Seduce Me Sweetly (Heron's Landing Book 1) (10 page)

Joy didn’t want to be persuaded. She didn’t want to hear Adam’s sob story. She didn’t want to let go of her anger and understand things. She wanted to stay mad and trip him when she saw him walking down the street.

Sometimes a girl just wanted to stay petty.

“I told you his wife Carolyn died, right?” Grace continued. “He hasn’t been the same since.” At Joy’s look, she added, “I’m not giving that as an excuse. But it’s true. He’s been…angry, I think. He wasn’t always like that.”

“But what does that have to do with me writing a story about the vineyard?”

Grace inhaled, brushing a leaf from her dress. “I can’t tell you all of the details, but I can say that there was a lot of media coverage when Carolyn died, and it was really painful for Adam. For all of us.”

Joy swiveled toward Grace. “Media coverage? Why?”

“Carolyn was the daughter of Trenton Young, the founder of Young & Co.” At Joy’s eyes widening, Grace said, “She was a sort of celebrity, especially around here.”

Joy—and everyone else in the United States—knew exactly what Young & Co. was: a store where you could basically buy anything you needed at prices that were surely illegal. You couldn’t go ten miles without seeing a Young & Co. store. Joy hadn’t known anything about the family, but she found herself intrigued regardless. Adam had been married to a celebrity? Who knew?

“So when she died, people reported on it, and Adam got mad?” Joy frowned. “That seems like a flimsy excuse to hate all journalists from here to eternity.”

“It would be, if that were the only reason.” Grace smiled sadly. “I can’t tell you anymore—I know, I know—because Adam asked that no one talk about it. I’m probably saying more than I should already. But suffice to say, he has his reasons. They may seem extreme, but sometimes when horrible things happen, we fight against whatever we can to preserve what we have left, you know?”

Joy fell silent at that. She marveled at this young woman—barely twenty-three years old—who could speak with such insight into human nature. Joy didn’t particularly want to be persuaded, but she could feel her anger cooling despite herself. She was still mad, but it was an anger tinged with curiosity to know why.

After talking for a little while longer, Joy and Grace parted. Joy returned to her apartment, where she drummed her fingers on her coffee table in thought. Did she go down that rabbit hole or not? Giving herself a reason to understand Adam Danvers more could possibly backfire, but then again, curiosity killed the cat was her M.O. in all things.

Opening up her laptop, she Googled “Carolyn Danvers,” receiving a number of hits regarding the accident and Carolyn’s subsequent death. She read about the car crashing into a tree, and how Carolyn had been DOA when taken to the hospital. Joy winced at the photos of the crash site: the car looked like Godzilla had picked it up and smashed it between its claws, it was so mangled. The accident had been just that: an accident due to rainy weather.

Clicking through more articles, she read about Carolyn’s various charities, her family’s influence, articles condemning the labor practices of Young & Co. She read about Carolyn’s days at Stanford as an undergraduate, and her marriage to Adam. She even found wedding photos of the two from seven years ago, and she was taken aback by how happy Adam looked. She’d never seen his face softened like that, almost bursting with love.

After that, she closed her laptop. Sitting back onto the couch, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for Adam and his entire family. To lose his wife in such a random, tragic way? They’d clearly loved each other. She couldn’t imagine the grief of losing a spouse like that. Her heart contracted, and she hated herself for feeling like this for him.

Torn between sympathy and anger, Joy didn’t know how to feel about Adam anymore. She couldn't like the guy, and she didn’t want anything to do with him, but she felt sorry for him all the same. She mourned the man he used to be before his wife had died.

She wished she hadn’t kissed him, yet part of her couldn’t regret that she had.

Chapter Eight

Adam was stewing. Stewing and drinking and feeling generally sorry for himself. He knew and he wasn’t proud of it. But sometimes a person needed to sit and wallow for a bit, and then you could go back to your life and move the hell on.

He finished his third beer, sighing. Morose music played in the background of his house; the lights were dimmed. If he’d put on black eyeliner and gotten his lip pierced, he could’ve given one of those emo kids a run for their money. Were kids still doing that these days? Adam stared at his beer can, wondering. Grace had been friends with a self-described emo kid who’d renamed himself Lucifer back in junior high, but Adam had missed that trend. Thank God.

His beer can empty, he debated whether or not four beers in two hours was excessive. Being not in the least bit slight in stature or overall body type, he barely felt buzzed. It would take a lot more than a few beers to get him hammered. And really, he didn’t want to get hammered. He just wanted to take the edge off. Stop thinking for a while.

Stop obsessing over Joy.

Joy—what an ironic name for the woman causing him anything but joy. He was equal parts still angry at her and angry at himself. He could only remember the look on her face when he accused of her basically whoring herself for a story: hurt, disgust, but mostly determination. Another small part of him was proud that she’d told him to shove it. Most women would’ve burst into tears. Not Joy, though. She’d do what she wanted to do and no one could stop her.

He had to admire that drive, even if it was against what he wanted her to do.

A knock sounded on the door. “Adam, open up! I know you’re in there!”

He glanced at the door. Grace was here. Grace was here? His little sister didn’t usually venture over to his house, preferring to see him at their parents’ place. Mostly because his house was rather stark at the moment, and he had to admit, depressing. Either a wall was blank or had photos of his dead wife still hanging up. It was a bit like a memorial in this house. Adam hadn’t changed a thing since Carolyn had died—not replaced the sun-bleached curtains, or removed the green gingham duvet cover, or stopped using the plates they’d gotten at their wedding.

He hauled himself off the couch, grunting. His sister had her hands on her hips, her foot tapping against the welcome mat. “Took you long enough,” she said irritably as she entered.

He just grunted.

Grace plopped down onto the couch. Today, her hair was in two French braids, and she wore large, hoop earrings and a flowy skirt.

“Want a beer?” he asked.

“No, I’m good.”

He shrugged. He got himself another beer, although Grace made a point to give him major side-eye as he opened the can.

“What?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re pouting.”

Pouting? Men didn’t
pout.
They stewed, they simmered, they pondered at length—they didn’t pout.

“I’m not pouting,” he said, glaring at his sister. He had the petty urge to pull on her braid like when they were kids.

“Yes, you are, and you have no right to. I talked to Joy. She basically hopes you fall off a cliff and die at this point, you know.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel…badly?”

Grace sighed. “Well, you shouldn’t be acting like you’re the hurt party. Because you were the asshole. A huge one. A gaping asshole, in fact. I had half a mind to help Joy push you off that cliff.”

Well, that’s a lovely sentiment to hear from one’s sister
, he thought.
Did his entire family want to murder him now?

“I’m not going to apologize for getting upset,” he said in a gruff voice. He took another swig of beer, feeling his blood buzz slightly from the alcohol. “I asked her not to write about the vineyard. She’s doing it anyway. It’s unethical and she’s a liar.”

Silence fell for a moment. Adam was sure he’d made his point and that Grace would leave, but she just plucked his beer can from his hand and set it on the side table. “Dearest brother,” she said. “Dearest, idiotic, arrogant brother. Joy may have lied—a white lie, really—but you could’ve handled it all much better than you did.”

“How should I have handled it?” The words came out harsher than he intended, but dammit, she’d taken his beer and he didn’t feel like being lectured by his younger sister.

“Like—I don’t know—a gentleman? A thoughtful human being? You implied she was a whore and wanted to use you for her own gain. When she only wanted to help.” Grace sighed again. “I get why you’re touchy about it. I do. But being a complete asshole isn’t going to help your case either. You might also tell her why, exactly, you’re so touchy.”

He stubbornly pushed away Grace’s words, although they clawed at his gut regardless. He had been an asshole. He had overreacted. He had treated Joy terribly. But at the thought of telling her exactly why he had this intense antipathy toward journalists? No. He couldn’t.

“I wasn’t going to say this,” Grace said, “but if you think Joy wasn’t hurt by your words, you’re wrong. I don’t think she’s the type who would ever show it. She’ll just make your life hell in revenge. But if you’d seen her face when I talked to her? She didn’t deserve that, Adam.”

And now his gut was in ribbons. He had assumed—wrongly—that Joy had just been mad and would do what she wanted. But he realized that she was more like him than he’d known: pushing down her hurt feelings and vulnerability and giving the impression that no hurt had been caused.

Ah, damn. He’d fucked up majorly.

Guilt filled him until he got up and snagged his beer back. He needed something to dull that feeling. Anger he could deal with; anger meant no action was needed. But guilt? Guilt implied making things right and apologizing. Guilt implied that he’d experience its sharp hooks for years to come, tearing his skin ragged each time.

“Shit,” he said before finishing off his beer.

Grace laughed, rolling her eyes again. “I’m assuming that means you’re going to go beg Joy for forgiveness and then announce that you’re an asshole in the town square?”

“We don’t have a town square.”

She waved a hand. “You know what I mean. You could do it at Trudy’s. Just stand up and tell the patrons how much of a huge dick you are.”

He frowned. “I thought I was just an asshole.”

“Same difference. Point being, what are you going to do about it?”

He squirmed. He felt a bit like when his mom had chastised him back in grade school.
How are you going to make this right, Adam?
she’d ask him, a delicately plucked eyebrow raised.

He finally gave in and, reaching over, tugged on one of Grace’s braids. “You aren’t my mother, brat.”

“Somebody’s gotta tell you when you’re screwing up,” she replied with a sniff. “And Mom’s too busy right now. So I’ll sacrifice my time to do it.”

“Wow, what a martyr you are.”

She sat primly, her nose in the air, and Adam couldn’t help but laugh. She smiled, laughing with him. Then she got out her phone and began texting.

His stomach roiled. “Who are you texting?”

“Joy.”

“Why are you texting her?”

“To tell her you’re coming by to apologize—”

He snagged the phone out of her hand, but it was too late. He heard the swoosh sound that the message had been sent. He glared at her, but she just shrugged.

“You can either sit here and pout, or do something. And now you will.” She patted his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

If he could strangle his sister, Adam would. Instead, he just glared at her. He was going to apologize, but in his own time. Plus, it was nine o’clock Did Joy even want people over this late?

Grace’s phone sounded, and she smiled widely. “Joy says, ‘I’ll only forgive him if he brings strawberry macarons and white wine. And only if he begs me on his knees.’ That sounds doable.”

Adam didn’t even know what macarons were, let alone where he’d get them. “She’ll have to make do with just an apology,” he said dryly.

Grace texted his response, and then laughed at her phone a few moments later. But all she said was, “Okay, she’s expecting you within the hour. Get ready.”

He didn’t know what the hell he’d say—could he just go with a straightforward “I’m sorry” and leave it at that?—but he couldn’t really get out of this, either. His sister had always been devious, but this took the cake.