by Hazel Parker
“We joke all the time about me settling down and me not being such a womanizer and all that, and most of the time, it’s in good fun. But I’m under a lot of stress right now, and I feel like I basically have about an eighteen-month window to settle in and get married before I lose out on the inheritance forever. Probably less, if God forbid something happens to them. So...I did what I felt like I had to. I know it’s fucked up, but I didn’t kidnap Chelsea or threaten her family. Both of us know what we got into.”
I looked down at my shoes. The shoes that I had worn when I flew out to Las Vegas, met with Uncle Nick, and sealed my fate. The shoes that I now wore on this first day with Layla as my employee.
Then I looked up at Layla.
“I’m so sorry, Brett.”
I loved my sister for a reason, and it wasn’t because we talked shit even better than brother Nick and I did.
“I know I can’t fully appreciate the spot you’re in, but…”
She couldn’t finish her thoughts. I knew where she was going. She knew what it was like to feel like one was left in a desperate spot with love. Hers hurt from heartbreak, not from the pressure of time, but she knew what it was like to be in a spot of desperation more than she cared to admit.
It wasn’t something we ever talked about. The four Ferrari siblings—even Leo—had gone out one night to discuss what had happened between her and a flame. We got drunker than we ever had before, but only with the promise that we would never again bring up what happened. We said our bit, we laughed, we cried, we hugged, and then, when we woke up so hungover, we felt like we belonged six feet under, we buried that night forever.
But that didn’t mean the scars and memories of that night and of what Layla had gone through were gone so easily.
“Well, I just hope you two can somehow actually find love,” Layla said. “Who knows? You two are attracted to each other.”
“What?” I said with a laugh. “I mean, we’re both attractive people, but—”
“Brett, you know what I mean,” Layla said. “Just be careful. She is an employee, and if you’re too overt with how you are, we might have some employees here who could file sexual harassment suits. And, of course, always the risk that someone else at the company will take an eye to her.”
“Bah,” I said, waving my hand. “Anyone who isn’t a Ferrari picks up quickly that the dynamics here are odd. And in any case, we’re not going to be overt. We need to fool grandma and grandpa first, not other employees.”
I shrugged.
“And besides, right now, she hates my guts for how the earlier encounters at the bars went. If there is going to be any flirting, it’s not going to happen for at least a couple of weeks.”
“What? She hates your guts?”
After a sigh, I recounted the two times we’d run into each other, the first with my quick and sudden exit, and the second with her emotional and quick exit. In retrospect, if we had known that we would just be running into circles back to each other, maybe this whole thing wouldn’t feel so silly, but I was sure Chelsea still had lingering feelings from those two nights.
But unlike earlier in the conversation, when Layla had empathized with me and expressed sorrow for my situation, when I finished these points, she just started laughing.
“You mean you two hate each other because you didn’t know the other was involved in a secret arranged marriage?” she said, her words interrupted by gasps and fits of laughter. “I mean, holy shit, don’t you think your own mother would have hated you if you acted that way?”
“I, well, yes, but…”
“That’s nothing, you two will be over it within a week,” she said. “Not like you really have a choice, either.”
“And what does that mean?”
Layla finally stopped laughing long enough to answer, though her answer was still interrupted by the occasional giggle.
“It means you’ll have to win her over the traditional way if you don’t want the next several years to be miserable,” she said. “You can’t rely on your old tricks at the bar and your old games to win her heart. You’re going to actually have to get to know her, be kind to her, and love her.”
It all sounded good. But I wasn’t sure I could do that. I’d never done it to date.
“What if I don’t know how to do that?” I said, only half-jokingly.
Layla smirked at me.
“Something tells me you’ve got at least fifty million reasons or so to figure it out,” she said as she stood up. “Unlike you, I’ve got to actually get back to work. But I’ll be watching you two lovebirds with great interest from afar. And don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”
I had absolutely no worry about Layla saying anything. Her word was gold.
But mine was probably more akin to rust than anything else.
Layla had made some points, though. My days of barhopping, women-chasing, and sexual conquests, even if my future marriage with Chelsea was based on convenience and not love, were all but over. Did I want to be miserable and rich, or at least attempt to be happy and rich? Why couldn’t I have both?
I didn’t see any reason other than a fear of actually getting close to someone that I couldn’t be rich.
A few minutes later, Chelsea walked in. Suddenly, I looked at her a little bit differently than I had before. Instead of seeing the girl that was going to make life awkward as hell, instead of seeing the girl that had pissed me off the last time I saw her, I saw potential. I saw hope. I saw—
“You forgot to order me food, didn’t you?”
Someone who wasn’t afraid to call me on my fuckups.
“I did,” I said. “I’ll go get it for you. Just do what you can in the interim work-wise.”
I left without saying another word to Chelsea. I needed the distance and separation, anyway.
We’d have plenty of time to get close in the months and years ahead. And thanks to my conversation with Layla, that actually seemed promising and not threatening.
Chapter 14: Chelsea
Brett eventually got me my chicken parm and pasta, but really, for how all over the place my body was that day, I could have gone the whole time without eating and I wasn’t sure it would have made a real difference.
I kept my head down for the rest of the day and just did my job to the best of my ability. I was still seething with anger at what I had gotten myself into. I couldn’t fucking believe that I’d turned into a gold digger, even if both sides of the equation fully understood that I was digging for gold with the guy—it just wasn’t his gold that we were searching for.
If anyone else in the family wanted to try and speak to me, no one did. Layla walked by me a couple more times, but she didn’t say a word for the rest of the afternoon. Alf walked by and nodded to me, and I nodded back; he seemed like a nice enough fellow. I wondered what he would say if he knew the whole reason I was here was so I could get millions of his dollars when he died. Not exactly ice-breaker material.
I got Brett all caught up on emails and had everything done by three, but since the limo wouldn’t come until after five, I was reduced to just sitting at my desk, utterly bored out of my mind, having to hope that things passed more quickly than they seemed to be at that moment. I didn’t dare check my phone during this first day, but if every day was going to be like this, then I wouldn’t be afraid to bring out the cell. Worst case, I’d just blame it on Brett.
I started jotting down things on the scrap paper in front of me. It started out as stupid shit, like “top ten TV shows,” just lists I created for myself for entertainment value. But by the time four o’clock rolled around, the list had taken on a little bit more meaning; now I was writing about top ten ways I would keep myself sane for the rest of my “marriage.”
I needed to go back to the contract and see if anything was said about remaining employed at Ferrari Wines once we got married. The workplace didn’t seem so bad, but the job...this was a job designed for a high-school dropout, not an accounting major. Yes, the pay was nice. Yes, the be
nefits were nice. Yes, the people were nice.
No, it would not make up for the lack of intellectual stimulation.
I needed to find an exercise practice to go to, something that would keep me away from home in the evening. Yoga, martial arts, a run club...anything that would mean when work ended at five, I didn’t go home until after seven or even eight o’clock at night.
I needed to find an activity to do on the weekends that was beyond “drinking with Amanda.” That reminded me, I needed new friends who only knew me as the married woman, not as the one who fell in love with her boss. Another reason to be pissed off—this already seemed to be ruining my friendships.
But ultimately, for all the lists I made, I knew that the best and easiest way to make my life not horrible was to somehow get along with Brett Ferrari.
Imagine, having to actually have a good relationship with the person you married.
Thankfully, that was a question I could solve much later in the week, because when I came to that conclusion, it was five o’clock, and I got a text from the limo driver stating that he was right outside. I figured I at least owed Brett a heads-up that I was heading out, and so I closed out my computer, locked my cabinets, and walked into his office.
He was resting his head on one hand, the other on his mouse, staring at his computer. There was a certain ruggedness to his appearance that suggested an exhausted soldier having just finished his day, but whatever sexiness that may have conveyed was undone by the fact that said “battle” was having to figure out what to do with me.
“I’m going home,” I said. “Limo is outside. I, uh…”
What the hell do you say after this?
“Thanks for hiring me.”
I didn’t exactly say it with sweetness and kindness in my voice. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Of course,” Brett said. “I will see you…”
But then he sighed, leaned back in his chair, and put his hands behind his head.
“Close the door, will ya?”
“But the limo—”
“He’ll wait. He’s on our dime, anyway.”
As long as it’s not coming out of my paycheck. I shut the office door but kept my back up against it, ready to make a quick exit the moment that I could.
“Do you want me to give you a tour of the tasting room?”
I arched an eyebrow at him, trying to see if he was serious or somehow making fun of me. But Brett didn’t flinch, patiently waiting for me to respond.
“I mean, if I’m going to work here, I might as well know the layout of the place,” I said. “But the limo—”
“Again, don’t worry about it,” Brett said. “You can leave at any time. And besides, why rush it? You’re going to have to drive yourself to and from work after today anyway.”
Damnit, he’s right. I sighed and stepped away from the door.
“OK, show me then.”
Brett smiled at me not as a boss would, but as a man asking me out on a date would. Naturally, this begged the question of if this was a professional tour or something a little more personal. He didn’t provide me a clear answer, and I had to imagine this blurred line was going to be a regular thing between the two of us.
At the end of the day, though, there aren’t really going to be blurred lines. He’s going to be your husband, and it’s going to stay that way until Alf, likely, is the one to die.
Once again, he led me out the door with his hand on the small of my back, and once again, a shiver went down my spine that followed with a warm tingle. I stepped to the side to let him lead and remained about two paces behind, trying my best not to give him credit for having a great body and a good-looking ass.
“Did you enjoy your first day?”
I didn’t respond at first, taking in the rest of the Ferrari Winery. Brett had to repeat his question to jolt me from my purposefully distracted glances.
“Oh, it was good, I guess.”
“Just good?” he said. “What wasn’t great about it?”
I shrugged.
“Do I really have to say it?”
Brett opened his mouth to speak and thought better of it.
“Well, hopefully, this is a better experience,” he said about two minutes later. “Because this is the wine tasting room.”
He showed me to a room that looked like a library for wine, with shelves and glass casings containing more bottles of wine than I think I had ever seen in a room in my life. There were a few tables spread out throughout the room, giving people an option to sit and taste their favorite, but there were also counters near several of the wines, allowing quick sips as people walked along.
“This is probably my favorite place in the whole winery,” Brett said. “It’s where I feel like I can actually do my job.”
“As opposed to at your desk?”
“I’m a sommelier, not a strategist,” Brett said with a bemused look on his face. “I don’t do these types of things all day every day, so I have to spend some time at a desk, but the look you see me in now is for this very spot.”
He opened his arms out and gestured toward himself, as if commanding me to take a look at him. He hadn’t changed at all since the beginning of the day, but the one thing I could see now that perhaps I had not appreciated before was how everything he wore seemed to match and complement each other.
Of course, the suit-and-tie look was always handsome on any man who knew what he was doing. But Brett went beyond that—he had a silver watch, some nifty black dress shoes, and a black belt that all seemed to create the appearance of a meticulously crafted man. His hair, even, was so well-combed that it was as if not a single strand of hair could be found out of place.
“I love my job,” he said. “And I take great pride in it. It’s part of why I hired you, you know.”
“I’m sure that’s why,” I said, but instead of a sarcastic smile, I found myself giving him a sincere, warm one.
“I love telling people the story of our wine,” he said. “When you come here, I don’t want you to just have a taste of wine and enjoy some California weather. I want you to understand the history, the origin, the process...everything you want to know. I’m not an encyclopedia of knowledge; I’m a novel of knowledge. Anyone can go online and read facts, but I like to tell a story. I like to think that’s part of why I’m so good at what I do.”
Now, this was a Brett Ferrari that was far more attractive than the aloof, casual player at the bar. This was not the Brett who put up charm and charisma as his sword and shield to try to lower my defenses; this was just the real guy, talking about what he really liked. If he only knew that this was a far more attractive side of him, maybe this ordeal wouldn’t be so bad.
“But anyway, I’m doing enough introduction. Let me actually show you around.”
And so Brett did just that, taking me through all of the wines that the Ferrari family had ever produced. I recognized some of the Malbecs that I had ordered in restaurants, even the very one I’d had just the afternoon before I met Brett, wishing I’d meet a Ferrari man. I...guess I’d gotten my wish on that, perhaps a little too well.
Although Brett never hesitated to gently touch my back or shoulder as he spoke, it never felt like a seduction. It just felt organic. Was Brett actually taking a real liking to me? Was he actually attracted to me? Or was he just feeling like he had to be attracted to me since the two of us were stuck together now?
Well, at least he was a hell of a lot less insufferable this way than before.
The tour lasted all of about an hour before we circled back to the entrance. Brett looked down at his phone, pulled it out, and smiled.
“You’ve got another fifteen minutes, right?” he said.
Honestly, an hour ago, I would have said I didn’t have another five minutes. After how well this had gone, though, I wouldn’t have minded staying another hour.
“Sure.”
“I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet, some family,” he said. “He’ll actually be here…�
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“Right now?”
I turned. Nick Ferrari, the All-Star outfielder for the San Francisco Giants, had just entered the winery.
Nick...Ferrari.
How the hell had I never put two and two together and made that connection?
“Chelsea, this is my brother Nick; he’s a professional athlete.”
“Hi there, welcome to the Ferrari clan,” he said, offering his hand. Does he know?
“Pleasure,” I said.
I never really got star-struck, but there was a certain level of awe that I had somehow found myself in a highly successful family. I’d asked for more successful men in my life, and, well, I’d gotten what I had asked for.
“I need to take care of one small call really quick,” Brett said. “Allow me to step aside while you two talk.”
Wait, is this a test of some kind?
“He’s a character, huh?” Nick said with a chuckle.
“He’s something,” I said. “But he’s been a pretty good boss so far. Pretty hands off. Was just giving me a tour of the tasting room to end the day.”
“He does love this room more than just about anything else,” Nick said wistfully. “I know this sounds ridiculous, but he’s probably got more passion for it than any of us do for our respective careers.”
The look on my face did a better job of expressing my doubt about that than anything I could have said.
“There was always the understanding in our family that we’d work for the family winery unless we got extraordinary opportunities elsewhere, which is what I have now,” Nick said. “It could’ve made it really easy for us to just become lazy and feel entitled, but Brett would have done this even if he didn’t have to.”
“Makes sense.”
“Yep. Brett’s a real humble, charming, nice guy. He can sometimes come across as a little...oh, what’s the word? A little full of himself? A little cocky? But at the end of the day, he’s as nice a guy as you’ll see.”
Wait…
Was this conversation about Brett the boss? Or…
“I’m glad to have him as my boss,” I said. “I’ve had some bad bosses before, and so far, he seems like he’s respectful and nice.”