To make her job easier, of course. No other reason. Or so she lied to herself.
She mimed raising a glass in a toast. “To friendship. After hours.”
He held up his own imaginary glass, and in the process, their hands briefly tangled. Heat flared where his skin slid against hers.
She was pretty sure friends didn’t feel a friend’s touch hours later.
It was a long, sleepless night.
Five
Marguerite crossed another day off the wall calendar hanging behind her desk and leaned back in her chair. Nine weeks ago, she’d broken into St. Isadore. Six weeks ago, she and Evan had decided to be friends.
That left three months to go until the Global Leader Summit event.
Would she make it?
St. Isadore wasn’t the cause of her concern, for once. After reviewing the business plan she drew up, she and Evan agreed the winery needed more staff. They’d recently finished the interview process and made a series of job offers, including a director of operations who would take some of the day-to-day responsibilities off Marguerite’s shoulders. The winery would soon operate at full capacity again, and the upcoming harvest crush and fermentation no longer featured prominently in her nightmares. And despite being looked after by a near-skeletal operation after Linus’s death, the wine aging in barrels was promising. The Cabernet Sauvignon still needed more time, but the Chardonnay was almost ready to be bottled. They wouldn’t produce nearly as many cases as they should this year, but St. Isadore was in better shape than it had been for some time.
But before she could get to harvest in late summer, she had to get through the upcoming Global Leader Summit event.
Which meant spending more time with Evan, who’d called ninety minutes ago to say he was leaving San Francisco for St. Isadore.
Gone were the often stilted conversations of her first few weeks working with him. Since that evening on the balcony, their phone discussions ebbed and flowed naturally.
But talking long-distance only went so far. Although they occasionally used video when Marguerite needed to run items past him for approval, for the most part Evan remained a disembodied presence in her ear. He usually called late at night after marathon hours at Medevco, and at first, his tone would be terse, even impatient. But after an exchange of pleasantries and comparison of their work schedules, he’d slow down, his voice deepening, his conversation turning thoughtful or roguish, with the occasional rumbling of laughter.
It was the best part of her day. Alone in her room, tucked in her bed, the lights out and only his voice tethering her to the world, it was so easy to pretend she and Evan were actual friends.
Or more.
Which was why she had yet to tell him about her agreement with Linus granting her ownership of the original Delacroix vineyard. Or even to confess that she was descended from St. Isadore’s original owner. She didn’t want to do or say anything that could damage the growing but fragile trust building between them. And she certainly didn’t want to throw any wrenches into the relationship tentatively forming between him and Nico.
A knock sounded at her door, and as if her thoughts had summoned him, Nico appeared. He carried a large box in his hands. “Okay if I take off a little early? Gabi’s parents are in town. They scored reservations at La Blanchisserie and asked me to join them.”
“Wow. Those are difficult reservations to get. Parents, huh?” Marguerite couldn’t help the large smile spreading across her face.
Nico ducked his head. “Not a big deal.”
Marguerite rarely saw the family resemblance between Nico and his brother, but she heard it in their speech. Nico had the same don’t-push-any-further warning tone in his voice as Evan whenever the subject got too close to his personal danger zone. She nodded at the box in his hands. “Is that the wine aroma kit?”
Nico put it down on her desk. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. Gabi and I have been practicing. I thought I had a decent nose, but hers? Wow.”
“I bet yours is pretty good.” Marguerite glanced at the clock. Evan could arrive at any minute. Or he might be stuck in traffic and not arrive for hours. She was too jumpy to sit at her desk and pretend to answer the emails that had come in while she was out in the vineyards. “Do you have time before you go to show off what you learned?”
Nico’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got a half hour. What do you have in mind?”
“Want to help with my Chardonnay trials?”
“Sure. Are we going to the cellars?”
She shook her head. “I’ll have samples brought up to us. I don’t want to miss Evan.” She fired off a message, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the computer monitor. She smoothed her hair, gathering up loose locks and tucking them back into her ponytail. She wouldn’t be able to do anything about her wrinkled shirt. She brushed at it anyway.
Nico sat down in the guest chair. The chair she still couldn’t look at without blushing. “Don’t want to miss him, huh?”
She glanced around the monitor and caught his smirk. “He’s my boss and he’s been in San Francisco all week. I have some items to discuss with him.”
“You could send him an email.” Nico’s grin grew, threatening to reach his ears.
Two could play that game. “So, Gabi’s parents. First time meeting them?”
Nico wiped his expression clear, and he scratched the back of his neck. “I was thinking, if it’s okay with you, my next rotation could be in the tasting room.”
She hid her own smile. “Tired of winemaking already?”
He gave her a one-shouldered shrug. “There’s a lot of chemistry involved. And math.”
She nodded her head. “Indeed.”
“I like talking about wine. And drinking it, of course. But maybe not making it. Not the way you and Gabi like making it. It’s like a calling for you two. For me it’s more of a...fun hobby.”
She inhaled. “You know why Evan bought this place, right?”
A knock on her door heralded the arrival of the wine samples. She thanked the messenger and took the eight small, labeled glasses, placing them on her desk. Four for her, four for Nico. “Saved by the bell. Or the wine, as it may be.”
Nico straightened up. “What are we looking for?”
She regarded the glasses. “I started a trial to test the effects of using different barrels to age Chardonnay. St. Isadore wine is known for being buttery and oaky, but consumers are trending toward brighter, crisper flavors.”
Nico nodded. “Got it. Gabi mentioned Dellavina is also evolving its flavor profile.”
Marguerite suppressed her eye roll. Of course they were; Dellavina and St. Isadore had similar Chardonnay styles. But when Casper had been at St. Isadore, he’d pooh-poohed all her suggestions.
“All the wines came from the same lot,” she continued. “The first sample was aged in a five-year-old French oak barrel. The second one, in a new American oak barrel. The third one, I used a hydro barrel, which means water was used to form the staves instead of fire. And the fourth is the Chardonnay we’re bottling now.”
Nico leaned forward. “Where do I start?”
“Start with our current wine. Then let me know which sample you think would push St. Isadore in the right direction.”
They picked up the glasses and began tasting, their conversation relaxing into jokes and laughter as they compared notes. Marguerite was in the middle of telling Nico a story about one of her biggest mistakes in winemaking “—and that’s why you never add a large amount of yeast too quickly to an already fermenting tank—” when she looked up and saw Evan in the door, watching them.
She wasn’t sure how long he had been there. He looked tired; even from where she sat, she could see the deep grooves worn into his cheeks and how the corners of his mouth drooped. But he was still more attractive than any human had the right to be, with his button-down shirt o
pen at the throat to reveal a triangle of skin and his jeans seemingly tailored to show off his narrow hips and well-muscled thighs. Then their gazes caught and held, and everything else disappeared. “Hi,” she said slowly.
He nodded. “Hi.”
She could get lost in his eyes.
Nico stood. “I’m going to be late. Thanks, Marguerite.”
She snapped out of Evan’s spell. “You didn’t—”
“Two is my choice,” he shot back, and pushed his way past Evan.
Evan stared after him. “Good to see you, too,” he called.
“He does have a date,” she offered. “At La Blanchisserie.”
“La Blanchisserie? Didn’t know I paid him that much.”
“He’s been invited to dinner.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “By Gabi’s parents.”
Evan crossed the room and dropped into the chair that Marguerite would always think of as his. “Sounds like you, at least, are making headway with him. Good work.”
She cocked her head and gave Evan a side-eyed look through narrowed eyes. “Pretty sure that isn’t my job.” She paused and added, as much for her sake as for his, “Boss.”
“So, fill me in. Where are we on the Global Leader Summit event?”
They discussed the plans, locking down decisions that required his personal approval. The party was taking shape nicely thanks to Aracely’s meticulous planning, so Marguerite was startled when she glanced up and found Evan frowning. “Anything wrong?” she asked.
“How did you get Nico to laugh like that?”
She blinked. “I talked to him. I told you, you should try it.”
“I’ve never heard him laugh like that before.”
Never? She frowned. “It was a pretty normal laugh.”
Evan rose from the chair and closed the door to her office, then started to pace around the room. “You may have noticed Nico and I aren’t close.”
“I think it’s safe to say the entire winery staff has noticed. Probably most of Northern California.”
“Right.” He ran a hand through his hair. “This is the first time Nico and I have spent extended time under the same roof.”
“The first time? What about when you were kids? Although it’s obvious there’s a big age gap.”
“The last time we lived together, he was a baby. I started college at seventeen. I was out of the house around the time he turned two.”
“But what about holidays? Summers? Surely you went home to see your parents.”
He stopped circling the room and stood so still, that for a second, she was tempted to wave her hand under his nose to see whether he was breathing or had been turned to stone. “My parents died in a car accident the start of my sophomore year.”
She gasped. “I’m so sorry. For you and Nico.”
He suddenly looked very young, and very broken. She yearned to reach out and comfort him. But although their friendship had settled into a comfortable rhythm and they spoke every night, that was a boundary neither of them crossed. They were careful not to touch each other. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. For both of you.”
He shrugged, his expression settling back into the Evan she knew. The Evan who would rather joke or retreat into bluster than admit he was an everyday mortal with emotions. “Save the condolences for Nico. He lost his parents when he was five. I’d already started my first company out of my college apartment.”
“Eighteen is still young. You must have been devastated.” She would’ve been if she’d lost her parents at that age. She had her differences of opinion with them, and they certainly didn’t understand why she felt so strongly about Napa and the family winemaking heritage, when they couldn’t wait to get out and move to Arizona, but she loved them deeply.
“I was running a business.” His tone kept any emotion trapped under its surface. “A business I later sold for nine hundred thousand dollars. Pretty good money for someone in college.”
She resisted pointing out even successful student entrepreneurs were allowed to mourn. “And Nico? What happened to him after you lost your parents?”
Evan resumed pacing. “My maternal grandparents raised him.” He turned his flat gaze on her. “He had a good life.”
She wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her, or himself. “I don’t doubt it. But why did you say this is the first time you’ve lived under the same roof? Didn’t you visit?”
He kept his head turned from her as he continued to treat her office like an oval track. “Sure.” Another turn around the room. “I went to his high school graduation.”
She didn’t say anything, just watched him.
“I couldn’t take time off,” he said after three more revolutions around the room. “I sold that company and moved to California and then began and sold three more. Each more lucrative than the last. But each requiring hundred-hour workweeks.” He turned back to her, his gaze holding hers hostage. “I sent my profits to my grandparents. Nico wanted for nothing.”
She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
“He had a good life,” he repeated. “But then last year—” he balled his fists at his sides “—he flunked out of college. Stopped going to classes. My grandparents didn’t know what to do. I stepped in.”
“Do you know why he stopped?” she finally managed.
“It wasn’t partying or drugs. He drinks but not to excess. And before you ask, he didn’t break up with anyone so it’s not ‘heartache.’” He made air quotes around the last word.
She ignored his derisive snort at the thought of suffering from a broken heart. “Many find college isn’t the right fit. You dropped out, too, right?”
Evan laughed, a bark devoid of mirth. “I dropped out to run a company. He flunked out without a plan. When I asked what he wanted to do, he said he wanted to be paid to drink wine. So here we are.” He finally stopped wearing a path in her faded rug and pulled out her guest chair, settling his muscled bulk in it. “Tell me how you got him to laugh.”
“Evan, I...” She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what the current state of her relationship with him allowed her to say. Her heart squeezed as his hazel gaze lasered in on her, as if she were a glass of water and he was stranded in the middle of the desert. “How I got Nico to laugh isn’t the issue. You need to learn how you can make him laugh.”
“I’ve tried. He rolls his eyes at my jokes.”
“Because your jokes make dad jokes seem edgy.”
He scowled at her, but she was glad to see a glint of humor return to his expression. And something else. A light of appreciation she both wanted to bask in and was afraid of exploring too much. She dropped her gaze and it landed on the wine aroma kit. “One of the reasons why I love working in wine is because of my family. We’ve been winemakers for generations. What about your family?”
Evan shrugged. “My mom was a teacher. My dad owned an auto shop. We don’t have a family trade.”
“What about hobbies? Do you and Nico share any?”
Evan’s blank stare returned. “I don’t have hobbies. I work.”
“You...” She let it pass. “What about taking up Nico’s interests? Nico and I get along because we share an appreciation of wine. I could teach you about it.”
He smirked. “I prefer beer.”
She gave him a mock frown. “I’ve noticed.” She indicated the box. “Nico just returned this aroma kit. It’s a tool used for training people’s noses to identify different scents found in wine. Want to try? At least you’d have something to talk to Nico about.”
His gaze sparked to life. “How does it work?”
She opened the box and chose six small vials, uncapping one before passing it across the desk to him. “Take a sniff. What do you think it is?”
He inhaled deeply, then coughed.
“A sniff,�
� she said.
“Right.” He tried again. “Um...strawberries.”
She smiled. “Correct.” She took it back from him and handed him another. “Now this one.”
He waved it under his nose. “It’s the same one. Strawberries.”
“No. Although it’s also a fruit.”
He put his nose closer to the vial and then shook his head. “This is a trick, right?”
“The differences can be subtle. I promise, not a trick.”
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze catching hers. The dark gold flecks in his eyes glowed in the late afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows. “Maybe it’s because when I’m with you, all I recall is how your hair smells of strawberries.”
She struggled to find her best schoolteacher voice. “You’re supposed to be concentrating on the scent I gave you.”
“Sorry.” He lifted the vial to his nose again, then put it down and gave her a slow, crooked smile. “Still strawberries. My favorite.”
Only Evan Fletcher could make a simple summer fruit sound oh-so-tantalizingly dirty. “Perhaps your sense of sight is overwhelming your sense of smell.”
“Are you suggesting I close my eyes?”
“Would you keep them shut?”
He thought for a second, then his smile widened as his gaze traced the contours of her face, causing heat to rise in her cheeks. “No.”
She stood up, thankful her knees still possessed enough structural integrity to hold her weight. “I might have a better idea. It’s after five o’clock, right?”
Evan frowned. “It’s almost six. Why?”
She opened a cabinet. If she wasn’t mistaken, Linus had stored fabric wine bags for use when giving impromptu gifts...yes. She pulled out a black velvet bag and a length of satin ribbon, then held them up for Evan to see. That means it’s after work hours. Or maybe I should give you a letter of resignation first?”
He watched her through hooded eyes. “You’re fired until tomorrow morning.”
Who's the Boss Now? Page 7