Wright with Benefits (Wright Series #8) - K.A. Linde Page 0,7
worked at a defunct winery on the outskirts of town, and at soccer matches for months, Hollin had cajoled Julian into purchasing it. I’d never have guessed that Jordan would actually want to invest in it, too.
“And how do you know about it?”
“Soccer.”
“Ah,” Jordan said with a nod. “Yeah, well, it was Julian’s idea. Hollin’s idea really. But Julian kept badgering me to run numbers and look into distribution and check something or another. I gave up fighting him on it. If I’m going to do all the legwork, then I’m going to get a piece of the pie.”
I laughed. God, that was so Jordan. “So, what you mean is that you can’t say no to your brother?”
He glowered at me. “Yeah, I guess.”
“How do you have time for this?”
He shrugged. Which meant that he didn’t have time for this. And like the workaholic he was, he was just going to push himself to death.
“Turn left here,” I told him.
The Spirit Ranch came into view. The trees were strung with fairy lights, and the tent glowed. I could see that they were nearly finished with setup. Inside somewhere, a very anxious Cézanne was pacing, waiting for all the wine to show the fuck up. She’d probably messaged me, but I didn’t have the energy to even check my phone and deal with her stress.
“Whoa,” Jordan whispered. “It’s actually…beautiful.”
“I know, right? I love it out here. You should see it in the spring when everything’s in bloom and all the peacocks are out.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Peacocks?”
I laughed at his expression. It mirrored mine the first time I’d been here and seen the strutting peacocks all over the property. “Yeah. For some reason, there are peacocks. They’re gorgeous.”
“Lubbock is weird,” he concluded.
“You are not wrong.”
Jordan backed into a spot in the rear of the building, nearest to the kitchen. I hopped down onto the gravel in my too-high heels, already cursing the stupid flood again for putting me in this predicament.
A bunch of eager med students flooded out of the back of the building when they saw all the wine in his truck. Jordan went into a managerial role and directed everyone as they unloaded.
“I’m going to look for jumper cables,” I told him and then headed inside without waiting for a response.
I found Cézanne pacing, just like I’d thought she’d be. Her clipboard was clutched tight in her hand, and she looked ready to bang it against someone if everything didn’t settle itself out. She’d have a real career in event planning if this doctor thing didn’t work out.
“Annie! Oh, thank God!” she said, pushing her one stray box braid behind her ear. “I’m assuming this means we have wine for the party.”
“We do. No thanks to Bryan.”
“He’s been handled,” Cézanne assured me.
I was sure that he had been. Until the next time he fucked up.
“It’s being unloaded now. I had to recruit Jordan Wright to deliver, but yeah, it’s here.”
Cézanne arched her eyebrows. “Jordan Wright, huh?”
Cézanne had been there that first night I met Jordan. When I’d looked at him across a crowded bar and said if I had a type, it’d be him. I’d been right—and so damn wrong.
“Yeah. Serendipity,” I muttered. “He was there for a meeting, and we got the wine in his truck. Anyway, my car died, and I don’t have jumper cables. I assume you do.”
She crossed her arms and smirked. “And you…drove over here in Jordan’s truck?”
“Did you want your wine or what?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, grinning at me in a you can’t fool me way.
“Stop,” I groaned.
“I’m over here, dealing with your friend Bryan, and you get Jordan Wright.”
I rolled my eyes. “Again, Bryan is not my friend.”
“If you say so.” She tucked the clipboard under her arm. “Come on. Of course I have jumper cables. Who do you think I am?”
“Cézanne, the goddess of organization.”
“Precisely.”
Once we acquired the cables from Cézanne’s car, she insisted on carrying them over to Jordan. He’d just finished unloading the truck. He hopped down out of the bed, landing at our feet. He slammed the tailgate closed and smiled that charismatic smile that got him anything he ever wanted. Even me.
“Hey, Cézanne,” he said amicably. “You’re our savior tonight.”
She shot me a look. She certainly hadn’t missed the use of the word our. I hadn’t missed it either. Not just my savior…but his, too?
“Sure am.” She passed him the cables. “I like saving Wrights. Always good to have a favor owed.”