Cassian

It's early evening by the time I get to the winery. Patrick and his workers are finished with the daily work quota. And while I have no concern over their plans, my head is spinning. All I want to do is call Pen, but my phone is dead and I left the charger at home. I'm still reeling from last night's confrontation. The confrontation where I got no information out of Penelope regarding what her comment meant. My level of frustration is making me want to uncork a bottle of whisky and down half the contents from the bottle. Or smoke a pack of cigarettes.

Fuck. You know things are off when you can't figure out which is the bigger priority: alcohol or smokes.

I sit down at the table that's covered in drywall dust, taking a sip from my water bottle. The water is refreshing, but nowhere near as refreshing as a glass of whisky would be. I'm about to fire up my laptop and catch up on some paperwork and payments when I realize that it, too, is at home.

"Damn it," I mutter.

I shrug out of my suit jacket and drop it on the floor. It's coated in dust and splinters of tile and wood, but it's nothing a little laundry detergent and spin cycle won't fix. My tie follows, and then I unbutton the cuffs on my shirt. I then remove some papers from today from my bag.

The winery is closed, but Ophelia gave me a key in case I needed to do any extensive inspections. I hope she doesn't mind I came here for a reprieve from Penelope's distant attitude. She's so preoccupied with Patrick and our upcoming meeting with Tessa, she won't sit down and have a drink with me. She also won't explain what her stupid comment meant.

You're in so deep you can't see what's in front of you.

Frustrated, I run a hand through my hair. I don't know what she means. After years of balancing the different aspects of life, I thought I was doing a good job. I thought my work life, social life, and romance life were well-balanced as opposed to being skewed. Maybe I was wrong. I glance around the disastrous coffee shop and sigh. Do I invest too much time in work? Do the fundamental values of success blind me?

I expel a loud expletive. Today has sucked, and the one person I'd like to talk to, who could provide me with answers I need, won't talk to me. As if it matters. My goddamn phone is dead—I couldn't call her even if she wasn't stuck in her bubble. I glance down at my phone, ready to pick it up and toss it across the room. But breaking something expensive will not solve my issues.

I'm in the middle of removing a cigarette from my pack when the door swings open. I know it's Ophelia before I've seen her, based on the way she slams the door and the click of her heels on the hardwood. She's mad about something. Something I'm assuming has to do with the cigarette in my hand. I inspect the corners of the ceiling, noting two blinking red lights. She must have been in the security room. Sighing, I lean back in my chair and wait for the explosion.

Ophelia rounds the corner and props her fists on her hips. I've never seen an angry Ophelia, but I'm not afraid. In fact, I'm in the mood for some hot drama. I flick my gaze up to Ophelia's fiery one, noting the just as hot lipstick on her lips. It's blood-red. I fucking hate it. But I love the pale grey pantsuit she's wearing. The pants are high rise and the shirt she's wearing underneath is white and lacy with a low dip that makes my sexual urges burn. Her heels are as red as her lipstick.

I want to kiss that lipstick off and peel her clothes from her body. And then I want to pin her against the wall and fuck her. I want to show her why we'd be a remarkable power couple. Show her what she's missing by denying herself love. Love fortifies our places in the world. Without it, we'd feel lost and insecure. We'd grow up to be terrible people that lack morals. Somewhere, beneath all that business snobbiness, Ophelia's has an actual heart. Not a machine one.

And if I have to tick her off to activate it, then so be it.

Besides, drama sounds like an excellent distraction from Penelope.

"What're you doing here?" I drawl. Feeling bold, I withdraw my lighter and light the cigarette. I bring it to my mouth and inhale, and then slowly exhale the smoke from my lungs.

Her jaw twitches. "Excuse me?"

"You let yourself in without knocking." Inhale. Exhale.

"I own this winery, Cassian," she snarls. With purpose, she removes the cigarette from my hand and stubs it out on the plywood floor. It leaves a prominent burn mark behind. "And there are several no smoking signs up around the building. What makes you think you may smoke in here?"

"It's a construction zone," I shrug, shaking my head as I stare at the wasted cigarette. What is with women destroying my anxiety medication? At leat I'm not addicted to drugs. I'm tempted to grab another cigarette and light it up. But if I do that, I have a feeling I'll lose another pack of smokes. What a fateful loss that would be.

Ophelia rolls her eyes. "Oh, really? I had no idea."

"I applaud your sarcasm," I drawl, clapping my hands. "Its utterly adorable." My smirk broadens. "See what I did there?"

She rolls her eyes again.

"Anyway," I continue, "what are you doing here? How did you know I was here?"

Her cheeks turn pink.

I lean forward, resting my chin on my fist. "Were you spying on me, Ophelia? Through the security cameras?"

She straightens her posture. "I was reviewing statistics with one of my coworkers," she replies, tipping her chin up. "Until I caught someone smoking in an area where it's banned. I thought giving him a lesson would prove effective as opposed to letting him get away with it."

"What kind of lesson?" I tease, turning up my charm. Penelope told me to be myself around Ophelia, so that's what I'm doing. Although I want to act professionally and prove I can be serious, it's not in my nature. And why should I change to satisfy her? People are supposed to accept each other for who they are. "Personally, I prefer less kinky versions, but if you had something specific in mind, I may be open to trying it. Handcuffs are always interesting."

Her mouth drops open. "Cassian!"

"What?" I laugh. "You walked right into that one, O."

Ophelia waves my comment off as she glances at my messy surroundings. My jacket is dustier than before, and the papers spread across the table are scattered. "Why are you here? I gave you the key to inspect renovation progress. Not create a bigger mess."

"Penelope has some friends over," I lie. I promised Penelope and Patrick I wouldn't say anything about their newfound relationship, and I intend to keep that promise. Lying to people doesn't bother me when there's a credible reason behind it. "I needed a quiet space to finish papers I've been neglecting. But I left my phone charger at home and forgot my laptop. I was too focused on getting out of there for some alone time." I shoot a small glare at her. "At least, I thought I was going to be alone."

She presses her lips into a flat line, which I ignore. I should apologize for being rude to her the other day, but my ego won't allow it. I'm still sore from the disastrous date. Rejection isn't fun to experience. That aside, there's a sliver of hope in my heart. She kissed me back.

Suppressing a sigh, I glance out the window. The beach outside of Utterly Uncorked is quiet. In the lamp's glow, I can see orange and yellow leaves falling from the trees. With October coming up and the weather being unusually cold for this time of year, fall has crept into the Okanagan early. Penelope and I are hoping to be out of here before snow hits the Connector, but things aren't looking promising. Everywhere we look, something in this room isn't up to code or poses a fire safety risk.

"You lied to me," I say.

"What?" Ophelia asks. She sounds appalled.

I continue to stare outside, wondering how Pen's doing. I'm glad she's back on her feet, but I'm worried she bounced back too fast. She's been in search of her biological parents for years, and now she's pushed them aside and only seems to care about her brother. They are twins. Maybe there's some kind of connection that was activated. What concerns me the most, though, is how her parents kept Patrick and not her. When the time comes, when she decides she's ready to meet them, I'm worried she will not receive the results she wants. Her vindictive parents had a reason behind giving her up, and I don't know if Pen will handle the truth.

"You told me there would be no structural or functional issues," I murmur. For a split second, I remember our date and the disastrous results. But then Penelope takes over my mind again. I run a frustrated hand through my hair. Why can't I get her out of my head? "So far, we've had problems with the piping, fraying electrical wires, and now we need the insulation to be up to code. Who knows what's next?"

"You haven't gone over budget yet," she replies.

"We were aiming to come out under budget, though," I reply, turning back to her. I sigh. "What are you doing here, Ophelia? I thought we were business partners." I make a motion between us. "This conversation doesn't feel like business. This feels like you're trying to pry information from me. What do you want?"

She traces the knotted wood pattern on the table. "I've been mulling over our dinner, Cassian," she admits.

"Wow," I reply, rolling my eyes. "That's great. Is there more salt you want to rub into the wound?" I push my pack of cigarette toward her. "Or maybe more cigarettes you want to destroy?"

She gives me a deadpan look. "Cassian."

"Ophelia," I challenge.

"I wanted to give this a second chance," she blurts. "I feel responsible for making you uncomfortable. Perhaps I was too blatant and didn't give you enough credit. I didn't calculate how many years we've been apart and nor did I realize how much you've changed. While I could go without the sarcasm and immaturity, there's something compelling about you."

A crease forms between my brows. While the concept of spending another evening with Ophelia excites me, my heart isn't pounding in my chest. My hands aren't clammy. Huh. It's strange to not feel the same sensations I did during our first outing. But maybe I'm suffering from FDD—first date disappointment. I've heard second dates can be much better than first ones.

"Okay," I shrug. I collect my papers. There's no use in me staying here when I don't have my laptop. Besides, Penelope is probably asleep by now. "Pick the place, time, and date, and text me the details. I'll be there."

As if she wasn't expecting me to agree, her eyes widen and she nods. "Oh, um, okay. Yes. That sounds good. I will text you in the morning. I need to review my schedule before I set a date."

I shrug on my suit jacket to mask a cringe. Maybe I'm making a mistake. Maybe there's no way to guide Ophelia away from falling into the business trap.

But it's difficult to resist the vulnerable expression on her face—it makes her seem human.

"Well," I say, standing up. "I'll see you around. It was nice talking to you, Ophelia."

"You, too," she replies.

Without making another move or comment, I step past her and head for the exit. I'm wondering if I'm going to regret agreeing to this, if I'm just setting myself up for another wave of disappointment. I hope that's not the case, but you never know. A woman's character is hard to judge; they're very complicated creatures with a much more complex brain than males. I do my best to understand them, but sometimes I have to shake my head and throw my hands up in the air. Ophelia made it clear she didn't want romance in her life. So why has she come asking for another date?

"Cassian?" Ophelia asks as I grab the door handle.

"Yeah?" I glance over my shoulder.

"Why do you smoke?"

"To calm the nerves," I reply.

And then I step out of the renovation site, leaving Ophelia behind in the dust and dim lighting.