He was in the back room deliberating what he was in the mood for when the bell chimed, and he forced himself not to get excited. It was Saturday; so far as he could tell, Nesta only ever stopped by after work. However, his heart sped up when he glanced at the security monitor.

It was Nesta, wearing a trendy sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants he swore might be the death of him. Goddamn did she have a gorgeous ass. Hastily checking his reflection in one of the glass panels of the white cellar, he strolled into the front of the shop, smirking.

“Be honest,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Are you stalking me?

Nesta pulled off her sunglasses and gave him a withering look, but there was no heat behind it.

“You wish,” she said, flicking her long braid over her shoulder. Cash tracked the gesture keenly, fascinated by the fluid grace in the way she moved.

“Maybe I do,” he admitted. “Alright, what will it be today? I just got a Shiraz in from Brisbane yesterday that I think you’ll love.”

Truth be told, he’d ordered the Shiraz specifically to impress her. She didn’t need to know that, though.

“I’m actually looking for a German Riesling,” she said, setting down her bag and sitting on the new table.

An image of fucking her on top of it flashed through his mind, and he cursed himself for being a swine before giving her a playful frown.

“Have you been body snatched?”

“Ha-ha,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not for me. My sister asked me to pick it up for her.”

Cash smirked, crossing his arms.

“A likely story.”

Nesta pulled out her phone and put it on speaker, and a second later a sweet, lilting voice spilled out.

“Hey Nes, it’s Ellie! Will you do me a huge favor? I’m meeting Gray’s parents for the first time tonight and I forgot to get his mom something. Can stop by that wine shop you always go to in North Beach and get me a bottle of nice Riesling? I promise to pay you back! Love youuuuu.”

“Who’s Gray?”

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Graysen. He’s Elain’s idiotic boyfriend. Don’t even get me started.”

Cash was tempted to point out that Nesta wasn’t in any real position to be judging unworthy boyfriends, but he kept his mouth shut. He was too excited to see her to risk insulting her and having her leave.

“Fair enough. Alright, come to the back. I’ll see what we have.”

Nesta hesitated, glancing at the door marked “Employees Only”.

“Devlon won’t mind?”

Cash laughed, warmed by her concern for shop protocol.

“Why would he? You’re not planning on robbing the place, are you?”

“I could be,” she said, sliding to her feet. “You don’t know.”

“I think I can take you if it comes to that.”

Nesta pursed her lips.

“Please. I could totally bring you to your knees if I wanted.”

Oh, that he didn’t doubt. In fact, he was in danger of her doing it right now. It had been one thing seeing her all dressed up for work; it was something else entirely to see her so casual. It felt—intimate, somehow, like he was getting a glimpse behind to curtain into who she was when no one else was looking. It was honestly intoxicating.

“I will take that under advisement,” he said, gesturing for her to go ahead of him.

She nodded and did as she was bid, her eyes widening when he took her into the back.

“This is amazing,” she said. “I had no idea there was so much room back here!” She wandered in between crates and peered into cabinets, eyes alight with curiosity.

“Like you said,” he offered, trailing after her. “I’m full of secrets.”

She turned to flash him a little smirk over her shoulder, and he almost tripped over a crate. If he thought seeing her perched on the table was distracting, this was much, much worse.

“This way,” he said, leading her to the chilled white cellar and holding open the glass door.

She stepped inside and he followed behind her. The space was tighter than he’d ever realized, and she a lot shorter. He supposed he was used to seeing her in stilletos, or sitting down. In the Nike trainers she currently wore, she barely reached his shoulder.

“Right,” he said, inching out from behind her to lean on the nearest case. He didn’t want to feel like he was towering over her. “First things first: let’s talk price point. If she’s a college student I’m going to assume she’s broke, so let’s start around twenty dollars. I wouldn’t say we can go much lower than that.”

Nesta smirked, folding her arms across her chest.

“I’m thinking more like two hundred. Do you have anything in that range?”

Cash laughed.

“I do, but maybe you should run that by your sister first. Or is this some sort of usury scheme where you put her on a payment plan and charge her fifteen percent interest?”

Nesta scoffed, studying her nails self-importantly.

“Graysen is completely average in all things but his dad’s money, but he’s still decided that makes him special. Unfortunately, Elain rarely allows me to dress him down on this score, so I take my shots where I can get them.”

She shrugged.

“He’s expecting her to come with a twenty dollar bottle he can use it to mansplain what makes a real Riesling, so I’ll give her a two hundred dollar bottle instead. She’s a hero, he looks like an uneducated jackass in front of his own parents, and everyone wins.”

“Except Graysen,” Cash said, laughing.

Nesta flashed a tight smile.

“Exactly. I can hardly think of a better use of my money.”

“Devious, but charming. Alright, I’ll play. Do you know what they’re serving for dinner?”

“No idea. I’ll call her.”

His heart thumped a little harder. She was obviously very protective of her sisters; it felt significant that she’d him in on their private affairs.

Elain answered on the second ring.

“Hi baby,” Nesta said, her voice gentler than Cash had ever heard it. “I’m at Merchant right now picking out a wine. Do you know what Graysen’s mom is serving for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” Elain said. “But Gray said that the usually drink the white before dinner. Does that help?”

Nesta glanced at Cash, and he nodded.

“Is the younger guy working today?” Elain asked before Nesta could continue. “Claire went in there after the party because she loved that wine you had so much, and she said he’s insanely hot.”

Cash felt something warm pool in his low belly as Nesta grit her teeth, cheeks pinking.

“You’re on speaker, El.”

“Oh fuck!” Elain said, her voice still sing-song. “My bad. Tell him—“

“I have to go,” Nesta interrupted. “Text me when you’re close and I’ll meet you at the house.”

She hung up and made a great show of putting her phone back in her purse as Cash watched her, grinning.

“You told your sister I was hot?”

Her gaze snapped to him, eyes blazing. They were the most gorgeous artic blue, and he wanted to tip into them until her drowned.

“Our friend Claire Beddor told my sister you were hot,” Nesta corrected archly.

Her tone was sharp, but somehow he could tell it wasn’t directed at him. He didn’t dare hope it was because she was jealous.

“Reddish hair?” Cash asked. “Yeah, I remember her. She was sort of making me glad I was behind the counter. She kept giving me a look like she wanted to have her wicked way with me.”

Nesta tried to keep frowning, but he could see the smile she was wrestling off her face.

“Crazy’s not my type either,” he said. “Just in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” she snapped, frowning again. “Who you choose to philander with is your own affair.”

He laughed to hide his disappointment.

“Philander?” He pressed instead. “Is that what you think I do?”

All the playfulness had bled from her expression when she turned to him again. In fact, she looked almost sad.

“I don’t care what you do, Cash,” she said quietly. “It’s none of my business.”

He felt his heart sink, even though he didn’t know why. He knew she had a boyfriend. They might flirt, but at the end of the day it was clear she wanted nothing more from him than that. He needed to accept it and move on.

“Can we just pick something?” She said, voice softer now. “I’m getting chilly.”

“Of course,” he said, clearing his throat. “Alright, a riesling worthy of humiliation. Let me see.”

He scanned the case before pulling out a bottle and showing her.

“This is a great one out of Austria. ‘97 vintage aged in their casks then bottled in 2014, so it’s had time to develop. It is honestly a perfect sipping wine. It has—and this is a technical term—a fuckton of sugar in it, but there’s enough acidity that it’s gorgeous and refreshing instead of saccharine. I’m not really one for riesling, but if I was, this is what I’d choose to drink. I promise this will blow them away. If you like this type of wine, there is literally nothing bad you could say about the Vinothek.”

She gave an approving nod before opening her mouth. He cut her off with a laugh.

“And yes, Nesta, it’s suitably expensive.”

She gave a begrudging laugh as well.

“Fine, I’m sold.”

He nodded, leading her back to the tasting room.

“You want to try it and see what I’m talking about? I don’t have this exact thing open, but I have something similar.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“No, thank you. I’ll just take your word for it.”

“Right,” he said, turning to the computer to hide is disappointment. He really didn’t want this be over, but he’d run out of excuses to keep her there.

“But I will try that Shiraz you mentioned.”

He grinned, turning back to face her.

“I knew it,” he said. “I’ve won you over.”

“Hardly,” she sniffed. “But I have a theory that you’re only good with Old World wines. I want to see if I’m right.”

“Oh ye of little faith. Aren’t you tired of me proving you wrong?”

“Not yet,” she admitted, and there was something sincere in her tone that tugged at him.

“Very well. It’s good for my ego, anyway. This,” he said, opening with bottle with ease and pouring her a measure, “honestly flirts with perfection. It’s dark and mysterious without being too heavy, and how they’ve managed to cram so many flavors in there without having them compete still boggles my mind. If you thought you liked the stuff Far Niente makes, you are going to die over this. It’s like Nickel and Nickel’s hotter, smarter, more polished older sister.”

Nesta took a sip, and Cash swore her eyes rolled back in her head. It was so hot he had to look away for a second. Nesta clearly had an educated palette, and watching her enjoy a wine the way it was meant to be enjoyed was so sexy he could hardly stand it.

“Fuck,” she breathed, eyes still closed. “That might be better than sex.”

Oh sweet Jesus. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that was not it. He fought not to groan as his jeans got a little tighter.

“Sorry,” she said immediately, eyes fluttering open. “I didn’t—that was inappropriate. I just—“ she cleared her throat and down into her glass. “Yes, that is incredible.”

He smirked, forcing himself not to say any of the things he was thinking. She was clearly embarrassed, and much as he was dying to push the issue, he didn’t want her to clam up, or worse, leave altogether.

“Pleased you like it, despite knowing that you obviously would.”

He grinned, and she rolled her eyes, some of her characteristic vitriol limning her features.

“Are you this insufferable with all your customers, or is it just me?”

“Most of my customers don’t make a point of trying to undermine my talent, so I find I rarely have cause to use it except with you.”

She snorted, taking another sip.

“Please. Men like you need women like me.”

He couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Okay, I’ll bite: why do men like me need women like you?”

She arched brow at him, lips curving up in one corner to form an imperious smirk. It made her look both seductive and sinister, like villainess from a Disney movie. He wasn’t sure what it said about his taste in women, but he found it was really sort of turning him on.

“Because an unchecked male ego is like a landslide; it gathers speed quickly and leaves a mess in its wake. The world doesn’t have time to waste clearing your boulder-sized bullshit from the path of progress.”

Cash grinned, leaning his forearms on the counter.

“Doesn’t that mean women like you also need men like me? You can’t keep a tongue sharp if you don’t have something rough to sharpen it against.”

She considered, eyes glittering. She was so beautiful it was almost hard to look at her.

“Women like me don’t need anything.”

“Everyone needs something, Archeron.”

She considered, eyes skating across his face.

“I have everything I want,” she said in a soft voice.

He studied her rigid posture and tight expression before quietly asking, “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

She looked away, huffing. He knew he’d hit a nerve about her shitty boyfriend, and he couldn’t decide if he felt validated or guilty.

“You’re incorrigible,” she deflected, twirling her glass between elegant fingers.

“And you,” he said, forcing himself to smile again. “Are a very worthy sparring partner. It’s highly entertaining, if slightly terrifying.”

At this she seemed to relax a little, drumming her long nails on the counter.

“You’re—adequate as well.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I suppose that’s the best I can expect from you, so I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“Don’t be needy,” she said. “It’s not a flattering shade on you.”

“Ah,” he said. “So you admit that arrogance suits me better! I knew I’d catch you in a contradiction sooner or later.”

“Maybe you should have been a lawyer,” she sniped, but she was smiling now. “You seem to love arguing.”

“I wouldn’t have the colhões to go up against someone like you in court.”

She laughed this time, and his heartrate picked up. If he could, he’d bottle the sound and sell it. It would him a make a fortune, it was so lovely.

“Alright,” she said, sliding off her stool. “I should go so I can meet Elain. Do you have a case of that Shiraz?”

“I do,” he said. “But only if you promise you won’t serve it at your next dinner party.”

She smirked.

“Afraid my friend Claire will come after you again?”

“Honestly, yes.”

She laughed again, a little harder this time, and he couldn’t help grinning. However, when he wondered if her boyfriend ever made her laugh like that, he found his joy dimming a little.

“And no freebies this time,” she called as he trailed into the back. “I’m not above tattling in your to Devlon.”

He laughed as he returned, grudgingly accepting her card and ringing her up.

It wasn’t that he thought she needed the charity—though he did always feel guilty when a customer had a total with a comma in it—so much as he hated admitting their relationship was transactional.

When she wasn’t paying, it was easier to pretend they were just friends, and that she’d come for his company as much as the wine. It was a lot harder to do when she was handing him an American Express Black Card.

She didn’t object as he carried the case out to her car, watching him without comment as he heaved it into her trunk. And sure, maybe he’d been flexing more than was absolutely necessary, but when she was looking at him like that, he couldn’t help it.

“Thank you,” she said. “For being complicit in my scheme to ruin a nineteen-year-old’s evening.”

He laughed.

“Happy to help...I think.”

“You are,” she said confidently, putting the Riesling in the passenger seat. “You loved it.”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Of course I did.”

She looked a little alarmed as she swung back to face him.

“Cassian—“

“Take care of yourself, Nes,” he said, knowing he needed to leave before he said something he couldn’t take back. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes,” she said, regaining her composure and giving him a terse smile. “I’ll see you.”

He listened to the sound of the engine as she started the car and drove away, and he prayed it wouldn’t be another three weeks before he saw her again.

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