Three suitcases, two garment bags, one travel case, and a black trash bag.
Her whole life stuffed into seven containers.
The trash bag held her goose down bed pillows, and while any onlooker would surmise the Louis Vuitton luggage held her most prized possessions, they’d be wrong. If you were a woman with long hair prone to breakage and ungodly frizz in high humidity, you understood the value of a good, silk-encased feather pillow.
Olivia wasn’t normally a vain person, but since she’d just signed up for three months’ worth of sex—every kind of sex, according to her obstinate but well-hung husband—then looking her best while doing it was of utmost importance.
A secret smile crossed her face as she folded several pieces of delicate lingerie, placing them on top of her preferred sleepwear—lightweight cotton drawstring shorts and washer-softened tank tops. Nothing awakened a woman from her sexual coma like an indecent proposal from a naked man sporting major wood, followed by a shopping spree for lacy, silky, and downright naughty bras and panties. After paying an insane amount of money given the sheer lack of fabric she’d purchased, the saleswoman handed her a bag full of frilly underwear, gushing over the huge commission and offering her the boutique’s customary Sex Tip of the Week.
“Fuck your new boyfriend like your old boyfriend is watching.”
That was a fine rule to live by, for sure. But Olivia’s personal spin on it was to fuck Ash so well, he’d drown in a pool of foolish regret, but not so well she’d fall in deep, dark, all-consuming love with him again. She was knee-high in that black abyss, as it was.
Fucking Asher Coleson was good—out of this world, nobody else could ever measure up, good. Loving Asher Coleson was bad—make you lose your mind, rue the day you met him, bad.
Olivia was lugging the last suitcase down the stairs when Marshall walked out of his office, his surprise evident.
“Do you have a vacation planned that’s not on the calendar?” He eyed the trash bag with distaste. “Unless you’re staying at a four-star or less, the hotel will provide a quality feather pillow.”
He knew the contents of the Hefty bag. These were the same belongings she’d shown up with four years ago, right down to the pillow-stuffed trash bag. That spring morning, just nine days after the worst day of her life, was when Marshall stopped being her boss and, for a short time anyway, was simply her father-in-law.
Rosa had packed her bags back then, lips pinched in disapproval as she’d scurried about the condo, reciting a litany of prayers under her breath. Olivia supervised while standing on shaky legs in the middle of the living room, staring at the framed wedding photo on the fireplace mantle and giving firm instructions to remove only her clothes from the master bedroom, her toiletries from the master bathroom, and the pillows from her side of the bed.
The condo was his before her. Before her. He could have it, along with the contents, all to himself.
Heavily medicated, Olivia had little memory of those days, except for a few snippets of time forever etched into her brain and crudely notched onto her heart.
She remembered Rosa tending to her day and night, sleeping on the pull-out sofa so she could hear when Olivia cried out.
She remembered Ash finally coming home, then hearing him leave again but not watching him go, the sight of another loss more than her fragile state could bear.
She remembered making the abrupt decision to move out shortly thereafter, not bothering to issue him a goodbye. Promise breakers didn’t deserve courtesy.
And the pain. God, did she remember the pain. Soul deep and sharply stabbing, it permeated every cell of her body and corner of her mind, and Olivia swore it would never cease. A thousand years could pass without relief. Every sound was garbled. Every sight blurry. Every touch numb. Her mind was dark and her body was cold. Traitorous.
She wanted answers where there were none.
She wanted solace when there wasn’t any.
She wanted something that once was and now would never be.
It was utter loss—up, down, and sideways. And it had changed her. As a person. As a woman. Certainly as a wife.
And not for the better.
Staying with Macy in her La Costa bungalow wasn’t considered, but to this day, Olivia couldn’t recall why. She did remember Marshall insisting she move into the guest quarters opposite the palatial master suite. He and Rosa could look after her, he’d said. Ensure she recovered as expeditiously as possible. Her commute would be a stroll down a winding staircase. It was the obvious solution, he’d said. Perfect for everyone involved.
What he didn’t say, then or later, was one word about his son. Not one.
It had all happened so swiftly, Olivia woke up one morning and, after refusing the high dosage anti-depressants prescribed by her physician, realized she was well and truly living at Coleson Creek. Her husband was gone. Her marriage was over. Her future was bleak.
And nearly six months had passed her by.
Within days, Marshall promoted her to vice president of sales and Olivia threw herself into the prestigious position, desperate for the distraction. Sure, there was a tragic reality to digest, a new normal to live without the numbing blanket of prescription drugs. Mercifully, Marie’s sofa picked up where the meds left off.
But Olivia was all better now, as Rosa was fond of reminding her.
Wasn’t she? She was about to make a sexual deal with the devil; so physically speaking, she’d be tingling and satisfied by sundown. Her emotional health was still up for grabs.
At least her hair would look good.
“Olivia,” Marshall said, snapping her out of the past. He tucked a newspaper under his arm and tilted his head toward the luggage. “What’s this about?”
She fumbled through her purse for her car keys. Considering she and Ash were on the mother of all outs, Marshall didn’t often play concerned father-in-law.
“I’m not going on vacation. I’m staying with a friend for the summer, over near Mission Bay harbor. I’ll be in every day as normal.”
Because her so-called friend could be anybody, right? It didn’t have to be his son and her estranged husband, who just happened to live over near Mission Bay harbor. Jiminy Cricket, what was wrong with her? Instead of concocting a rock-solid cover story, she’d shopped for G-strings.
His shrewd eyes narrowed, but he respected her boundaries. “Well, for pity’s sake, have Benny help you with your luggage. A woman shouldn’t be hauling heavy suitcases around when there are strapping men nearby. Will your friend be able to carry your belongings in once you arrive?”
Her friend could probably lift a damn car off the ground, if necessary, and Marshall was fishing.
“I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” No bites for him today. “It’s really not all that heavy. Just clothes and makeup for a few weeks. Zit cream and tampons, that kind of thing.” Stop talking, Olivia told herself. Shut your mouth now.
“Well, then,” he replied awkwardly, at her unnecessary mention of menstruation. “It sounds like there might be a few rainy days mixed in with all that sun and fun for you and your friend this summer. Hopefully he, or she, I don’t want to presume,” he added, holding up his hands, “has finally learned how to treat you like you deserve.”
“Mija, is this true? Are you returning to your home? To your husband?” Chiming in from the den, Rosa paused her daily telenovela in favor of the soap opera that was Olivia’s life. Looking heavenward, she rushed toward them, making the sign of the cross. “My prayers have been answered. Oh, I am so happy. So happy.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Olivia wished she’d lied. Told them she was going to a spa retreat or a Tibetan monastery camp. “Don’t get your hopes up, Rosa. It’s not what you think.”
“Do not say the Lord’s name in vain. You learned that awful cursing habit from your husband, I’m afraid. Good thing God grants us his forgiveness easily.” She winked, the reprimand more for the Lord’s benefit than the salvation of Olivia’s eternal soul. “And I know more than you think. I raised a good boy. My mijo is a good man, and he will make amends. His time saving the world is over, and he must save his own family now. He is very good at his job, mija. You are much lucky in love.”
“Yeah, sure.” Olivia’s laugh was sarcastic. “Lucky isn’t the word I’d use, but thanks for your kindness. Your optimism is a quality I wish to aspire to.”
“You are welcome. My mother, God rest her soul, always said it was a virtue none of her eleven children had, save for me.” She wagged a finger at her. “Now there mustn’t be any contraception in these bags because you know I forbid it, Olivia. I strictly forbid it.”
“Jesus Christ, Rosa!” Cringing at her thoughtless outburst, she reached for the woman’s hands, expression contrite. “I’m sorry I said that. I should be struck down for my terrible reaction. And you know I love you and think you’re the best ever, but I still feel compelled to tell you, in the cleanest way I can, to mind your own God-fearing business.”
Rosa patted her hand in return. “He forgives you your precipitous words. And you are right. It is none of my business what happens to the two most important people in this old lady’s life. But you are his match, Olivia. God knows it. I know it. My mijo, he knows it, too.” She glanced at the luggage. “Now you will know it, as well.”
God knew, Olivia needed to get the hell out of this conversation.
She looked at her boss, who stood watching the scene unfold with amusement.
“Marshall, tomorrow we need to discuss the option of a cash crop this fall. The numbers are inching toward the red, so it’s more than a light suggestion at this point.” Olivia had been analyzing the data on Coleson Creek’s first quarter profit and loss sheet, and while only slight, the decrease in margins alarmed her. “Harvest is only four months away and Benny’s asking for a game plan. It affects his fruit management schedule.”
He shook his head. “We’re a boutique vineyard producing some of the finest estate-grown wines in the industry, not simpleton farmers. No grapes grown on my property will go into a competitor’s bottle.”
Pride wouldn’t pay the bills. “I’ve run several reports for you. The data shows we have adequate inventory to see us through the missed crop, and we’ll catch up again with the next harvest. Comparing existing inventory with my long-term sales projections, I believe we have plenty already bottled, and the Pinot Gris and Chardonnay barreled right now will be ready in October.”
The reds were a different animal. They required years in the barrel, so they’d take a hit on stock with a skipped harvest, but the decision was obvious. The numbers weren’t on their side.
“Your expanded distribution deal will give us the boost we need.”
“Yes, it’ll bump us up a bit, but what we need more than anything is capitol. Cash money to filter and bottle what we already have barreled. The grapes still on the vine are worthless if we harvest them for Coleson Creek, but don’t have the resources to bottle them once they age out. It’s a one-time crop sell. Vineyards do it all the time.”
“Leave the harvest decisions to me, Olivia. I’ve been making wine since you were in diapers.”
“I worked my ass off for that five-year distribution agreement, and if I can’t produce enough product for Trey Gillis year over year, it won’t matter that we’re an estate-grown winery. We’ll be in breach of contract.”
“Perhaps the discourse between my VP of sales and the future president of this company is aiding our sluggish sales. There’s a rumor circulating that your husband has publicly stated his desire to see this vineyard go up in smoke.”
Future president? In denial, Marshall refused to believe Ash had abandoned Coleson Creek for good.
“Ash might not want anything to do with this place, but he would never go on a public crusade to defame us. I don’t think he cares enough to bother. He honestly couldn’t give two shits about this place.”
She had a feeling Trey was behind the rumor, trying to save face and soothe his ego after striking out.
“I’m giving you a direct order. Strengthen the ties with him, Olivia, or cut them altogether. It’s got to be one way or the other, because this gray area nonsense is hurting the company. And then we need to make it public knowledge. We’ll host an industry party and spin it in our favor, either way.”
Staring at his retreating back, she swallowed the words bubbling over. This is my life you’re talking about. My marriage. My livelihood. And you just gave me an ultimatum that encapsulates all of them into one big fucking PR stunt.
But she didn’t say it. She didn’t say anything.
“Oh, and Olivia?” He turned, a hand on his office door. “As your father-in-law, I don’t think it would be very gracious of me to speculate as to what the real motivation behind that is.” Pointing to her luggage, his words were measured. “But as your boss, I appreciate you going the extra mile for the good of the vineyard, and I assure you, your efforts will be reflected in your earnings. Tell your friend he has an obligation to his family and as his father, I expect him to honor it. Maybe we’ll have a new CEO by fall. You two can share an office.”
The double doors clicked shut behind him, and Olivia stood there, stunned.
He thought this was about the vineyard. That she was using sex to bring Ash back into the fold. Totally copacetic with it, too. After all, he’d asked her to do whatever it took to make that happen less than a month ago. Apparently high morals weren’t mandatory for his VP of sales.
The vineyard wasn’t the reason she was spending the summer with Ash.
First, she wasn’t a prostitute. Second, she didn’t need his help to run this vineyard, or to increase their profit margins, or to give her multiple orgasms. And third, she was absolutely never sharing an office with him. Bodily fluids, yes. Offices, no.
The real reason she was spending the summer with Ash was that sonogram photo.
“You have your pillows, right?” Rosa gestured for her car keys and handed them to Benny when he ambled through the door. “Our Olivia is going to spend the summer with her husband. Isn’t that splendid news? Oh, allow me to cook the reunited couple their first dinner at home again. I have enchiladas in the oven right now. My mijo, he likes beef, but all I have is cheese.”
She worried her lip, no doubt calculating the time it would take to whip up some beef enchiladas.
Voice full of loathing, she settled the woman’s internal debate. “He’s a big boy. He’ll eat cheese or nothing.”
Rosa laughed and trotted into the kitchen, damn near giddy. Returning with enough steaming hot food containers to feed a horse, she shooed Benny out the door with the last of her suitcases.
Joining their hands, Rosa squeezed, a sheen of tears glistening in her eyes. “Be gentle with him, Olivia. Do not be rigid any longer. Do not let fear keep you distant. Do not let the pain of yesterday hurt you today. Release the hate from your heart and feel his love again. Despite what this world has taken from you, you must cherish what remains. Delight in what still belongs to you.”
In that moment, Olivia felt a maternal love so pure, so strong, she nearly wept from it.
It only reaffirmed her decision.
The wheels on her stalled life were spinning, losing ground every day. If she continued down this path, soon there’d be no more gas in the tank. She’d wake up one day, ankle deep in hairballs and kitty litter, wondering when she’d become a dried-up, post-menopausal woman who hoarded cats to compensate for her lack of children.
Ash was a dead end. She’d been chewed up and spit out traveling that road. Olivia just needed him to sign the divorce papers without a lengthy legal battle that would bankrupt her, financially and emotionally. If that meant giving him the green light to go down on her for an entire summer, then that was a pleasurable torture she’d endure.
Saying hello to a fresh start meant saying goodbye to him, once and for all. Oh, it would devastate her all over again, that was for sure. But when she’d lost something four years ago, she’d gained something else.
The strength to walk away from Asher Coleson.
Before he walked away from her.