Risky Play (Red Card #1)(2)

The man who had it all.

The man who was supposed to take over my father’s empire at my side.

So why had I felt empty on my wedding day even before he turned his back on me? I swiped a tear from my cheek.

“Honey.” Mom’s voice softened. “I’m worried about you. You rarely come to family dinners, I haven’t seen you at the club since—” She didn’t have to say it. Since I was left at the altar.

Since my marriage bust had become national news.

After all, it wasn’t every day an heiress to one of the largest and most sought-after wine brands was left at the altar. “Used Wine Back on the Market.”

Yeah, that had been a fun one.

With lots of memes.

Involving, you guessed it, fruit.

“One Cherry Less Popped.” That had been a personal favorite, since my dad also owned enough cherry farms to put any farmer in the nation to shame.

“I know.” I didn’t let her finish. I shuddered a bit as the captain came over the loudspeaker. I normally had Alton with me on every business trip. I wasn’t necessarily scared to fly, I was just . . . alone. So damn alone. “I promise I’ll call you when I land. I need this, though, I just need—” To breathe. I needed air. I needed to find out who I was without him. And if that woman even existed, since I couldn’t remember a time when I wasn’t by his side.

Thirty years I’d been part of a duo.

And now, now I was just . . . me.

It was depressing.

And six months ago when he’d walked out of my life.

I’d cut him out of mine.

It hurt too much, even if he was right in doing what he did.

Alton was always stronger than me.

I was a total people pleaser and he was the schmoozer who always had people eating out of the palm of his hand. He took charge, and oftentimes when I tried he told me he’d handle the situation. And he did. I frowned. Was that right? Was my future really that of a trophy wife with no thoughts of her own? No. No, that wouldn’t . . . I always thought he was similar to me, just wanting to please his parents, until finally, he didn’t. In the end he pleased himself and told everyone else to go to hell.

I hung up the phone to my mom’s murmured “I love you.”

And stared straight ahead as more champagne was poured into my glass. I tilted it back without a second thought, gulping the entire contents and then wiping the liquid from my lips with the back of my hand.

“Scared of flying?” came a cultured Spanish accent from next to me. It was barely noticeable, but I traveled enough to catch it. I slowly turned my attention to the guy who’d just sat down in the aisle seat.

Black Bose headphones hung around his neck, and he wore a tight Under Armour hoodie and a denim jacket, which indicated he was a guy who knew how to make comfortable look fashionable. He had this cool personal style that made me look. My eyes took in his burgundy skinny jeans and gray high-tops. I almost gave him a nod of approval for doing his own thing, when he turned a golden-eyed gaze to me and winked.

Caught. So embarrassingly caught checking him out.

Oh.

Oh.

I jerked my gaze away.

Like a kid caught stealing a piece of candy.

“No.” I finally found my voice. What had he asked? Oh right, flying. “I travel all the time, it’s just been a rough . . . day.” Or year. Yeah, let’s go with day, though. Don’t want to sound too pathetic.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said smoothly with another wink before ordering a glass of Merlot that I knew by heart. I’d tasted the first barrel. My mouth watered.

It was a good choice.

Damn him.

Men who knew wine were my weakness.

Alton had always—

Stop. I needed to stop.

Alton was gone.

Gone.

I cleared my throat. “Good choice, that’s one of my favorites.”

“Other than champagne?” He grinned, showing straight, white teeth that almost blinded me against his smooth, tanned skin.

“Other than champagne,” I agreed, still a bit tongue-tied as the flight attendant brought his drink in a stemless glass. He swirled the wine around, examined the legs, sniffed.

My jaw almost came unhinged as I watched him test it.

I waited on pins and needles for approval, not even realizing how much I needed it until he sipped the wine.

God, was I that ridiculous?

Needing a stranger to tell me I had good taste in my own father’s wine?

I really did need a vacation.

“It’s good,” he finally said.

“Good,” I repeated. “Good?”

He smirked at me. “Emotionally invested in wine, then? Just had a desire for champagne instead?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What about the aroma of cherries? I think if you take another sip you’ll also notice the robust—”

He placed a finger to my lips and whispered, “I said it was good, are you trying to change my opinion, then?”

My lips parted.

“Folks, looks like we’re first for takeoff. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin.”

I watched in shock as he didn’t finish his wine but handed it off to the flight attendant. Annoyed, I decided not to speak to him the rest of the flight.

Great, now I was punishing a stranger because of his taste in wine.