15. Butterscotch + Bourbon

Part 1/2 for this update!

"Here! Pull in here!" Haven shouts from the passenger's seat, gesturing wildly for me to pull into the parking lot of a large white building. Huge Greek columns run from the ground floor up to the roof, five stories above our heads.

Exactly forty-nine minutes after hanging up with Haven on Jayce's bed, I semi-gracefully park Presley's Fiat and kill the engine. Haven and Jayce tumble out of Pres' tiny car, which gave the two boys trouble when they tried to fit their long legs and torsos inside the compact vehicle. Watching them clamber out would have been a hilarious sight had our current reason for being here not been so sobering.

Haven had given us an extremely annoyed look when I'd shown up at home with Jayce, and in his clothes, to boot.

"You told him?" Haven had asked darkly, but before even giving me a chance to answer, he had immediately fallen into hushed, intense conversation with Jayce. I'd ran straight into mom's closet to don something a bit more appropriate for meeting with a lawyer, the awkwardness of the moment not even registering until several minutes later.

It felt strange to be in such adult-y clothes, but I kind of liked it. I honestly felt a bit badass, being so professionally dressed. Almost like a secret agent.

Jayce and Haven both looked very well put together in dark slacks and button up shirts that seemed to showcase their bulging muscles and perfect, athletic physiques. As I follow them up the stairs, between the columns and into the building, I notice that Jayce is significantly larger than my brother. Between being a few inches taller than Haven and playing a position that didn't require quite as much cardio, Jayce was even more ripped than I'd realized.

I swear, a guy in a nice, fancy-ass lookin' outfit is just about as irresistible for me as I imagine girls in lingerie are for guys. And Jayce is rocking the hell out of his button up. Ugh.

He's dating someone, Fallon. Stop.

We're in a small lobby area with sleek, white tile flooring, black marble walls, an intricate, coffered ceiling and several tall copper planters with an array of greenery in each.

My black heels clack on the tile as Haven checks the directory by the elevator and presses the call button, "Third floor."

Jayce runs his fingers through his hair and glances down at me with a nervous smile. "You okay?"

The truth is, I've barely even had time to process what's about to happen. I'm extremely grateful that I have Haven, and Jayce for that matter, to do this with me. I don't know if I'd have been able to do any of this on my own, and honestly, I probably wouldn't have wanted to.

I take a deep breath and readjust the strap of the bag on my shoulder, my stomach already a maze of knots. "We'll see," I say, giving him my best attempt at a smile.

"Yeah, 'we'll see,' that's for damn sure," Haven grumbles as he paces back and forth with his fists clenched at his sides.

"It's a bit late for this," Jayce says loudly, his voice echoing off the tile. "But what are we going to say to this guy?"

I see Haven's jaw set and his eyebrows press together. "We are not going to say anything," Haven growls. "Fallon and I are going to get some answers about what happened between Jeffers, our dad and your dad. You are going to stay quiet... And the hell away from my sister."

Oh, shit.

I fight to keep a poker face, not sure if I'm grateful or annoyed that Haven wants the town playboy to stay away from me.

Jayce's eyes narrow at Haven as the elevator dings and its shiny gold doors slide open in front of us.

"I'm just as involved in this as you two are," Jayce hisses back as we step in the elevator and he jams his thumb into the round "3" button, the doors silently sliding closed. "And the only reason she stayed at my house last night is because she was too fucking plastered to drive home and I wasn't about to have your little sister's blood on my hands. If all I wanted was to get in her pants, trust me, it would've happened already," Jayce finishes, his intense glare daring Haven to respond.

Welp.

Probably shouldn't mention that Jayce has seen me naked. Or that our erotic grinding session has got me desperately trying to not long for more.

"You aren't even supposed to be here," Haven sneers.

Ding.

"I want answers just as badly as you do," Jayce matches Haven's tone. "My dad is the one who hired this guy, anyway."

Ding.

Haven's entire face is turning beet red and he looks furious enough to actually punch Jayce in the face. "At least your dad is alive and you can hear his side of the fucking story!" Haven shouts.

Ding.

The guys glare at each other as the elevator doors slide open to reveal a stunning, carved mahogany desk that probably would've held a receptionist had we been here during normal business hours.

I step through their wall of tension and out of the elevator, into a small but well-decorated waiting area. I peek down the dark halls on either side and quickly spot light spilling out of a single open door.

"Get the fuck over yourselves," I whisper harshly at the bickering pair behind me. "We're all a part of this, whether we like it or not. Now Haven, what exactly did you say to get this guy to come in on a Sunday?"

"I left him a voicemail saying that I know what he did with Benjamin Rhodes," he answers quietly and shrugs, seeming to have calmed down a bit. "He called me back almost immediately and asked me when the soonest was that I could meet with him."

"He doesn't know who we are?"

"Yeah, I never told him my name."

"I think I'm just gonna let you do the talking." I have no fucking clue what we're about to walk into, and now isn't exactly the time to figure out a strategy or game-plan.

He nods curtly and confidently strides down the hallway.

Jayce and I quickly follow behind him, my heels clicking on the bland flooring. As we approach the illuminated office, Jayce takes my hand in his and gives it a quick squeeze before dropping it just as quickly as he'd grabbed it. The familiar zap of electricity pings through my body at his touch. I glance up at him, but his eyes are glued to the open door, his jaw clenched and prominent.

We step through the open doorway into a modern, well-lit corner office with large windows. The office smells distinctly of butterscotch and bourbon.

Against the same wall as the door, hundreds of books line massive black bookshelves, while twin black leather couches face each other, separated by a carved, wooden coffee table. A glass drink cart sits surreptitiously in the corner and opposite of the sitting area, framed awards and degrees hang above a glossy black L-shaped desk, the entire space boasting with undeniable professionalism.

Gazing out one of the large windows is a shorter man dressed in a black suit. He turns to face us when we enter, and he appears to be in his early 50s. He's a fairly good looking man, clean shaven with well kept but obviously greying brown hair.

He quickly takes us in and plasters a slightly unnerving smile on his face that doesn't reach up to his tiny brown eyes.

He steps over toward the couches, gestures to them and says, "Come. Sit," in a deep, gruff voice. We walk over to his sitting area as he extends his hand, "Tom Jeffers," he says, shaking hands with Haven first.

"James Walker," Haven lies so smoothly it's almost scary, taking the man's hand firmly in his own and shaking it once. "And this is my sister, Beth. We work for the Goldcrest Guardian. We're in the middle of an exclusive origin story on Duende Vineyards, and we've got a couple questions for you."

I have no idea where he got the fake identities or occupation lie from, but damn, he even sold me on it and I know it's all fake.

Something that looks an awful lot like relief twinkles in Jeffers' eyes as he sits on the black leather couch opposite us.

We're about to sink into the couch when Haven steps from my right to my left side, effectively positioning himself to sit in between me and Jayce. I feel my cheeks redden slightly at his awkwardness as we settle onto the chilly leather. Was that necessary?

"Very well then." Jeffers motions his chin toward Jayce. "Who's he?"

My shoulders tense slightly as Jayce begins to open his mouth and I'm worried he's going to somehow manage to blow our cover when Haven suddenly grips very high on Jayce's thigh and says, "This is my boyfriend, Conner. He used to work at Duende. He's the one who tipped us off about its often overlooked origins."

Oh. My. God.

I have to admit, that cover was brilliant, and I have to work extra hard to keep a straight face. I do wonder, though, how Haven has the ability to lie so convincingly. I wouldn't be surprised if it's a talent he's picked up over the years as he's had to weave stories about why he never called his one-night-stands back. It's uncomfortable to think about how many girls my brother has slept with, but it reminds me that he literally has zero ability to judge Jayce or myself for our choice in romantic partners.

Jayce lets out an uncharacteristically feminine giggle as he lifts his hand and tousles Haven's hair playfully, a brilliant smile plastered on his olive face.

They seem so natural, I can't help but wonder if they've used the cover of being a couple before.

"Got it," Jeffers nods, his eyes darting a few feet away to the drink cart. "Would any of you like a pick-me-up?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Jayce replies in a slightly different voice.

I shake my head no.

"I'll have whatever you're having, sir," Haven gives an award-winning smile, which earns him a pleased hmmph from Jeffers as he hoists himself off the couch and waddles toward the cart.

Glass clinks in the silent room as Haven asks, "So, Mr. Jeffers-"

"-Call me Tom," the man grunts as he turns around with two lowball glasses that each contain a healthy amount of amber liquid.

"So, Tom," Haven begins again as he takes the glass. "How long have you been involved with Duende?"

Jeffers sinks back into the couch, which gives under his weight with a small pffff. He takes a sip of his drink before answering, "Not very long," he says with a soft smile. "They hired me to do some... document reorganization for them about about 14 years ago."

"I see," Haven leans forward as he takes a thoughtful sip from his glass. "And, ah," he sets the drink down on the coffee table with a thump, exuding confidence. "I have a reliable source confirming that you helped rewrite the partnership agreement between Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Solis, is that right?"

"That's right," Jeffers straightens up a bit from his sinking seat in the plush sofa. "Damn good that I did, too. That thief Rhodes had it coming."

I feel my lips tighten as I restrain myself from saying something that could blow our cover to the jackass across the coffee table.

"How, exactly, would you describe your relationship with the owners?" Haven asks quickly.

Jeffers smirks as he peers at us with an air of superiority, "Purely professional and contractual."

I can't help myself. Adrenaline is racing through me and the question bursts right out. "You had a professional relationship, yet you say that Rhodes was a thief who supposedly 'had it coming'? Care to explain how that works?"

Jeffers eyes snap to me and I suddenly know how it would feel to be inspected beneath a microscope. His stare is unrelenting.

"Benjamin Rhodes was manipulative and crafty. He was swindling Mr. Solis out of millions of dollars that he didn't work for. Mr. Solis hired me not to rewrite a contract, but to bring justice."

"Tom," Haven leans forward, though Jeffers continues to stare at me. "In your own words, why did Alexei Solis tell you he wanted to expel Benjamin Rhodes as his business partner?"

"Aren't you supposed to be writing this stuff down?" Jeffers reproves, his eyes trailing back to Haven as he takes another sip from his glass.

"Memory," Haven taps his temple and flashes Jeffers another sparkling smile. "I find that recorders and notepads spoil the authenticity of an interaction."

"And this is what you'd call authentic?" Jeffers wipes the twitching corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.

Haven swallows. "I would certainly hope so, sir. You're the only one who can share your side of the story, after all. And if I were you, I'd want to be as honest as possible."

Jeffers heaves a sigh and is silent for a long moment before a twisted smile crosses his face and he slowly asks, "Why don't you do us both a favor and tell me what your real names are and what you're actually here for, hmm? Are you cops?"

"Cops?" Jayce speaks suddenly, looking bored and annoyed. "We've already told you who we are and why we're here," his voice seems to imply that Jeffers is about as irritating as a pesky mosquito that won't quit buzzing around his head. "We know for an absolute fact that the Solis and Rhodes family hate each other and that somehow, you are part of why. So, unless you want the entire state thinking that you're unable to contain feuds between partners whose contracts you're responsible for, I would suggest you show some damn respect to these lovely journalists and answer their questions as if your career and reputation depends on it. Because, as it so happens, it does. What they write about you will make or break your future as the top business lawyer in Northern California, Tom," Jayce lies expertly, leaning back to cross his left ankle onto his right knee. He rests his arms on the back of the couch and gives Jeffers an incredibly intimidating smirk that practically screams, "I dare you to fuck with me."

Jeffers is as white as a sheet. He's doing his best to look composed, but he's also clearly failing at that ambition.

Me on the other hand? I'm currently needing a cold shower. I don't know why or how Jayce can slip under my skin so damn easily, but his little speech has gotten me painfully worked up.

I hate it. I hate him.

Everything about him is a like a fucking drug to me, and all I want is to be sober. All I want is to not care about every damn move that Goldcrest's goalie makes.

But I also want more. God, do I want more.

Fuck, shut up.

"Well, then," Jeffers clears his throat and straightens up, downing the remnants of his drink and loudly dropping the empty cup on the coffee table. "What do you want to know?"

Haven answers quickly, probably so as to not give Jayce nor I the chance to say something too dumb. "What went down between Alexei Solis, Benjamin Rhodes and yourself with the writing and signing of the now current partnership agreement for Duende Vineyards?"

Jeffers studies the three of us with narrowed eyes as he tells us in a reluctant tone, "Mr. Solis hired me to rewrite the partnership agreement based on the fact that Benjamin Rhodes was no longer working at the vineyard. He was, as you may know, a remarkable prosecutor, and Mr. Solis felt that the amount of hours Benjamin was not spending at Duende was in breach of their original contract. Benjamin was still receiving 50% even though he barely spent any time working at the vineyard. He was receiving a quarter of a million dollars a year that he wasn't working for, while Mr. Solis spent endless hours pouring into Duende. Their original agreement simply needed to be revisited."

I feel my breath draw in at his declaration of my father's second income. A quarter of a million dollars a year?

Jeffers continues, "Benjamin signed the new contact, agreeing to turn full ownership over to Mr. Solis. After that, after the new contract was written and signed, my job was done. I still do some legal work for Mr. Solis from time to time, but that's it." He shifts slightly in his seat on the leather couch, keeping eye contact with Haven the whole time.

Haven, as cool and collected as ever, follows up with another probing question, "And, uh," he produces his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. My heart almost stops in my chest when I see the photo he's about to show. "What exactly would you make of this, then?" Haven holds his phone out towards Jeffers, who holds it at arms length, squinting at the small print on the illuminated screen. "What did Alexei think you and Ben had planned, Tom?"

I study Jeffers' face as he reads the letter my father wrote to Alexei Solis 10 days before he died.

..."Please don't make me do this"...

Something related to fear crosses Jeffers' features for a brief moment before he expression slips back into one of boredom.

"What do I make of this? That's some heavy shit, kid. I've never seen that note in my life, and I have no idea what it's about," he huffs, handing the phone back to Haven. "How about you answer a question for me now?"

"Sure, sir."

"What in the hell were you talking about in the voicemail you left me? You said you knew what I did with Benjamin Rhodes?" Jeffers' cheeks redden and a vein threatens to pop out of his forehead as he works himself up with every syllable. "What exactly did you mean by that?"

"This note, sir," Haven replies innocently. "That's all I had questions about. It's a bit suspicious, you see."

I gotta say, I'm pretty damn impressed with Haven's rhetoric and improv skills. But I've known since I was a kid that when Haven wants something, he usually gets it.

"Suspicious?" Jeffers barks, his eyebrows knitting together.

I couldn't, for the life of me, get a good read on this guy. I have no idea if he's bullshitting us or actually being honest. The fact that I'm hella hungover and in need of a large itch to be scratched definitely isn't helping me keep a focused and clear mind, either.

"Yes, sir," Haven stands from the couch and begins pacing around the room like I'd imagine Sherlock Holmes would. "Fourteen years ago, a business lawyer helps rewrite a partnership agreement that supposedly gets implemented without a hitch. And yet, three years after, a now-dead-man writes a note to his former partner, begging for mercy for something he's been accused of planning with the likes of you? And for a decade the families continue the feud like modern day Montagues and Capulets? Forgive me, sir, but something about this equation isn't quite adding up."

Shit, he's in full on detective mode now. I literally feel like I'm sitting back and watching a movie plot-line roll out right before my eyes.

"What are you suggesting?" Jeffers grumbles as he loosens the paisley-patterned lavender tie around his neck.

Haven is suddenly slamming his hands on the coffee table, causing Jeffers and myself to lurch. Haven leans over the table so that he's right in Jeffers' face as he growls, "I'm suggesting that you're more cunning and calculating than meets the eye, sir. I'm suggesting that you have a secret, and I'm also suggesting that we are going to expose it."

With every word that leaves Haven's mouth, Jeffers eyes widen. Yet, his features are again quickly masked by disinterest and indifference. He swallows loudly, "I think it's time for you all to go."

"Great idea," Haven responds as Jayce and I rise from our seats.

Jeffers quickly leaps up from the couch and stalks back over to his desk, where he plops into his cushy chair and turns away from us, looking out the large window.

Haven, Jayce and I exchange unsure glances before heading toward Jeffers' office door. I need an Advil the size of frickin' California.

"Goodbye, Jayce Solis," Jeffers' voice drawls lazily from over our shoulder as my breath is stolen from my lungs. "And to you, too, Haven and Fallon Rhodes."

~~~

FUCK! He knows. Ahhhhhh!

What's gonna happen???

This is a double update (bc I loaf u🍞), so read on for more!

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