He should have seen the lie.
Should have fucking seen it.
Although even now, she still looked like a high-schooler.
Did she expect a response?
Nolan was standing in the winery building, staring down at the phone, when it rang. Brax was calling.
“I’ve sent Crystal’s case of Syrah,” Nolan told him, “but I might have gotten behind with the tracking numbers. They’re on an email somewhere.”
“I thought Alexa came to fix everything?”
“She didn’t, not yet.”
“She didn’t show up?”
“No, she didn’t fix everything. She lent me another laptop to use in the meantime, but admin isn’t my strong suit.”
Not since Lisanne left. She’d kept Nolan in line and helped out with the accounting. And the marketing. And the scheduling. Then she’d left, and there wasn’t enough money in the budget to replace her, not after she sabotaged the business in a fit of anger after their last fight. Thanks to several awards and word of mouth, sales were going great guns again, but everything else had slipped even before the ransomware incident.
“Don’t worry about Crystal’s gift—it arrived. I was just calling to say thank you and order another case for Lorella. She’s based at the DC club.”
By “club,” Brax meant one of the private members’ clubs he’d started with his share of Alexa’s ill-gotten gains. And by “private members’ clubs,” he meant sex clubs. Oh, sure, they had restaurants and spa facilities and business centres, but no one was going to Nyx for the fancy food. The chain catered to celebrities, politicians, even royalty, anyone with something to lose who valued discretion and was willing to pay for it. Which included shelling out five hundred bucks a bottle for Dionysus’s wine.
“We definitely have Zinfandel, but I’ll need to check on the Syrah.”
“Your stock system isn’t working either?”
“I put everything into a spreadsheet, but I’m behind with matching up the orders.”
“What’s taking Alexa so long? She’s a certifiable genius.”
“Don’t you mean ‘certified’?”
“I said what I said, and she was there over a month ago.”
“Who knows?”
“She hasn’t been giving you updates?”
“She’s messaged me once since she left, and that was to tell me about the monks who make wine on Saint-Honorat.”
“That’s weird.”
“Right. And I think she’s been tampering with my interior designer’s website.”
“That sounds more like Alexa. Is your designer a woman?”
“Yes?”
“Figures.”
“Why does it figure?”
“Because of the crush Alexa’s always had on you. It stands to reason that she’d be jealous of a woman who’s spending time at your place, especially?—”
“Wait a second, back up. What crush?”
