by Danes, Ellie
“Ten?”
“Okay, okay, maybe…five. But trust me, the good ones outnumber the bad ones. Even if it doesn't seem that way sometimes.”
“I know. It's just hard to get over stuff like that. But you know, you're right. I do actually need to meet a new guy and give someone else a chance. I don't want to end up alone. I mean, I’m enjoying being single and free right now, but I do miss the feeling of being with someone, of being in love with someone. It's just that, I don't know, I haven't met anyone who has grabbed my attention in any meaningful way, and I don't feel like going out of my way to meet anyone.”
“Well, I'm not saying that that's what you need to do,” Ellen said. “But just, you know, open your heart to the possibility that you could meet a great guy. When you're open to things like that, the universe sends 'em your way.”
“I know, I know. Have you uh, have you seen Jackson around at all? Have you heard anything about him?”
“Simon saw him at a bar last Friday. Apparently, he was fall-down drunk and was trying to start a fight with some guy. The bouncers threw him out before he could throw any punches though.”
I shook my head and sighed. “There are times it seems like he hasn't learned anything. Is the bar he manages—or at least the one he's supposed to be managing—still open?”
“Amazingly, yes,” she replied. “I don't know how, though. It's gotta be barely scraping by with Jackson running it. The staff are always coming and going. Doesn't seem like Jackson can keep a bartender or a waitress there longer than a week.”
“Can you blame them?” I asked. “Would you like to work under him?”
“Hell no.”
“I really wonder how that place stays afloat.”
“Two or three regulars, I think,” she said. “Old guys who have been going there since it was the old place, before Jackson's family bought it. What did it used to be called then? Jimmy's?”
“Yeah, it used to be Jimmy's,” I answered, “and there used to be a lot more regulars than just two or three. Jackson has run that place into the ground. And it seems like he hasn't learned a single lesson, has he?”
“No, I guess he hasn't.”
“You haven't heard about him, uh, looking for me, or asking around about me, or anything have you?” I asked, feeling an uncomfortable surge of anxiety ripping through me.
“He hasn't come around here, not since last time when I called the cops on him.”
“All right, well, that's a relief, I guess,” I said. “Anyways, I gotta head out now.”
“Okay. It was real nice chatting and catching up.”
“Agreed! You and Simon—well, both Simons, Senior and Junior—need to come out here to visit me sometime soon okay? You guys will love Sala Valley.”
“I promise we'll come out there to catch up soon. Maybe next weekend, or maybe the one after that. It'll be soon, I promise.”
“You'd better keep that promise, Ellen Pryce!”
She chuckled. “I always do, Lora Bailey. Take care, okay?”
“I will. We’ll talk again soon.”
She cut the call off, and then I hurried out and drove to Sala Valley Winery to start my day of work. I pulled into the parking lot and saw that I still had plenty of time, so I hit the reception area to make myself a cup of coffee before heading to my office. As I got to the coffee maker, my boss, Ron Farrell, stepped around the corner.
Ron was a short, robust, cheerful-looking man in his sixties. He had started this winery from scratch many years ago as a young man. Because of all the hard work he had put into this project, it had become a great success, one that he was rightfully proud of.
“Lora!” he said, beaming a smile at me, “top of the morning to you! You're just the person I wanted to see.”
“Good morning Mr. Farrell,” I said with a smile. “How can I help?”
“Come on, how many times do I have to ask you? Call me Ron, please!”
I smiled, loosening up a bit. I was still so used to my old boss, who had been very stiff and formal, that it was difficult adjusting to someone like Ron, who was always so cheerful and informal.
“Sorry, Ron. Old habits and all that,” I said, feeling a tinge of embarrassment.
“Not to worry, not worry my dear,” he said. “Look, I've got bad news and good news. Which would you like to hear first?”
“Ah, the classic conundrum,” I said with a grin. “I always go for the bad first, when presented with a dilemma of this sort.”
He chuckled. “All right, well this is the bad news: I'd like to ask you to work this evening. I'm sorry, I know it's Friday night, and that after a long week all you want to do is get home and kick your shoes off and relax, but I have a very important client coming in this evening. He would have come during the day, but he's had some sort of problem and now he can only come this evening. And he's busy the rest of the weekend, so he can't come on Saturday or Sunday. I'd stay and do this myself, but I’ve got that flight to New York in a couple of hours. So, are you able to do this tonight, or should I ask someone else?”
I almost thought of telling him I already had plans—because I did—but then figured that there would always be other times that I could go out and have drinks with Janie and the girls. This client sounded intriguing, and as I'd only been here three months, I was still looking for ways to impress Ron and cement my place at the winery.
“Sure,” I said. “I can work tonight, no problem.”
Ron beamed one of his broad, grandfatherly smiles at me. “Excellent! I knew I could count on you, Lora. You'll be the only person here, so I'll arrange a set of keys for you so that you can lock up when you're done with the client. Make sure you get your sales game on now, young lady! If you impress him, you could land this company a very big contract. And, of course, there will be a very generous bonus in it for you if that happens.”
“I'll do my best, Ron,” I said, bolstering my words with conviction.
“Fantastic! Well, I have some last-minute things to gather for New York. Like I said, I'll arrange for someone to get a set of keys to you. Good luck!”
“Thank you! Oh, by the way, who is the client who's coming in?”
“Ah yes. He's a very successful young man who owns that fancy gourmet restaurant in town, Nine. He also owns a few other restaurants in nearby towns, and a bar or two as well I believe. His name is Evan Powers, and he's looking for a range of locally produced wines to stock all of his restaurants with—like I said, this could be a very good contract for this winery.”
“Evan Powers,” I said. “All right Ron, I'll do my best to sell Mr. Powers on our range of wines.”
“Good luck,” he said. “Keep me updated, please.”
“I'll do that. Enjoy your trip!”
“I'm sure I will,” he replied with a smile, and then he shuffled off.
Evan Powers, huh? I felt like I'd heard that name somewhere before. Still, whether I had or hadn't, I was going to do my absolute best to sell Sala Valley Wines to him tonight…and I had a feeling that things were going to go pretty well. But before I could start thinking about that, I had to let Janie know that I wouldn't be able to get those drinks later.
* * * * *
Later that evening, I had gone out for a quick dinner at a downtown Chinese restaurant and had easily made it back to the winery in time for the arrival of our prospective client. I had been given the keys to the winery earlier, and this was the first time I'd been here both alone, and at night. It was different—almost creepy. The building was an old one, converted from a farmhouse, and I felt as if there were eyes watching me from the shadows.
I felt my mind wandering, and, probably because of the creepy atmosphere, my imagination started drifting toward thoughts of my ex-boyfriend, Jackson. A chill ran down my spine and I shot a quick glance over my shoulder, fearful that someone was lurking in the corner. There was a strange scratching sound outside, and it caused icy fear to pulse through my veins. But when I went and looked out of the window, it
turned out to just be a night wind blowing some dry leaves across the concrete.
I wished that I felt safer than I did. He was what, eighty miles away, and he had no idea that I was here. Everyone who knew me back in Wytheville knew that I didn't want Jackson to know where I was, and I could trust all those people to keep their mouths shut. I had taken every precaution possible to ensure that he wouldn't find me—and anyway, it was a Friday night; he would probably be too drunk to move now, let alone find his car keys and drive eighty miles. There was no reason to worry, no reason to—
BANG!
I shrieked and jumped with fright at the sudden, loud noise. My heart started pounding violently, and my stomach felt as if it had leaped into my throat. What the heck had that sound been?
It seemed to have come from the parking lot, so I hurried to the front window and looked out. There in the parking lot was an expensive-looking silver Mercedes, and a man was getting out of it. He was very tall and well built, and although I couldn't get a clear view of his face, it looked like he was handsome too. He wore a charcoal business suit that was perfectly tailored to his broad-shouldered frame, and his dark hair was cropped stylishly short.
He walked around to the front of his car and squatted down next to the tire, checking it out.
It was Evan Powers—at least I guessed it was. He touched the tire and then shook his head with annoyance. I decided to go out and talk to him, so I opened the front door and strolled into the parking lot.
“Good evening,” I said cautiously. “Are you—”
“Evan Powers,” he said, standing up. “And it's not really such a good evening. I just blew out my front tire on a broken bottle in your parking lot.”
“Oh no,” I said as I walked toward him. “I'm so sorry. This recycling guy comes around with his truck every Friday afternoon to pick up wine bottles. One of them must have fallen off the back of the truck. We’ll compensate you for the damaged tire, of course.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Don't worry about it. My insurance will cover it.”
Now that I was closer and could see him clearly, I could see that he was very handsome. He had a strong jaw and powerful, masculine features and a tall, high-bridged nose. Beneath severe eyebrows, the same deep brown as his perfectly-styled hair, sat two deep-set, piercing green eyes.
I was surprised to see that he was—or at least that he looked—maybe only a year or two older than me. Yes, Ron had said that Evan was a young man, but when Ron said something like that he could just as often be referring to someone who was forty-five as someone who was twenty-five.
“Hi, Mr. Powers,” I said as I reached him. “I'm Lora Bailey, Sales Coordinator for Sala Valley Winery.”
“Hi, Ms. Bailey,” he said, smiling despite the situation. “Like I said, I'm Evan Powers. I don't know how much Ron has told you about me or what I'm looking for, but I own a couple of restaurants in this county, sort of higher-end restaurants, and recently our customers have been mentioning that they're not too happy with the middle-of-the-range house wine we stock. We've been stocking wines from a winery out near Wytheville for the past two years, and it seems to me that the quality of their wines has dropped over the past couple of months. Now, I could easily bring in some wines from Argentina or Chile at a big discount, as I've got some connections down there who send me top-quality beef, but I really do prefer to support local producers. But the bottom line, Lora, is always my customers' satisfaction, and right now this Wytheville wine is not leaving them particularly satisfied. I've heard good things about Sala Valley Wines, but of course I need to see for myself before I start making deals.”
I nodded, digesting all the information he had just given me. I liked the way he talked; he was very direct and confident. There was definitely no beating around the bush with this guy. He knew what he wanted, and he went straight for it.
“Why don't you come in and we can get started right away,” I suggested. “Oh, and about the tire, would you like me to call anyone?”
“I'll call my insurance company right now. They'll send out a mobile mechanic to change the tire. Not that I can't do it myself,” he added hastily. “But I'm pressed for time and can't spend the evening changing a tire and tasting wines—and this wine is important for my business. I don't let quality slide in any area of my restaurants.”
“Well, I think you've come to the right place, Mr. Powers,” I said. “I'm quite sure that you'll be very impressed with the quality of our wines.”
“You've got a lot of confidence in your product, I see,” he observed. “Good, I like that. Confidence, I mean.”
I felt like he meant something else as well, though. There had definitely been something in his eyes when he had first looked at me. Had he been checking me out, or had I just imagined that? Was this tingling, slightly nervous feeling a spark of attraction? Was it mutual?
No, this was business, and I couldn't afford to think of anything else. This was a potentially huge contract, and I had to be totally focused and sharp.
“Follow me, Mr. Powers,” I said, turning and heading into the building.
I could have sworn that I felt his eyes roving over my body as he walked behind me.
“I like this building,” he said as we entered the front section of the winery. “It's got a great vintage feel. Looks like it was converted from what, maybe an old farmhouse?”
“That's right, Mr.—”
“Please, call me Evan.”
I had to admit that a little thrill rippled across my skin as he said my name. There was something about that rich, deep voice of his that really seemed to get under my skin.
“All right, Evan. Then you should call me Lora. Yes, this building used to be a farmhouse. It's over a hundred years old.”
“Fascinating. I love architecture, especially old architecture. I almost became an architect, actually. But food—gourmet food—has always been my first love.”
“Really? I've always enjoyed looking at old buildings myself. It's one reason I've always wanted to travel to Europe—I'd love to see the buildings.”
“Oh, then you should go to France!” he said enthusiastically. “I did a year of chef's school there. There's some absolutely amazing architecture there. It's a wonderful place—a feast for the eyes, and the stomach.”
“I'm sure it must be, and I really do hope to go one day,” I said.
It really was feeling more and more like this guy was flirting with me. But I had to stay focused. I had a job to do here—a job I was good at. I kept my game face on, and led him through to the tasting area, where I had already set up a range of wine bottles with glasses.
“Ah, and here are the products,” he said, nodding slowly as he took in the sight of the bottles. “They look good, I like the presentation and packaging. But, of course, what really counts is what's inside. So, let's get right to it. Let's sample some wine.”
I was starting to feel a little nervous now. A lot rested on what he thought of the taste of our wines. I could either succeed greatly here, or fail spectacularly. Which was it going to be? There was only one way to find out.
Taking a deep breath, I opened a bottle of Pinotage and poured him a glass…
Chapter 3
Evan
As we’d talked about the car and the damaged tire, and I was only half aware of what I was saying—something about insurance covering it, someone coming out to fix it, whatever…
She was a brunette with a lighter rather than a darker shade of luscious chestnut hair. It was silky and bounced around her shoulders like cascading water as she moved. She looked up at me with a pair of big, bright blue eyes and I had to catch my breath. She introduced herself, and when she saw the tire, she scrunched her cute button nose and pressed her full bow-lips together. My eyes wandered to her curvy figure—I wasn't a fan of stick-thin model types. I needed a woman who looked—well, like a full woman—and Lora had generous curves in all the right places, showed off subtly by the dark, semi-formal business sui
t she was wearing. Sexy but professional, I liked the look. A lot.
After the brief conversation, we headed inside to taste the wine, but as important as it was to me to get top quality stuff for my restaurants, I just couldn't take my mind—or my eyes—off her. She was stunning. Beautiful. Captivating.
All right Evan, come on, focus now. What are you doing? You're here to strike a deal, to do a job. Don't let this woman distract you…no matter how gorgeous she is. Come on! Clear your head.
I did my best to listen to my inner pep talk. It helped somewhat, but I was still finding her presence distracting. I had done a bit of light flirting—I couldn't help myself—and while part of me was trying to focus on getting the job done, another part was encouraging me to take the flirting further.
“So, as I was saying,” Lora said as she poured a little bit of wine into a glass, “this is our Pinotage. It has a rich, full-bodied flavor, and leaves a pleasant aftertaste on one's palate, crisp with strong hints of the fruits of summer.”
“You've pretty much sold it without me even having had a sip,” I replied with a grin. “Are you reading that off the label, or does it actually taste like that?”
She laughed—and as she did, a thrill ripped through me.
“No, those are my impressions of it. I made sure I was very familiar with the products when I first started out here.”
“And how long have you been here?” I asked.
She looked a little embarrassed. “Uh, three months. But,” she added hastily, “I worked in a winery in Wytheville for four years before this, so trust me, I do know my wines.”
“Oh, I didn't mean to imply otherwise,” I said. “Don't worry, I wasn't questioning your abilities. Wytheville huh? I own a bar and a restaurant there, although I don't go out that way very often any more. Why did you decide to move to Sala Valley?”
She suddenly looked quite uncomfortable, and I could tell right away that this was a bit of a sensitive issue for her.
“Oh well, Wytheville is my hometown,” she said, looking away from me and avoiding eye contact, “and I spent my whole life there, aside from my years at college. So I guess I just got a bit tired of it. Needed a change of scenery.”