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  CHAPTER FOUR

  Asa

  DANIEL CRAWFORD’S KITCHEN reminds me of my Bubbie’s house, filled with delicious smells, laughter, and family. Rose fusses over Archer Crawford, scolding him about frostbite as if he weren’t a grown man. Daniel insists Diana taste his sauce the moment she makes her way inside the door. The whole scene is so familiar, and yet so foreign. It’s been years since I’ve been in this type of environment. Family dinner at the Wexler house is a stuffy affair with dry martinis and passive-aggressive commentary on my life choices.

  The Crawfords barely seem to notice I’m an outsider, shoving homemade beer into my hands and gathering my wet snow things to put in the dryer. I sit at the counter watching Rose fuss around the laundry room while Daniel works the meat and rice into the cabbage leaves before plunking the delectable bundles into the sauce to cook through.

  “Oh, Asa,” Rose says, tossing back a glass of white wine. “I’m ever so sorry you’re stuck here another night. I hope we’ve made things comfortable for you.” She pats my arm, hopefully.

  “Oh, it’s been delightful,” I say. “Diana’s been giving me the royal treatment.” Archer snorts and Daniel sighs. So her behavior toward me isn’t out of the ordinary. I’m even more intrigued. “Seriously, it’s been a great afternoon,” I say, taking another sip of my drink. “What is this? This is amazing.”

  Rose and Daniel beam and he nods his head toward Diana, who scowls. “Our girl has been perfecting her brewing techniques,” he says. “I think she’s really hit her stride.”

  “You made this, Diana?”

  “Are you shocked because I’m a woman or because I’m from this town,” she sneers, using air quotes to spit my words back at me. This woman has a chip on her shoulder the size of the Flat Iron Building, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want to be the one to scrape it off and see what’s under there.

  “I’m surprised it’s homemade because it’s got such a refined flavor,” I tell her. “You could easily sell this to bars in Manhattan.”

  “It’s not for sale,” she says, but I note the tone of her voice is a touch softer.

  Rose asks after Abigail and seems pleased to hear she’s working on her novel this evening. I sit back and enjoy my beer and the ease of the Crawford family conversation. Eventually we all make our way to the dinner table, with all of them talking at once about their work, their interests, and jokingly wondering whether Hunter can see the blizzard from his perspective in the International Space Station.

  Rose pats my hand at the mention of Hunter. “We’re all just so thrilled you decided to fund Hunter’s research,” she tells me.

  I wave away her gesture. “That’s a no-brainer investment for me,” I say. “He’s going to make a splash with his findings from his research mission and we’re going to quadruple my investment when this data goes to clinical trials.” I notice that Diana seems less enthused than her family and it’s my turn to raise a brow at her. “You don’t think Hunter’s research will be successful?”

  “I just don’t want him to lose credit for his life’s work,” she retorts. “We won’t be talking about the Crawford cure for cancer, will we? It’ll be Wexler Holdings getting all the recognition.”

  Rose looks like she’s going to slice Diana in half with her eyes. She opens her mouth to intervene, but I turn in my chair to face Diana. “I believe Hunter’s lawyer is friends with you. Sara Garrett? Please believe me when I tell you the contract she drew up for Hunter had my own legal team drowning their sorrows. She’s formidable, and she took good care of your brother’s intellectual property.”

  “Hmmph.” Diana stabs into her cabbage rolls and ignores me.

  Archer clears his throat and says, “Hey, speaking of Sara, weren’t she and Indigo trying to have a baby? When’s that happening?”

  The conversation turns to Sara and her wife and their family plans, and Diana’s outburst appears forgotten. I make another mental note to see if Sara is interested in joining the legal team at Wexler Holdings. I start wondering if a remote position could be possible, assuming she wants to stick around Oak Creek, but then I notice Diana’s face light up.

  Her brother asked her something about growing hops, and Diana softens immediately. She tells her family about growing her beer plants indoors, how the sensitive hops are flourishing using some sort of artificial light. She’s vague about the particulars, but passionate about her process.

  The spark in her eyes is irresistible when she talks botany. I actually get hard, thinking about her bent over her plants, her tight body digging around in the soil, pulling up fragrant herbs. She catches my eye and I know she feels the heat of my gaze. She blushes, and I vow that moment to figure out what it takes to get Diana Crawford to show me her secret plant lair.

  Archer and Diana start clearing plates, and I surprise myself by rising to help them. I’m not sure, actually, if I’ve ever washed a dish, but I’m drawn to this woman. Rose, flustered, insists I’m a guest and should sit back down, but I don’t miss Daniel’s sly smile when he sees me step beside Diana to dry as she hands over washed plates without looking.

  When she finally does glance up to see me beside her, rather than her brother, she flushes and frowns. “What’s the matter, Crawford,” I tease. “Would you feel more comfortable throwing the plate at my head instead?”

  She smiles and nudges me with her elbow.

  This is a very different pursuit for me. I’m used to being wanted—for my money, for my notoriety, for my looks. I’m used to being wanted by women looking for social standing and a 3-carat Harry Winston. I can close a deal with a ruthless business associate, and I can drop the panties of any princess on the Upper East Side. But suddenly, all I seem to want is Diana Crawford to yell at me until I fall naked at her feet.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Diana

  “I’M GETTING OUT the Scrabble board,” my father says as Asa and I finish up the dishes. “Rose and I can be a team.”

  Asa sets the towel on the counter and says, “I can sit out. I’m that guy who—”

  “Absolutely not, Asa,” my mother looks actually offended at this suggestion. “And Daniel, don’t be ridiculous. There are no teams in Scrabble. I will sit out the first round and then jump in when Archer gets frustrated.”

  All of us laugh except Archie, who does much better at chess or games involving math and logic. Soon enough, I’m lost in my letters, trying desperately to think of non-sexual words…and failing miserably.

  “Dude,” Archer says after Asa’s opening move. “Jynx is not a word. Come on.”

  Asa arches a brow and shit, he looks hot. “Is that a challenge, then?”

  Archer looks back and forth between my parents, who are tight lipped and trying to keep their faces neutral. Ma stands behind Dad, rubbing his shoulders, trying not to point at his letters or help him. Archer kicks back from the table and stands. “You guys are the worst. Jynx for an opening move. Get the hell out of here.” He stomps out of the room with his beer and my mother settles into his seat.

  “Well,” she says, cracking her knuckles. “That was faster than I thought. Asa, darling, I see your jynx and I will add OE.”

  I spend the next hour with a flush on my face, not willing to explain that I keep seeing SEXY or COCK in my tiles, and unwilling to play any of those words. Asa is surprisingly good at Scrabble, lining up words alongside each letter rather than going for the 7-letter long words my father can always pluck from the universe.

  Before long, it’s obvious that Asa is going to win 2 out of 3 rounds of Scrabble, and the more I realize this, the more I feel hot and bothered. He contemplates his tiles, his long fingers drumming on the table. I watch his face as he considers. His foot grazes against my leg under the table as he sets down FLUSH for a triple word score and my father claps him on the back. I actually feel my nipples tingle as he lines up each tile along another, forming five tiny words for literally hundreds of points. I try to feel horrified that slick Scrabble moves turn me on so much, but I can’t get there. Asa Wexler ruling the tiles was hot as hell.

  Archer stomps back in the room and throws the dictionary on the table. “How in the hell did you know jynx was a kind of woodpecker, man? Seriously.”

  Asa leans back in his chair, scratching the stubble on his chin, thinking how best to answer Archer. “Scrabble isn’t about knowing what the words mean, Archer,” he says. Then he meets my eye, his gaze heated. “It’s about knowing which parts go where for maximum impact.”

  The room feels too hot and I walk over to the sink for a glass of water, realizing as I head over that I’m more intoxicated than I thought. That or I’m just so unaccustomed to losing at Scrabble my mind is actually reeling. I don’t like feeling attracted to Asa for more than his looks. Nothing good can come from me wanting him for his sharp mind. I have to remind myself that lots of people probably could beat me at Scrabble if I took more time to play.

  My mom walks over to me as Dad packs up the board. “You ok, honey?”

  I nod. “Just not used to meeting a contender is all.” I try to smile, but I think she sees through it.

  “You look a bit flushed, dear. I’m glad you have some water.”

  Much as I’d prefer to sleep in my own bed, my parents insist I should stay over. My mother even benevolently offers to let me back in my childhood bedroom, recently remodeled as the River Room for when she hosts international visitors. My dad hauled all our childhood possessions into the basement and decorated each room with a nature theme, since Ma felt it wasn’t polite to ask dignified guests to stay at the Oak Creek Inn.

  I keep expecting Indigo to feel insulted that Ma shuns the Inn this way, but my best friend assures me she’s almost always booked solid anyway, between parents visiting the college and
people looking to escape reality.

  Between my flushed face and the snow and all the beer, I don’t really have a strong case to walk home alone in the dark. And so I find myself playing cards in my thermals with my brother and my parents’ house guest, who won’t quit staring at my tits.

  “Go fish, Archie,” I tell him, tossing back the rest of my beer. I’m not sure why I’m drinking so much tonight. There’s a lot I need to figure out about my behavior today. Maybe it’s that Asa “swagger” Wexler reminds me of my ex. Maybe I just don’t like the guy. Or maybe I do like him, I think, and then quickly shake my head to move that thought aside.

  I toss down my cards. “I’m out, guys. I have to monitor my grow house before I get too trashed to assess data.” I walk into the living room and pull up my app, checking on the temperature and humidity at each growing station. I’m so engrossed I don’t realize the guys have followed me until Archer plunks down next to me on the couch.

  He makes to look over my shoulder and I pull the phone close to my chest. “What the hell, Archer? I don’t spy on your client files.”

  “Diana,” he pauses to belch at me and I kick him. “Why are you so testy about your plants?”

  “Why do you act like this is just some herb garden? This is my research, Archer. I’m conducting biological research just like Hunter. God, I wish I cared about micro gravity just so Wexler here could pay to send me to space to get away from you.”

  I’m about to start beating on him in earnest when Asa Wexler shocks the hell out of me by asking, “What were you saying earlier? About hops in space?”

  I’m so stunned that he was paying attention to what I said that I forget my douchebag brother and tell Asa, “there’s a certain kind of hops I want to try to grow. The hop swaths in Tattnang, in Germany, are supposedly big enough to see from space. But I keep forgetting to ask Hunter to look for me.”

  “I’ll make sure he looks,” Asa says, holding my gaze with a smoldering undertone.

  I start babbling, telling him and Archer about the lake effect in Tettnang, keeping the temperature stable in the region. “The winters are warmer and the summers are slightly cooler, but I think I can mimic that ideal growing environment indoors,” I tell him, slightly breathless.

  “Is that what you’re working on in your research,” he asks. “Growing hops?”

  I know the question comes from a place of interest, and that unlike my brother, Asa sees that I am working on cultivating answers to societal problems. Asa is, after all, an investor in scientific research. But he’s also a man, and that makes him suspect. Too much risk associated with men, especially men who turn me on. I sigh. “I don’t talk about my larger research goals,” I say. I make sure I’m logged out of my monitoring app and stand up.

  “I’m going to bed.”

  I walk down the hall to my childhood bedroom and collapse onto the twin bed. It wasn’t so long ago I would have let my guard down for a man who seemed interested in me as a scientist, who seemed to take delight in the ways my mind works. It wasn’t so long ago a man shattered my ability to trust. Asa might be charming and clever, with a good memory for detail. But I have to remind myself that at his core, Asa is no different from Jay.

  Asa is a venture capitalist. His entire intention is to profit from the work of others. Sure, he might seem like he’s out to “form partnerships” and help my brother out, but in the end, Asa Wexler is going to make a killing and my brother will be the ghost writer of his own life’s work.

  I hear the door to the neighboring room open, then close, and I know he’s lying there, inches from me. I try not to imagine what he’s wearing to bed, what his body looks like as he lies there in Fletcher’s old room. This can’t be a man that I think about sexually. My mother depends on him for funding—he’s not going anywhere. And I’m not putting myself out there again like I did with Jay.

  I pull out my phone again and monitor my lab one more time. I have a bad feeling this might be the last batch of medical marijuana I’m able to work on for my research partners from Pittsburgh. The state is changing legislation left and right, creating new rules about who can and cannot grow cannabis for medical research, let alone for sale in the official dispensaries.

  I know that this Sativa strain I’ve cultivated is ideal to help control seizures. I knew it the last time, too, and it turned out I was right. Not that the name Crawford appears anywhere on any bank account benefitting from that successful seizure med. Hell, Asa was probably the investor who took that to big Pharma and legitimized it.

  I can’t dwell on all that. I shake my head and check the humidity, the light, the temperature. I check the doorways—nobody has been in or out since I locked up earlier. My work is safe. Dr. Khalsa is still contracted for this harvest. It becomes a refrain I repeat to myself as I try to fall asleep.

  The next thing I know, I’m being woken by my mother’s shouts to my father to hurry up with breakfast.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Asa

  DIANA CRAWFORD FRESH from sleep is a shockingly alluring sight. I don’t often see women in the morning. The ones who stick around for coffee seem to roll out of bed in full makeup and pristine clothes. But Diana just looks at home in her skin, like yesterday. Her long hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and she makes her way to her parents’ kitchen in wool socks and leggings that display her toned legs and leave me adjusting my morning wood inside my khakis. She pads around in an oversized flannel shirt that must have belonged to one of her brothers, and she doesn’t even appear to notice me as she privately sips her coffee, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of the warm liquid.

  I’m not sure what I find so arousing about watching a woman ignore me to drink coffee, but I feel drawn to her and her short temper, quick tongue. I can’t recall ever feeling drawn to a particular woman before. Generally, I’m game for whoever will agree to roll around with no strings attached. My father impressed upon me from a young age that relationships would get in the way of my business ambitions. Above all else, he taught me to nurture the family company. Of course, that was before he retired and stepped down as president and CEO of Wexler Holdings. Now he and my mother won’t shut the hell up about me giving them grandchildren.

  Diana Crawford doesn’t make me think about grandchildren, though. She makes me think of a jungle cat, cautious and sharp, watchful and lithe.

  “You’re staring.”

  Her voice snaps me back to attention, where I’m leaning on the counter, indeed staring at her as she finishes her coffee. “Sorry,” I mutter and shrug. “Wasn’t sure if I should…” I gesture toward the coffee pot and she rolls her eyes. She slides me a mug and the pot and I smile, glad she didn’t pour it for me.

  I just watched Diana chug her coffee down black, but I’m much more particular. I add the milk slowly, seeking just the right shade of walnut, and now it’s her turn to stare. I don’t want her to pull her eyes off me, so I slow my pour to a drip until we’re both laughing. That’s a sound I need to hear again. It seems to fill the whole room, and I like that her laughter is hard won.

  “All right, Dad,” Diana says, and pecks her father on the cheek. “I’m out. I just saw Levon pass by with the plow again. I gotta check on my babies.”

  Before I can say another word, she’s bundled up and out the door, leaving me alone in the kitchen with Daniel and Rose. Archer evidently skied off home before the sun came up, claiming he’s got to get his clients ready for quarterly taxes.

  Rose smiles and asks if I’m planning to meet with Andrew Moorely about the AI work they’re doing over at the college, but I shake my head. “I have to get back. I had an update email from Moorely this morning—he seems to think things are going well.”

  “And when might we expect to see you back here in town,” she asks. I can already see the gears turning in her head—maybe if she offers me a cocktail reception I’ll come back with a few more million bucks for the hard sciences at OCC.