Billion Dollar Mistake by K.C. Crowne

Chapter 13

JOLENE

“Hot” wasn’t ever a word I went for when picking outfits. However, as I stared at myself in the mirror, taking in the sight of me in a red wraparound dress that hugged my curves and showed off just enough cleavage without being too scandalous, I couldn’t think of another way to describe my image. My hair was down, curled at the ends, and my eyes popped with the liner and shadow I’d applied.

It felt good. It wasn’t so much that I was obsessed with catching the eye of every man I happened to pass. More like that I enjoyed the idea of going out on a date with a man for whom I actually cared about looking good for. As I stepped into the pair of suede Frye booties I’d chosen to go with the outfit, it occurred to me that I’d never spent that much time thinking about what to wear for a date.

Maybe that was why I’d never had much luck with men, why I’d never had a serious relationship before, or anything that’d lasted more than a few weeks.

Don’t start with that shit,I told myself as I adjusted my hair in front of the mirror. The reason you never had a serious relationship is because you were a nerd in high school and too busy with becoming a freaking doctor after that.

My little pep talk helped. When I was done playing with my hair, I reached for the glass of Barefoot merlot that I’d placed on top of my dresser and took a sip. The taste of the cheap red wine made me think about Sawyer, how good it had tasted on his lips and tongue.

I was excited to see him and such a feeling about a date was new as hell to me. However, in the back of my head I had the urge to say something to him about how he’d treated me in the past. How would he react, I wondered? Would he be confused, not remembering it? Or would he laugh, tell me to get over it?

I took one more sip of the wine, setting the glass down just in time to hear a buzz from my phone on the nightstand. I hurried over to see that it was a text from the man himself.

Hey. In town now, should be there in ten.

Despite the lingering doubts that were still bouncing around in my head, I couldn’t help but smile.

Perfect. I’m ready.

He thumbs-upped the message and I set down my phone. There was a little more wine in the glass, so I tossed it back and let the slight, tingling buzz do its work on my nerves. The ten minutes flew by, a knock sounding at the door the moment I finished washing out the glass in the sink.

He was here. Another grin spread across my lips.

I took a quick glance in the small, circular mirror on the wall of my living room, making sure I was put together, then hurried to the door. I opened it and there he was.

As always, he looked stunning, like some impossibly suave combination of classic Hollywood and James Bond with his own spin put on it all. He was dressed in a crisp, white button-up, a pair of navy slacks, and some oxblood derbies that were to die for. Over his shoulder I spotted not his Porsche, but a black Jaguar crossover. Still a nice car, but something a little less conspicuous. A warm, handsome smile was on his stubble-dusted face, a small bouquet of sunflowers in his hand.

Everything about him seemed designed to make my heart stop. Part of me wanted to say screw it to the date and drag him into the bedroom.

“Wow. You look beautiful.”

“You, too.” My words were hardly enough to convey how I felt, how thrilled, and turned on I was at the sight of him.

When he lifted the bouquet of sunflowers, my heart skipped another beat.

“More flowers?” I asked, trying to hide how happy the sight of the simple arrangement made me.

“I saw them when I drove past the flower shop downtown and I couldn’t resist. And I thought they’d be a little more manageable than the bouquet I sent you earlier.”

He was right. The massive arrangement at the office was a real treat but the simple bundle of gorgeous, deep yellow sunflowers was the perfect, modest contrast.

“Mind if I put these in a vase before we head out?”

“Not at all.”

I smiled. “Come on in. Should only take a second.”

Once he was inside, I turned around and hurried into the kitchen, flowers in hand as I pulled a vase of dark green glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. As I turned to place the flowers in the vase, I saw that Sawyer was at the entrance to the kitchen. I froze.

Without a word, he looked me up and down with hungry eyes, as if he were debating taking me on the spot. Then he stepped over, took the vase out of my hands, and leaned in for a long, slow, deep kiss.

I closed my eyes and fell into it, his mouth opening just enough for him to slip his tongue between my lips in a teasing manner. But right when I was ready to give myself to him, he pulled back.

“I taste Barefoot,” he said as he glanced away thoughtfully. “But that’s not the cab.”

I was turned on like mad, my panties already soaked. Even so, I couldn’t help but laugh at his comment.

“That’s because it’s the merlot. Someone’s a connoisseur.”

He chuckled as he stepped away, looking me up and down once more when he was a few steps back. “You do look amazing. But I think I missed up your lipstick a bit.”

Still flustered, I hurried over to the mirror and checked my reflection. Sure enough, his kiss had smudged the red hue just a little.

“Let me just fix this really quick.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “But you should know that your lips are completely perfect. Believe me – I just tested them.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his intentionally corny joke.

“These work here?” he asked. I glanced in the mirror to see that he’d put the vase in the center of my small dining room table.

“Perfect,” I said as I put on a bit of lipstick to fix the spot he’d smudged with the kiss.

Once that was taken care of, he approached my side and slipped his arm around my hip.

“Ready to do this?”

“Ready.”

We shared a smile before he led me out of the house. Once we were outside, he made sure to watch carefully as I locked the front door, as if he weren’t sure if he trusted the lock to do its job. If he had any thoughts on the matter, he kept them to himself.

“Nice ride,” I said. “That the F-PACE Jaguar? Pretty nice, but I have to admit I had a soft spot for the 911 you pulled up in here the other day.”

“You into cars, huh?” he asked as he opened the passenger side door to let me in.

I slid into the soft, warmed, leather seat and waited for him to get in.

“Kinda sorta. I appreciate craftsmanship when I see it.”

Sawyer grinned as he turned over the engine and backed out of the driveway.

“If that’s the case, I have to ask…what’s with the beat-up Jeep?”

I glanced at my Jeep in the driveway, the body still splattered with mud from the trip to Bluff Park.

“Oh, her? She’s kind of my baby. Had her since college. Don’t know if I could even bear to give her up at this point.”

“And she’s a she?”

“Always got that kind of vibe from her. She’s been with me through a hell of a lot. It’s going to break my heart when I have to finally give her up.”

He chuckled, and I was pleased to see he was taking in good stride my crazy talk about a car that I seemed to have way more of an attachment to than I should.

“So,” he said once we were on our way, “what’s the story with the murder?”

“A shooting over at Bluff Park. Victim isn’t someone familiar from town.”

“No more info than that?”

“Nope. I can’t discuss the details of an ongoing police investigation.”

Sawyer glanced around as he drove, as if taking in the neighborhood. Something was on his mind – I could sense it.

“And this all happened over at Bluff Park; not too far from here.”

“I mean, a few miles. Why?” As soon as I said the word, I realized the reason. Without thinking, I reached over and placed my hand on his. “Look, I’m going to be fine. I’m sure this neighborhood isn’t what you’re used to, but it’s a good place – working class neighbors look out for each other and all that. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But all the same, it’s still a murder that happened in Whitepeak. Doesn’t that make you nervous? At least a little?”

“Well, sure. Word’s getting around and people are on a little more of an edge than they might otherwise be.”

He squeezed my hand. Though I still felt he was worrying over nothing, it was nice to know that he cared.

“Just…be careful. You never know what kinds of crazy assholes are out there.”

I cleared my throat, wanting to change the subject.

“Anyway, I made reservations at The Outlook. Figured it was between Denver and Whitepeak – and their steaks are amazing.”

“The Outlook? Are you kidding?”

The Outlook had something of a reputation in Whitepeak. It was outside of town, on the way to one of the fancy ski resorts in the area. It’d always been one of those jokes, a shorthand for rich and fancy – you’d get a nice dress or something and a friend would say it was swanky enough for The Outlook, that sort of thing.

Despite being near Whitepeak, it was considered a destination for the state’s elite more than any other place in town. I’d never been there, though I’d always fantasized about it.

“Nope. My family’s been going there for years, so it wasn’t hard to get a table.”

Of course, Sawyer would have no problems pulling off something like that. We drove on, Sawyer turning off the highway that led toward Denver, instead taking a winding road up the mountains in the direction of The Outlook. The sun had set, but the full moon above was bright enough to cast light over the amazing, rolling hills that slowly shifted into imposing peaks.

The restaurant itself was as impressive as the scenery that surrounded it. The building was grand, built in the fifties in the style of a Swiss ski chalet. The sportscars and luxury vehicles in the parking lot left no doubt as to the type of clientele they serviced.

Sawyer parked and got out, stepping over to my side of the car and opening the door for me, taking my hand and helping me step out. It was an old-fashioned gesture, but I appreciated it all the same.

Together we walked toward the building, and as we approached, a smiling, pretty hostess opened the door for us. I looked around as we entered, taking in the sight of Colorado’s elite dining and relaxing, the din of conversation buzzing, and the smell of steak in the air. The interior was dominated by wood, the ceilings tall with oak ribbing. At the back of the restaurant the walls were tall picture windows, affording a spectacular view overlooking the mountains.

It was perfect – everything I’d hoped for when I was a kid imagining what it would be like to go there. More than a few guests at their tables noticed Sawyer, all smiling and waving in his direction. Mellow jazz standards flowed from the direction of a live pianist on a small stage.

The hostess led us to a round, white linen covered table near the windows in the back. I was ready to enjoy the evening ahead, but as we sat, I noticed that Sawyer wasn’t being his light-hearted, joking self. Something was different about him. Something was on his mind.

We sat and Sawyer didn’t waste any time ordering a bottle of wine ‒ it was as if he needed to get some booze into him to help with what was coming next. I was tense sitting there with him, wanting Sawyer to get to whatever was on his mind.

So, I decided to push the issue.

“You OK?” I asked.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let an easy smile form on his face. It was as if he’d worked through the tension, and the calm, collected Sawyer who could talk his way into anything or charm his way out of anything had returned.

“I want to ask you something – something strange.”

“I like strange,” I said, leaning forward. “What is it?”

He smiled. “I want you to marry me.”