UNEDITED
Between his semi-committed addiction to smoking and his role as CEO of Elemental Coffee, Cassian Russell has spent the majority of his life running one of the most popular coffee shops on the Island with his best friend, Jake Swift. After a...
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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.
