Chapter 17

17

Dakota

I t's Thursday night, and I'm working my first shift at the Mona Lisa, a swanky new cocktail bar downtown.

I've yet to talk to Reed, Archer, and Maddox about the inheritance, but I'm due to meet them later after I finish work here. It's only a couple of more hours until I'll be popping the question. Gah, pop the question. It sounds so ridiculous.

"Still behind the bar, I see," a familiar voice rips me from my tumultuous river of thoughts.

"Callie," I mumble, instantly recognizing the vaporous redhead sitting in front of me at the bar. Wrapped in a tight, emerald-green dress, her typical floral scent testing my senses, my sister looks like she could make any man fall to their knees before her. "What are you doing here?" I ask.

"I came to see how the whole wedding thing is coming along," she quips with a dry smile, then flips through the menu. "And I'll have the vodka martini. Hold the ice."

"Oh, wow, we're really going to do this then," I mutter mostly to myself, but she heard me.

"Hope you're a decent bartender, at least," she says.

With a flat smile, I proceed to prepare her drink, constantly scrutinized by her sharp, brown eyes. We both get our eye color from our father—one of the very few things that we have in common. I only wish she was nicer. Instead, she sits there and judges absolutely everything I do, purely for the purpose of heartless entertainment.

"How'd you end up being a bartender? I thought Dad was smart with making money," Callie says after a long and uncomfortable silence.

"Dad died when I was eight," I remind her. "I grew up with Sally. You do remember crashing her funeral, right?"

"Whatever. I guess I got lucky after all."

"I happen to like my job very much. Mixology is what I've always been passionate about. As soon as I graduated high school, I got started in it."

Callie raises an eyebrow, her curly red hair flowing over one bony shoulder. I wonder if her skin is naturally caramel or if it's a tan. "Talk about an ambitious woman, eh?"

"What do you do for a living?" I shoot back as I shake her drink, finding odd comfort in the sound of ice cubes dancing around in the tin right next to my ear. Around us, the evening unravels in calm and sophisticated tones, yet the tension between my sister and me is palpable.

"I run the Monroe Foundation," she says. "We organize fundraisers, galas, balls, and other charitable events. We partner with the Met Gala as well."

"Ah, okay, so you organize parties where rich people can give money and not feel so shitty about having that much money in the first place."

"I connect people, and I help people."

"Which people are you helping exactly?"

"Children in Africa and Southeast Asia, for the most part."

I shoot her a cold grin as I pour her drink into a cocktail glass. "American kids weren't good enough, huh?"

"We help inner city communities, too," Callie says, but I can tell she's stumbling ever so slightly. I've been in this line of work for long enough to read people with remarkable ease. "We have loads of charitable projects."

"Have you ever been to any of the actual projects? Or to those African or Southeast Asian villages you claim to be helping?" I ask.

Callie squirms in her seat, but one sip of my cocktail is enough to slightly relax her frame. "No, why on earth would I go anywhere without running water?"

"My God, you are the poster child of elitism," I chuckle dryly. "You claim some kind of high ground over me because you sign off on menus and get paid a ridiculous salary just to organize black-tie events, yet you've never really worked a day in your life. The Monroe Foundation is yours. No one gives a shit if you show up for work or not."

"What's your point, Dakota?"

"My point is that I work hard for a living. I earn my money fair and square. I'm sorry I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth like you, but at least my labor is honest," I reply. "So, all this judgy bullshit aside, what the hell are you really doing in San Francisco?"

She smiles and straightens her back, eager to answer.

"I've got a few charity projects I'm thinking of starting here in town," Callie says.

"Bullshit," I immediately call it.

"There are three community centers that have reached out to my foundation for financial and logistical assistance. I figured I might as well come out here and see what I'd be working with," she replies with a casual shrug. "I also thought I'd check up on you, seeing as I will be coming into a lot of money on Christmas this year. Maybe I'll throw you a few pity dollars in the spirit of the season."

I don't know what it is about Callie that's got my competitive engines roaring, but I just can't stand back and let her tear me down purely for the fun of it.

"Whose money are you coming into? Because it isn't going to be mine."

"Right. Like you're actually getting married," she cackles in sheer mockery.

"My fiancé looks forward to meeting you," I say. "Maybe we could arrange that while you're in town."

Callie stills, suddenly aware that I could be serious. Good. I want her to panic. I want to knock her down a few pegs because I've had enough of this emotional boxing. I'm not her punching bag. "You're engaged," she says flatly.

"It's fairly recent."

"Wow, you work fast."

"I'm determined. You keep that old house, Callie; I don't need it. But I am going to put that Monroe money to good use and show you how it's done," I reply, narrowing my eyes at her. I can almost hear the blood rushing up to her head.

For a moment, she almost buys it.

But I'm not a shrew. I don't have the nastiness some people do. And I am a terrible liar, as Archer often loves to point out. I hate to admit that he's right as Callie bursts into laughter, throwing her head back for good measure before she downs the rest of her cocktail and sets it on the counter. She then taps the edge of the glass with her emerald-encrusted gel nails.

"I'm not an idiot. Fix me another drink and tell me all about how you're going to spend that eighty million that you're never going to get. Please. I'm on the edge of my seat."

I can't kick her out. She's a paying customer. Besides, Callie Monroe is not a name I can trifle with, even if I'm also a Monroe. She's the one with the fancy Chappaqua house and the famous charitable foundation. I'm just the bartender here, and not even full-time.

As I set about preparing a second vodka martini, heat swirls in my chest. It spreads furiously through my ribcage before it concentrates into a single, dense ball in the back of my throat while beads of cold sweat blossom on my temples. I've barely had anything to eat over the past couple of days, and it is taking a toll on my body. Too much stress cuts into my appetite, but it's been different lately.

There are days when I could swallow the whole fridge and days when the mere smell of food makes me want to hurl.

"What, no snappy comeback all of a sudden?" Callie sneers.

"I've got nothing left to say to you," I reply. "I tried to be your sister. I tried to get to know you because I actually cared about you. All you ever did was blame me for something I had no control over. And now, you're here just to taunt me over an inheritance I never even asked for."

"Trust me, I have no idea what my grandmother was thinking when she changed her will," Callie hisses. "You don't deserve a single penny, which is why I'm going make sure you never get your hands on my money."

I can't help myself, so I say, "Technically speaking, it's not your money yet."

"You'll never get it. You're going to die a poor and miserable failure," Callie replies. "It's what you're good at, by the looks of it. Honestly, I'm embarrassed for your daughter. She deserves better."

"I'll kick your ass into next week if you ever mention my daughter again," I say with a tone so hard, so furious, that it renders her silent for a full minute. "I get that you've got a bone to pick with me. You're lashing out. You're being mean and petty because it's how you handle your grief. But you had better leave my daughter out of it, or so help me God, you will regret ever setting foot in this city."

I'm boiling on the inside.

She crossed a line I will never allow anyone to cross.

Suddenly, the entire room is now spinning out of control, and I'm supposed to shake and strain her fucking vodka martini, even though every muscle in my body is crying out for me to splash it all over her face.

"Dakota," Archer's voice echoes somewhere in the distance.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Callie asks, suddenly staring at me.

"I… I'm fine."

I discreetly reach for an ice cube under the counter and slip it on the back of my neck. The chill instantly travels down my spine and makes me shudder. It's a nifty little trick I sometimes use to beat exhaustion, and it works.

The room comes back into focus.

Archer reaches the bar, and I can't help but notice how handsome he looks in his tan suit, his blonde hair combed into his usual tight man bun. Callie notices him, too.

"Hey, babe," he says to me.

"My, my, aren't you a slice of cake," Callie quips with a charming smile.

I recover quickly. "Callie, this is Archer, my fiancé. Archer, this is Callie, my bitchy half-sister I told you about."

A barely noticeable flash of confusion crosses his face before he smiles and turns politely to Callie.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he says.

"Likewise," Callie replies.

"You're here early," I say with a soft smile. "Where are your brothers?"

"On their way home. They're waiting for us. Maddox is cooking tonight," Archer replies.

"Family dinner for the future bride and groom?" Callie asks, trying to test whether or not I was lying.

"Something like that," Archer chuckles. "It's our tradition, every Thursday night."

Callie laughs and briefly touches his hand on the counter. "Sounds like quite the little family."

"Here's your drink," I cut in with a flat tone as I set the martini in front of her. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Yeah, a clone of this one. I'm almost jealous," Callie retorts, giving Archer a broader, more seductive smile. I could crush her head right here, right now. My God, she brings out the worst in me. I need to pull myself together.

"You're too kind," Archer politely says, then removes his hand from her touch and reaches across the counter to take mine instead. "My brothers are equally taken."

"Oh, that is such a shame," Callie offers a fake sigh as she eats him up with her sparkling brown eyes. "How did my little sister bag a man like you, anyway?"

Archer gives me a long, lingering look. I can only imagine what's going through his head right now, but I cannot thank him enough for leading the conversation and for making sure Callie doesn't hit another nerve. He can definitely tell that I am on edge and close to becoming homicidal if he doesn't keep the conversation under control.

"I met Dakota at the community center. The sparks were instant," he says, his voice soft and just enough to make my heart beat a million times faster. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever come across. Though, I didn't have the courage to tell her that right then and there. I didn't want her to think I was some kind of creep."

"I would've never thought that," I giggle.

"Sure, she's got some of the Monroe genes, but the most beautiful woman you've ever come across? I doubt it," my sister says, sliding in to ruin the moment.

Archer raises an eyebrow at her and proceeds to be his usual, unforgiving self. "I like my women with more meat on their bones."

I'm just about to double over with laughter, but by some miracle, I manage to keep my composure while I listen to the thickening tremor in Callie's voice.

"Never mind. I'd hate to offend my future brother-in-law," she says, swirling the green olive in her martini before she takes another sip.

"Dakota is one of the most genuine women I've ever met. I'm lucky she chose me."

"Oh, I'd say, especially with her upcoming inheritance," Callie promptly replies.

Shit. How did I not see this coming?

My blood runs cold. The room starts spinning again, except this time, I don't think there's anything I can do to stop it, not even with a frickin' iceberg.

"What inheritance?" Archer asks, cutting his eyes to Callie.

"Our grandmother's," she says with an evil glow in her eyes, constantly stealing glances at me. "Dakota didn't tell you about it?"

"No," he says, now looking at me. Actually, more like glaring at me.

My stomach is tied up in knots. I think I'm going to puke. "I was going to tell you," I manage, my voice barely a broken whisper.

"How long have you two been together?" Callie asks, holding back a grin.

"It's none of your business—"

"Three months," he cuts me off.

"And did she propose to you?"

"I don't see what difference that would make," Archer says, but I can see by the look in his eye that he's about done with the game.

"Oh, it makes a big difference. Dakota needs to be married by midnight on Christmas this year. Otherwise, she'll forfeit an inheritance worth just a little over eighty million dollars. An inheritance she's not worthy of anyway, but my grandmother wanted to give her one last chance to behave and live like a decent Monroe woman, not a divorced barkeep."

My knees give out on me.

"Dakota, you might as well be honest about it and not trap a decent man in a loveless marriage," Callie continues, playing the part of the all-knowing and slightly outraged, righteous Monroe woman. "He deserves to know the truth."

"You're quite the bitch. Has anyone ever told you that?" Archer replies.

It catches her by surprise. But my consciousness is slipping through my fingers. I can't keep up with the conversation anymore. I need to explain everything. Archer needs to know the whole story. I have to apologize for keeping this from him. Oh, God, the earth is slipping from under me.

I can feel myself falling backward.

Callie says something.

"Dakota!" Archer calls out.

Everything goes black before I hit the floor with a heavy thud.