Champagne Kisses

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Champagne Kisses Page 5

by Zuri Day


  “That’s enough for today,” he said, his voice coming out harder than he intended.

  Marissa jumped. “Oh! I didn’t hear you walk up.” She got up from her crouched position and smoothed an errant strand of curly black hair that had escaped the clasp. “I know it looks like a mess now, but there’s a method to my madness.”

  “I’m sure there is, and first thing tomorrow morning will be time enough to get back at it. We don’t want to overwork you.”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Actually, I’m one of those rare ones who actually likes to organize, make sense out of mayhem. I’m almost done with this box and would like to finish it before I leave. No more than half an hour and I’ll be out.”

  Donovan continued to stand there, wrestling with his edict to stay in control and with how juvenile it would seem to demand that she leave, that she not finish a project. How stupid would that sound? “I think tomorrow will be soon enough to finish the task.”

  Marissa looked at Donovan a long moment before delivering a short, clipped “okay.” She reached for her purse on top of a file cabinet and walked past him—head high and booty swaying—down the hall and around the corner.

  Damn! Why’d you do that? Why can’t you keep it together with that chick? Donovan walked into Marissa’s temporary world. He looked around at the neat stacks, some topped with sticky notes designating what needed to go where, along with the information to be inputted and in what order. Her handwriting was smooth and deliberate, like her, with no extraneous curlicues or stars for dots. Upon closing his eyes, he realized he could still smell her perfume, something fruity yet floral. Eyes still closed, he saw that look she’d given him before hurriedly exiting the room. What was that in her eyes? Anger? Chagrin, surely. But…there was something else. Leaving the room and closing the door behind him, Donovan figured it was anyone’s guess what was on the mind of Marissa Hayes. His mind though? Simple. Her. If Donovan was going to survive the next two weeks, he was going to have to do something about it.

  * * *

  Nothing like a family dinner to get your mind on other things. At least this was Donovan’s thought as he entered the sprawling main house that made up the Drake estate. In addition to the home where his grandparents lived, there were also two guesthouses, a pool house and stables on the other side of their private pond. He was more than happy with his La Jolla spread and the privacy it afforded, but there were times when he missed the camaraderie that came with the entire Drake clan living under one roof.

  “Dang, man. What’s wrong with you?”

  Missing the nosiness? Not so much. “Who said anything’s wrong?” Donovan passed Dexter and entered a cozy room off of the den that was mostly used to pass time, sip wine and discuss whatever. There was a bottle of one of the vineyard’s exclusive wines, PNDO—Pinot Noir Drake Original—resting on the counter. “This was left over from the wedding?”

  Dexter nodded. “We have five bottles that can now be imbibed at will.”

  “Make sure they don’t all end up in your wing.”

  “My product, my prerogative.” Dexter walked over to the counter and poured two glasses of the deep maroon-colored liquid. He gave one of the large wineglasses to Donovan. “So,” Dexter said, having chosen not to use the aerator in favor of slowly swirling the wine, “was that Jackson’s assistant I saw walking from the offices to the hotel suites?” Donovan nodded. “What’s she doing here?”

  “She’s helping me with the Asian database project.”

  “So what has you in this sour mood?” Dexter asked, his eyes twinkling because he thought he already knew the answer. “The ramp-up or the fine rump on that sister helping you get the work done?”

  “Marissa’s attractive, but it’s not her looks I’m interested in, it’s her skill set.”

  “Hmm. Then I guess she’s not too happy about that.”

  Donovan took a drink, tried to act nonchalant. “How you figure?”

  “Because I saw her leaving the office. She too had quite the scowl on her face. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say it was a lover’s quarrel.”

  “But you do know me better. And you know that sleeping with every skirt that passes is your thing.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “She wanted to keep working,” Donovan said with a shrug. “I told her to call it a day.”

  Dexter’s wineglass stopped in midair. “What? Mr. Workaholic himself told someone else to clock out?” Dexter walked over to one of two tufted leather chairs and took a seat. “She must be really getting to you. Got you so out of sorts that at a time when we’re trying to pack forty-eight hours of work into twenty-four-hour days, you’re forcing someone to knock off early. I can understand though. The sister’s beautiful—nice face, tight body. Who knows. I might even—”

  “Don’t even go there, Dex.”

  “What? If you’re not interested then why can’t I sample the goods? You say she’s going to be here for how long?”

  “For the time that our sister and her boss are on their honeymoon.”

  “Oh, right. Her working with Boss could be a complication. You know, for when I get tired of her and all and she begs me not to leave her.” Dexter shrugged. Donovan scowled. “But she’s grown. Anything the two of us did would have to be by mutual consent, believe that.”

  “Stay away from her, Dex. She doesn’t need somebody like you messing with her head.”

  “One, how do you know what she needs? And two, what makes you think that her head is what I want to mess with?”

  In an uncharacteristic show of anger, Donovan was in Dexter’s face in two seconds flat. “Leave her alone,” he growled, his finger in a calm and somewhat bemused Dexter’s face. “I mean it. She is off-limits. Don’t make me—”

  “I thought I—” Genevieve rounded the corner and stopped short. The brothers tried to act casual—Dexter slowly sipping his wine, Donovan looking out the window, his hands stuffed in his pockets—but the tension in the room could be cut with a Samurai sword…maybe. Genevieve didn’t seem fazed. “Who stole whose marbles?” she dryly asked, a question she’d often posed to the men when they were boys.

  Dexter walked over to his mom and enveloped her in a bear hug.

  “Get off me, boy!” Genevieve’s laughter belied the gruffness of her tone. “Trying to divert my attention. I heard y’all arguing.”

  “Naw, just schooling your son on the world of women—”

  “What’s for dinner?” Donovan’s desire to change the subject was about as subtle as a preacher in a playboy club. He went to Genevieve’s other side and the two men walked with their mother toward the dining room.

  “Smells like roast,” Genevieve said in a serious tone. “But sounds like chicken. You boys finish up whatever you were discussing. Dinner is in five minutes.”

  “Whoa, man,” Dexter said after making sure their mother was no longer in the hall. “I was messing with you, just jerking your chain. Calm down!” He watched Donovan finish a half a glass of wine in one swallow. “I’m sorry, man. You’re really feeling her, aren’t you?”

  “I shouldn’t be. Situation’s dicey, timing’s all wrong.”

  “What’s the situation?”

  “Not sure,” Donovan said, shaking his head. “But it has something to do with a former male friend who she swears is not an ex but who has her skittish about getting involved with anyone. Of course, that could be her excuse for not getting involved with me, but that’s what she told me. Then there’s the matter of her working for Boss. If we started dating and then broke up that could be uncomfortable.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, man. We’ve got to live each day to the fullest and let the chips fall where they may. I say you should go after her. She’ll be here what, two weeks?”

  Donovan did a mental calculation. “As of tomorrow, because the Fourth falls on a Friday, nine days.”

  “Then I’d say you’ve got nine days to get in those panties.”

  “Dexter…


  “I’m just saying, brother. That’s a whole bunch of badonkadonk right there. Shame to let all that go to waste.”

  “There you go again, man.”

  “What? I’m just saying.”

  “Well quit saying. And quit looking, too. Marissa Hayes is off-limits. You got it?”

  Dexter nodded. “Got it.”

  “Good. Let’s go eat.”

  Chapter 9

  Two hours of shopping and a whole medium pizza later, Marissa was slightly less angry than she’d been three hours ago. Just who did Donovan Drake think he was to order her off the job like a ten-year-old? When Marissa Hayes started a job, she finished it or at least she left it at a sensible point for her to begin the next day. After an afternoon of familiarizing herself with the file’s contents and their office’s system and then finally creating a structure that would work for expedient input of the material into a database, she’d just hit her stride and had actually begun enjoying her work. So much so that there had been a smile on her face and a song in her heart at just around six o’clock, just around the time she’d looked around, figured another hour or so would set her up perfectly for the following day. And then he had to come through, with his scowl and Donovan Downer personality and mess up her day. Ugh!

  By the time Marissa’s phone rang, she’d become angry all over again. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Oh, goodness.” Yolanda Hayes’s perpetually calm voice flowed through the phone and brought a bit of peace to the storm. “Someone’s unhappy.”

  Marissa rolled her eyes. You think? Yolanda Hayes was truly a wonderful woman whom Marissa loved very much. As mother-daughter relationships went, theirs was a close one. But in Marissa’s twenty-nine years on the planet, she could count her mother’s bad days on one hand. To her knowledge, there had been three: when she found out about the scandal involving her husband’s minister-friend; when she put Nippy, the family’s beloved thirteen-year-old cocker spaniel, to sleep; and the day that Marissa’s grandfather had died and joined his wife in the hereafter. In Marissa’s eyes, her mother had always been this perfect soul, the epitome of womanhood, the type of person that Marissa could never live up to. It didn’t matter that Yolanda was not perfect and would never expect her daughter to be; it was the fact that in Marissa’s mind Yolanda Hayes was flawless and would be devastated to learn about some of Marissa’s past actions. For these reasons, Marissa tried to swallow her anger and put some sugar in her voice.

  “Sorry, Mom. It was a long today. I’m a bit tired, I guess.”

  “Isn’t your boss on his honeymoon?”

  “Yes, and while he’s away, I’m working on a special assignment with his wife’s brother.”

  “Marissa Lynn, if this work is making you unhappy, perhaps you should just walk away.”

  That the work was fine and the boss was the problem was a fact Marissa chose not to divulge. “I’ll be fine, Mom. A good night’s sleep will work wonders. Speaking of, isn’t it a little late for you to call?”

  “I just finished talking to your brother, Timothy. He and Nicole are expecting another baby!”

  “That’s great, Mom.” Great. Really. Just what she needed. Again, she loved her brother and would get around to being genuinely happy about his news. But tonight it was a reminder of milestones she had not reached—marriage and motherhood.

  “Your father and I are ecstatic at having a second grandchild. There’s only one thing that would make me happier.”

  Uh-oh. That’s my cue. “Look, Mom. Hate to cut you off but I’m back at the resort and need to unload my trunk.”

  “Resort? Why are you staying at a resort?”

  Just what she hadn’t meant to do; make her mother even more curious about her life than she was already. “Remember I told you that Jackson’s wife’s family owns a resort? That’s where I’m working. To save time in driving back and forth, I’m staying here while working on the project.”

  “That sounds wonderful, baby! So tell me this. Is this brother you’re working with married and, if not, is he a prospect? You’re not getting any younger, Marissa, and while I’d always hoped that your and Steven’s relationship would have blossomed into something romantic, you need to think of your future.”

  Marissa wheeled her car into a parking space. “I’ll call you this weekend, Mom.” She ended the call. By the time she entered her room with multiple shopping bags in tow, a smoldering sadness had replaced the previous anger brought on by Donovan’s actions and an unexplainable weariness had seeped into her pores. While hanging up the purchases that a short time ago had brought joy, two major questions plagued her: How did I get here and where am I going?

  The first question was the easiest. After graduating college and armed with a bachelor’s in business administration, Marissa had been more than happy to take up Steven’s offer and get a job at the large technology firm where he was employed. This time in her life had been great: getting promoted to junior management, becoming engaged to the man she thought would become her husband and Steven continuing to be her best bud. But then, in the blink of an eye, her life unraveled. She found out her boyfriend turned/fiancé that she’d dated for four years had one child who was three and another who’d just turned two (bad math in anybody’s relationship classroom). Her best friend betrayed her and, as a result, she had to leave the job she loved. Enter Jackson Wright, who needed an assistant when she desperately needed a job. She didn’t think twice about taking what most would consider a demotion, feeling instantly at home and protected at Boss Construction, surrounded by rugged men who quickly became loyal friends. Without providing details, Jackson had perceived Marissa’s vulnerability. After working there awhile, Jackson gained her trust, and she confided to him what Steven had done. After that, she was sure he’d warned his guys off of her because in all the time she’d worked for him, the men had treated her with nothing but respect. Her gratitude was evident in the tireless way she worked, throwing herself lock, stock and barrel into becoming the best executive assistant on the planet; she was thankful for the diversion that served to keep the bad thoughts at bay. Except on nights like tonight when she was fully aware of the facts: she was twenty-nine and counting, unwed with no prospects while many of her college associates were on marriage number two and baby number three.

  It was also on nights like these that she wished she’d worked harder on making friends during her high school and college years. But she’d always been a bit of a loner. On her first day at college she’d met Steven, the gregarious, rambunctious ball of energy who was the night to her day, who’d been all the friend she’d needed to navigate the next several years. On that first day of their friendship’s beginning, she could never have imagined how it would end. Marissa shook her head to bring her out of those unfortunate musings.

  There was the matter of the second question: Where was she going? As Marissa climbed into bed the only thing she knew for sure was that the foreseeable future—at least the next several days—were going to be spent at Drake Wines Resort and Spa working alongside Donovan Drake. Considering what she’d been through and the drama she’d navigated, surely she could handle him. She went to sleep determined to find the high road with this temporary assignment, take it and then run back to her safe haven at Boss Construction, where hard work was valued and the workday wasn’t sandwiched between nine and five. That’s what she thought as she went to sleep, but in her dreams, once again, her cavorting with Donovan had nothing to do with the workplace and everything to do with the bedroom.

  Chapter 10

  “Good morning!” Marissa’s voice rivaled that of a bluebird announcing the dawning of a new day. She’d gotten up bright and early, exulted in a long, hot shower, curled her hair, dressed in her new casually fun sundress and flat sandals and eaten a scrumptious breakfast akin to that of a boxer the day of a fight. Though she’d tossed and turned much of the night, she was no less determined to put her best foot forward and have a great day. Even if it killed her.

/>   Donovan stood at the entrance to the storage room, taking in her attire. Good morning? Says who? “I thought we’d agreed to dress casual?”

  This from a man who stood in tailored black slacks, a starched tan shirt, striped tie and—if Marissa were not mistaken—a recently groomed goatee?

  “This is casual,” she replied. “Besides, my mother always said that looking good is feeling good. How are you feeling today?” Because you’re looking as tasty as this morning’s French toast.

  With almost no sleep and his waking hours filled with thoughts of the vixen in front of him, he was feeling about as cheerful as a grizzly. But he figured there was no need to show his hand. “I’m good,” he said with a curt nod. And then with barely a breath he continued, “We’ve got a lot to do today. Meet me in my office in half an hour and we’ll get you started on today’s input.”

  “But what about these files?”

  “They can wait. A half hour. Don’t be late.”

  It wasn’t until she’d slammed down the fifth manila folder onto the pile, sending the folders beneath it scattering in different directions, that Marissa realized that once again, Donovan was sticking in her proverbial craw. “It’s ridiculous,” she muttered, kneeling down to pick up the strewn papers and errant sticky posts. Absolutely insane. The fact that she’d ever thought the man who was now her merciless tormentor was either attractive or intelligent was impossible to believe. Even now she was as angry with herself as with him for the fact that her heart had quickened in his very presence and that it may have even skipped a beat. And then he’d opened his mouth. “You try and do a great job, try and be nice, and what do you get? Total ungratefulness,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “And about as much personality as a resident of the wax museum.”

  “Good morning!”

  Marissa inwardly grimaced at the sound in the doorway, and prayed that her mumbling hadn’t been overheard. “Good morning, Dexter.” She turned to greet him before hurrying back to her task.

 

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