The Wedding Bargain

by Lee McKenzie

  Eric held one necklace in each hand. “I’ll grant Paige this. The girl has good taste and she definitely knows how to take something from blah—” another head-to-toe hand wave “—to…less blah.”

  Jess rolled her eyes. “What’s the point in getting all dolled up for this guy? For one thing, it’s not my style. For another, I’m pretty sure he’s after something and once he realizes he isn’t going to get it, he won’t ask me out again.”

  “You think this guy expects you to put out on your first date?”

  “No! And if he does, he’ll really be disappointed.” There was no point in reminding him this wasn’t a date. No one believed her anyway.

  “So what does he want?” Eric slid a bowl of peanuts in front of the two men at the bar.

  “The Whiskey Sour.”

  “No way,” Larry said.

  Bill shoveled a small handful of nuts into his mouth and shook his head.

  Eric’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s looking for real estate in this area to open a wine bar, and my bar is exactly what he wants.”

  “Where’d he get the idea it was for sale?”

  “Since it’s not for sale, I have no idea. He seems like the kind of guy who assumes he can have anything he wants.”

  Eric leaned against the back counter, looking thoughtful. “A wine bar, huh? What did you say his name is?”

  “Michael.”

  “Michael…?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, sweetie. You’re going out with this guy and you don’t even know his name?”

  “It’s not like he’s a total stranger. He knows Rory’s mom.”

  “And he’s a big tipper,” Larry said.

  “And a car buff,” Bill added. “He’s restoring an old Morgan.”

  “Is he, now? It’s about time our girl landed herself a man who has money and class.” Eric tweaked her ponytail. “Did Paige have any advice about what to do with your hair?”

  “No,” she lied, fluffing up her bangs and smoothing out the rest. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “You look like the girl next door.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Well, let’s see. You’re not sixteen and this is not high school. You’re going out for dinner.” He winked at the two men sitting at the bar. “A business dinner that could possibly turn into a date.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be anything fancy.”

  “Still, it’s hard to believe Paige didn’t suggest something for your hair.”

  Jess quashed the momentary flicker of guilt over her misrepresentation of her friend’s fashion sense, but not before the eagle-eyed Eric detected it.

  “I know that look.” He grabbed the purse and opened it.

  “Hey! Where are your manners?”

  “Aha.” With the flourish of a magician he pulled a green-and-black polka-dot scarf out of the purse as if it was a big white rabbit. “I knew she’d think of something.”

  “Give that back.”

  “Turn around,” he told her. “We can use the scarf as a headband.”

  Larry nodded his agreement. “Good idea,” Bill said. “Lose the ponytail. Men go for women with long hair.”

  It was one thing to accept fashion advice from Paige, who was a total clotheshorse compared to Jess, and from Eric, for whom the same could be said, but an old bachelor mechanic? That’s where she drew the line. “The ponytail stays. Paige said I can tie this around it.” She reached for the scarf.

  Eric whisked it out of reach. “Okay, fine. You can keep the ponytail, but I’ll do the tying. Turn around.”

  Jess reluctantly did as she was told.

  “I almost forgot,” Eric said while he worked on her hair. “Some guy from the health department showed up today.”

  Oh, crap. Now what? “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Yeah, he was here to check out the plumbing. Says you need to get the plumbing in the women’s restroom fixed, ASAP. And your business license has expired.”

  Double crap. This was no coincidence. Somebody must’ve called the city and complained. “Did he leave his name?”

  “He left his card. I put it on the desk in the office.”

  Jess wondered how much time she could buy. “I’ll call him in the morning and—”

  The door swung open just as Eric finished with the scarf. Michael stepped into the bar, instantly seemed to size up the situation and flashed her a smile.

  The sick feeling brought on by her worries about having to pay for a plumber was replaced by an unexpected increase in her heart rate and rapid rotations of her stomach. This was crazy. She had already seen him in a perfectly tailored suit at the wedding, and in what had clearly been expensive business attire the day he dropped in to the Whiskey Sour. Tonight, dressed in a pair of casual, dark-colored cords, a button-down shirt and black-and-gray argyle sweater, he should look less sexy. He didn’t.

  Eric’s hands settled on her shoulders. “This is your date?” he whispered in her ear.

  Jess nodded, at a surprising loss for words.

  “Too bad.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Because it means I can’t ask him out,” he teased.

  She applied an elbow to his rib cage. “Behave.”

  Eric had other ideas. “So you’re Michael,” he said, extending one hand across the bar.

  Michael confidently walked up to the bar and accepted the handshake. “I am.”

  “I’m Eric. Jess’s relief bartender and sometimes fashion consultant.”

  Michael switched his attention to Jess. “Nice work. You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” Should she say something about how he looked? While she pondered that, he took a stool and shook hands with Larry and Bill.

  “So where are you two crazy kids off to tonight?” Eric asked.

  “I thought I’d take her to Morgan’s at the Wharf.”

  “Sounds like a nice casual place for a first date,” Eric said, glancing pointedly at Jess’s things that were still strewn across the bar. “Can I get you something?” he asked.

  “No, thanks.” Michael smiled at Jess again. “Whenever you’re ready…”

  “Right. I just need a couple of minutes.” She scooped her things off the bar. “Be right back.” She hauled everything into her tiny office and left the door ajar so she could hear their conversation.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be Michael Morgan, would you?” Eric asked.

  “I am.” And he didn’t sound surprised.

  She sure as heck was. How did Eric know who he was?

  “Jess said you want to open another wine bar in this neighborhood.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  She stole a surreptitious look at her dinner date. Everything about Michael Morgan was flawless. His clothes, his smile, his height. He even had the perfect haircut, especially compared to present company.

  Larry made up for thinning hair and a receding hair-line by letting the sides grow too long and covering the top with a ball cap. Bill had very little hair at all. Eric’s chin-length sandy-blond waves were unabashedly girlish. Jess kept her own carefree long hair tied back off her face, and she trimmed her own bangs to eliminate the expense of going to a salon. Michael had the kind of precision haircut that required constant maintenance and a steady cash flow.

  She edged away from the door. Who is this guy, and what do you really know about him?

  His name was Michael Morgan, and he was taking her to Morgan’s at the Wharf. A person didn’t have to be a genius to add that up. He wore expensive clothes, drove an expensive car and he was opening a wine bar.

  Another wine bar.

  She hung her backpack on a hook and stashed her helmet on a shelf next to a stack of printer paper. Then she shoved aside a pile of bills and set the borrowed purse on the desk next to the computer keyboard. The purse strap jostled the mouse, and the monitor flickered to life. Jess snuck a
nother peek past the door. Michael was munching on peanuts and laughing at something Larry was saying.

  She sat gingerly on the edge of the ancient desk chair so it wouldn’t creak and opened a search engine.

  She got more than 29 million results for Michael Morgan.

  “Crap.”

  She typed San Francisco after his name.

  “Bingo.”

  Michael Morgan, CEO of Morgan Estate Winery.

  Michael Morgan, owner of Morgan’s on Nob Hill. A wine bar.

  Michael Morgan, owner of Morgan’s at the Wharf. Another wine bar.

  Michael Morgan, benefactor, California Down Syndrome Society. Okay, that was probably a different Michael Morgan.

  From what she could see, the Michael Morgan who was sitting at her bar—eating peanuts and having a friendly chat with Eric, Larry and Bill—was loaded. At least now she knew why he required the services of a corporate lawyer and knew so much about wine. She smacked her forehead. No wonder he’d looked so surprised when she said wine tasting was pompous. And now there was no question about his motive for being here. He wanted the Whiskey Sour. “Think again, Mr. I’ve-Got-More-Money-Than-I-Know-What-To-Do-With Big Shot. It isn’t for sale. It wasn’t for sale last week, it isn’t for sale now, and no amount of wining and dining is going to change that.”

  “Jess?” The door swung open and Eric stepped into the office. “Are you ready?”

  She hastily closed the search engine. “Yes. All set.” She stood and grabbed her windbreaker and the borrowed handbag.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “What?”

  “The reason you came in here, remember?”

  She did not.

  “The necklace?”

  Right. She picked up the string of black and silver beads and slipped it over her head, but it got snagged on her ponytail and the scarf.

  Eric disentangled them and settled the necklace in place, then rolled his eyes when she stuck an arm in the sleeve of her windbreaker. “You couldn’t have worn a nicer jacket?”

  “I rode my Vespa, and this is the only thing I have that’s wind and waterproof.”

  “It’s not raining.”

  “But it might.”

  “You’re hopeless,” he said, shaking his head. “So…what did you find out?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t give me that innocent routine. You looked him up on the internet.”

  “I found out why he’s interested in this place.”

  Eric gave her an affectionate hug. “Is it so hard to believe that maybe he just wants to take you out for dinner?”

  “Yes. Nobody gets that rich without pushing other people around.”

  “And everybody knows that nobody pushes Jessica Bennett around.” Then Eric flashed her a smile. “No one’s going to force you into anything you don’t want to do, so I think you should just relax and have a good time. Besides, they don’t come any dishier.”

  “You’re hopeless.” He was also right. Michael Morgan was the dishiest.

  MICHAEL OPENED THE CAR DOOR for Jess and closed it after she slid in. Since she had emerged from her office she had yet to make eye contact, and he didn’t know why. Aside from Heather Franklin, the girl he’d persuaded to go to junior prom with him, Jess was the most reluctant date he’d ever had.

  He slid behind the wheel and fastened his seat belt. “Is that your scooter?” he asked, referring to the pint-size, candy-apple-red motorcycle parked in front of him.

  That got her attention. “It’s a Vespa, and yes, it’s mine. How did you know that?”

  The tone of her question implied that he had somehow been spying on her. Did that mean she was onto him, or just suspicious by nature? “After I got here you carried a helmet into your office.”

  “Oh.”

  Time to change the subject. “I need to make a quick stop before we go for dinner,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  All right, then. Time to put his plan into action. Neither spoke as they drove the short distance to the building on Folsom Street. Along the way he glanced at her a couple of times to see if she was looking at him. She wasn’t.

  The abandoned building looked even less welcoming than he remembered. “This is the place I’m considering for the new bar. My architect asked me to check on a few things.” That was the truth, although not entirely accurate. Lexi had sent her report as promised and they had done a walk-through two days ago. Bringing Jess here was simply a strategy for opening a dialogue about the work and the costs involved in renovating one of these old warehouses.

  He got out of the car and went around to open her door. “Come on in and have a look.”

  While he unlocked the door, she craned her neck and looked at the building’s shadowy facade. After the door swung open, he groped for the light switch. He switched it and nothing happened. He switched it off and back on again, and a couple of overhead fluorescent tubes reluctantly flickered on.

  Oh, God. This place better not be rat infested. Technically this was not a first date, but it wasn’t the time for a woman to see how squeamish he was about vermin.

  Jess followed him inside, and her stunned silence spoke volumes.

  “It doesn’t make a good first impression,” he said.

  “No offence, but this place is a dump.” She walked into the middle of the dilapidated warehouse and looked around. “It’s a lot bigger than it looks from the outside. What kind of seating capacity do you have in mind?”

  Not large enough to fill this space. “I’m going for a casual, intimate setting, so no more than fifty or so. My…ah, the architect suggested dividing the space with interior walls to make several smaller rooms for private wine tastings, meetings, that sort of things.”

  “Oh. Good idea.”

  Did she really think so, or was she just humoring him? He made a pretense of inspecting the central pillars and an electrical panel on one of the side walls while she walked toward the back of the large space, carefully picking her way around a stack of wooden pallets and scattered debris on the floor. Apparently, she didn’t share his rat phobia.

  Her ponytail swung from side to side as she moved. He’d been hoping she’d wear her hair loose, like the night of her friend’s wedding, but no such luck. He smiled as he recalled walking into the bar and seeing her employee, Eric, tying it up with the scarf. Now the big question was, would she let Michael undo it?

  No, not tonight, because he wasn’t going to try. Sleeping with her would be the surest way to blow a potential business deal.

  She stopped, turned around and walked back.

  “What do you think? Does this seem doable?” he asked when she rejoined him.

  The question seemed to puzzle her. “I guess so. I’m not good at visualizing this sort of thing, though. What are you going to do with the second floor?”

  “It’s been used as office space in the past, so we’ll probably lease it after it’s been renovated. Should be a good way to generate some revenue.”

  “Also a good idea.”

  “Your building has a second floor. What do you use it for?” Lex had already told him, but he was hoping Jess might elaborate.

  “There’s an apartment and an office.”

  “Occupied?”

  She sighed. “I wish. The last tenants stiffed me for two months’ rent, then trashed the place and moved out. Some kind of consulting business had been renting the office, but last year the police showed up and arrested the owners and I haven’t seen them since.”

  “Ouch. That kind of bad luck gets expensive.”

  “Tell me about it.” He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.

  He considered asking a few more questions but decided to back off. “I think I have all the information I need. Are you ready to go for dinner?”

  “Sure.”

  He held the door open for her and locked up while she waited by his car.

  “I g
ather you’re the owner of Morgan’s at the Wharf?” she asked after they were under way.

  “I am. Have you been there?”

  Her ponytail swung back and forth when she shook her head.

  “Then you’re in for a treat. We have a limited menu—mostly seafood—but an extensive wine list.”

  “Both red and white, I assume?” Her eyes sparkled the way they had when she’d described the Whiskey Sour’s wine list the night they met.

  He liked that she had a sense of humor, and a somewhat self-effacing one at that.

  “Plenty of both. I think you’ll be impressed.” Most women were when they found out he was the CEO of Morgan Estate Winery. Jess didn’t seem to be, but he was confident that by the end of the evening, he would have a better idea of what made her tick.

  “I have to confess…I have an ulterior motive for taking you to my place.”

  She swiveled sideways. “Your place? We’re going to your place?”

  Without taking his eyes off the road, he could feel her suspicious gaze boring into the side of his head. “Morgan’s,” he said. “At the Wharf.” What did she think he meant? His…oh, God…his apartment? Seriously? What kind of lowlife does something like that?

  Instead of responding to his explanation or asking what his ulterior motive might be, Jess folded her arms around herself, tightly, and turned away.

  Hell, he shouldn’t have brought it up at all. It would be better to have that conversation over dinner, and so much easier to get a read on her reaction when they were sitting face-to-face. What was it about this woman that interfered with his usual good judgment? Until he figured that out, he’d better watch his step.

  Chapter Seven

  You are such an idiot, Jess scolded herself. When was she going to learn not to overreact to every little thing? Michael is not a man who has to trick a woman into going to “his place.” Seriously, look at him!

  She’d been so certain that tonight was about him coercing her into selling the Whiskey Sour, but then he’d taken her to that dump on Folsom Street, and he seemed intent on buying it. He’d hired an architect and everything. Now that she knew who he was, she could safely say he was savvy enough to believe she had no business expertise worth sharing. Maybe Paige was right. Maybe he really did want to go out with her and this really was a date.