by Kelly Kay
Crushing
LaChappelle/Whittier Vineyards - Book 1
Kelly Kay
Contents
Dedication
Definition
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
What’s Ahead!
Acknowledgments
About Kelly Kay
All rights reserved. No part of this publication or images associated with publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic, mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination, public domain and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales are coincidental, or if an actual place, they are used fictitiously. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for the author or third-party websites and their content.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not sponsored, associated, or endorsed by the trademark owner.
Published by Decorated Cast Publishing LLC
Edited by: Erin Young, EY Literary Management
Copy Edit: Holly Jennings, Freelance Editing Services
Cover Design: Tim Hogan
https://www.timhogancreative.com/
Copyright @2020 by Kelly Kay/Kelly Kreglow
All rights reserved
Created with Vellum
Dedication
For Eric and Charlie because there is nothing else without you 2
CRUSH
/krəSH/
Verb
Winemakers loosely refer to crush as the entire harvest from picking the grapes in August through November to the time when the wine is in the bottle. As the grapes ripen, the amount of sugar and sweetness in the fruit increases and those sugars will ferment into wine eventually, with time, care, and attention.
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Chapter One
Noelle
I feel like he’s talking only to me. His voice is commanding but not a deep base. It’s like a sweet tenor with a slight vibrato. This silver fox of a sommelier is something to behold. There’s sixteen people seated at the table, but he’s focused on me. His intense hazel eyes seem to be sparking in the candlelight as he’s moving around. Each time he looks at me, they change color. Like he could almost be a different person if he chooses.
My fair skin is blushing under his stare and the effects of the red wine. I’m grateful for my high Elie Tahari navy lace collar. I don’t need to look. I can feel the heat prickling up to my neck, and I know I’m blushing. I hope it won’t creep up to my cheeks. My icy blonde bob blow-out is skimming my shoulders tonight. As I turn my head to chat, I keep getting hair stuck in sticky, deep fuchsia Tom Ford lip lacquer, aptly named Infatuate. My wine glass looks a bit like a murder scene. I’ve never really been to a high-end wine tasting. I thought there would be a series of tiny tastes in little throwaway cups. I look like I’ve been giving my glassware head.
Everyone in this room is a client, except the handsome sommelier. Parker & Co., my marketing and branding firm, is celebrating seven years tonight, and these companies were my first big fish. They gambled on me. I have small pieces of these giant companies’ marketing budgets, and it’s all my company can handle right now. They made my company finally go into the black. My contacts from Xfinity, Apple, and Southwest Airlines are all getting fancy sloshed and hopefully are impressed with what Asher Bernard has to say.
In our first three emails, I called him Bernard Asher. His name seemed backward to me. I thought maybe it was a European thing but turns out he’s from Petaluma, California. He’s judged wine competitions all over the world and has been featured in The Wine Spectator. I’m thoroughly impressed by him. He worked with my caterer to pair the wines then flew to New York to be with us for this dinner. I picked the date on purpose. I threw this Valentine’s party for my favorite clients because I have no time for hearts that get broken and flowers that die.
Asher creates custom wine collections for high-end clients. I had no idea he’d be this intriguing. Asher's guiding us on how to taste wine, but not in a lecturing sort of way. He’s leaning over me from behind with his lips so close to my ear that there’s a tingle on my skin. After this much wine, I let it happen.
“Swirl. Let it reveal its temperament and unleash its aromas to you. The wine is all bottled up, give it some oxygen. Let it breathe. Then sniff. Take it all in.”
He puts his hand over mine, and we swirl. My cheeks flush a bit as he touches me. Maybe I’ve been bottled up too long as well.
“Now sip. Hold it on the tip of your tongue, breathe in, and let it slide back slowly. Now savor. Tip your head and let it flow down your throat. Notice the finish that lingers behind like the wine isn’t ready to be done with you yet.”
I put my hands on the table to steady myself a bit. I can’t help but think about how erotic that felt. Maybe I should ditch my martinis and negronis. Perhaps I should learn wine. It’s rather sexy.
The dinner was a huge success, and then Asher raises a glass. “This is a delightful evening. Happy Valentine’s Day. I want to toast our host, the enthralling and captivating Ms. Noelle Parker.” My cheeks flush. It’s a constant Irish-skinned battle not to be red, blotchy, or flush pink. I thank everyone for coming, and they begin to leave.
Asher’s lingering like the Cabernet on my tongue as I gather my things to leave. It’s around ten when he hands me another glass of wine. I feel as if I can’t sip anymore, but it smells fruity and light.
“Late Harvest Riesling from Grgich Hills.”
“I don’t know any of those words, but if you’re handing it to me, it must be delicious. Thank you.” As he hands me the glass, his fingers reach around and graze the inside of my wrist. He stares at me intensely as I take the
wine from him. As he raises his own glass, we never break eye contact.
“To the most charming host.”
I sip. It’s delicious and sweet. But to be honest, after this much wine, it might as well be tap water for all my uneducated palate can tell. “Thank you for coming all this way, Asher.” I tilt my head to the side after I sip. I lick my lips and his eyebrows raise. He’s rather smooth. Everything seems effortless, as if he’s rehearsed this moment.
“You know, you did pay me a lot of money,” he says sweetly, and then he moves a bit closer to me.
I stand up straighter, not sure if I should be leaning in or away from this moment. “I know. That was to pair the wines and give me a write-up. This was beyond.”
“As are you.” He takes my hand and brushes the knuckles with his lips. My heart speeds up a bit.
His flirting is on point. I’ve never dated an older man, but the depth of his eyes and the pepper in his silver hair are damned hot. He’s wearing a pinstripe grey suit that fits him perfectly with a pink-striped tie and matching pocket square. I’d guess Ralph Lauren. He’s not muscular brawny but clearly tight and in shape. He moves behind me, and he’s at my ear as he reaches up, holding his phone. “I tend to take selfies.” It’s an odd habit for his age group, a forty-six-year-old man.
A thirteen-year age difference doesn’t seem all that daunting. I assume there’s an intriguing story why he’s still single. But maybe it’s a choice. He’s quirky, exceedingly charming, and adorable. I smile, and he instantly posts it to Instagram. I only have a corporate account, my private life is not on display for clients, but he tags me anyway. What’s done is done.
“I really must be going.”
“No nightcap?”
“More? You want to drink more?” I look at him as if he’s crazy. I let loose with a girlish giggle, and he smiles at me.
“Had something else in mind if you’ll indulge me. It’s a short walk, I promise.” He pulls a rose out of the table arrangement and hands it to me. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
How could I say no at this point? Walking around the corner, we end up at the famed ice cream shop Serendipity. It’s Valentine-palooza inside. The aroma of rich chocolate surrounds us as he opens the door. The familiar white bentwood chairs and the old-fashioned stained-glass lamps are the same as in my memory. My parents brought me to this ice cream parlor when we were in town for my dad to attend a conference. I make my home here today because of that one magical trip when I was twelve. New York City was worlds away from Kansas. Now this stranger has ushered me back into my memories without even knowing it.
We share a hot and a cold chocolate. Asher keeps putting whipped cream on his face and pretending it’s not there. Then I dutifully tell him to wipe it off, and he gets more on himself as he wipes the wrong spot. He’s entertaining. Not fall-on-your-ass funny but amusing. He takes my hand, and I lightly caress the top of his hand with my fingernails. I hear his breath hitch just a moment.
“I can’t remember the last time I had a Valentine,” I tell him.
“Delighted to fill that void. I’m devastated about my return to California tomorrow.”
“Suddenly, so am I.”
We stare at each other a little bit. I shift my chair a little closer to him so my hand can stay in his on top of the table. He picks up my spoon and fills it with chocolaty goodness and offers it to me. I let him feed me. I’m sure to others it looks romantic, and it is. It’s just not something I’m used to being a part of.
“Did you always see yourself working with wine?”
He nods and hums a bit. It’s quirky and cute. “I grew up around wine. It’s a perfect fit for a man like me. And did you grow up around wine?” I laugh at his joke. Maybe a little more than I should from the volume of wine and chocolate in my system. I’m on a serotonin overload. His fingers are drifting all over my hands and wrists. I’m having a hard time concentrating. It feels nice.
“Far from it. I grew up small wanting a bigger life.”
“And it appears you got it. Do you always get what you want?” He says this in a slightly sexual way.
“It’s built into my DNA. I always get what I want eventually. I’m a bit relentless.”
“We share that trait.” He stands and holds his hand to mine. We’ve been in a bubble, and I look around and see that the place is empty.
We’re the last to leave. We walk hand in hand back uptown a bit. We stop, and he leans toward me and with snow gently falling, like a movie scene. I step towards him, and he wraps his arms around me. He brushes his lips over mine. They’re velvety lips. Then he goes back in, and I lean in as well. Our lips join, but the kiss is a little awkward and a touch too juicy. It’s not out of control but soft and sweet, just really damp.
“I don’t want to say goodnight,” he whispers.
“I know what you mean.” We can fix the kiss. I want another shot at it.
“Then let me get us a car.” He winks, and I realize I’ve led him on a bit.
“Oh. No. Sorry. I have an early morning. This will just be this for now.” He looks crestfallen, but I don’t sleep with men the night I meet them.
My dating rules were put in place after I spent a year not being myself. It was a year of way too many men who didn’t dull the pain. Now I don’t sleep with men I’m not dating. My friends call it controlling, I say it’s romantic. As much as I’m enjoying being romanced by Asher, I’m still not going to break my rules. I’m not so sure about him, which is why dating was invented—so you can be sure this is a person you want in your life and bed. I’ve learned to take care of myself over the years. Lots of little rules around men have kept me sane and my heart safe.
“If that’s what you want, sweet Noelle, that’s what you’ll get. May I call you?”
“I’d like that.” He kisses me sweetly again and then hails a cab. “Goodnight.” He leaves me standing on a street corner with lightly falling snow, a rose, and rosy cheeks. It really does feel a bit like a movie moment. I want more. I hope he’ll call. I’d like to see if he’s this rehearsed and perfectly romantic all the time. Like, will dating this man be like a Hallmark Christmas movie or will it fizzle and die because I didn’t go to his hotel room?
Chapter Two
Noelle
The Xfinity account is slipping so it’s time to fire my junior creative director. Melissa Grady has wildly unpredictable actions and hair. She gets indignant when clients give her suggestions and disregards Evan, my partner and Executive Art Director. Her work is habitually late, and somehow, she always has a guacamole stain on her shirt.
“Thanks so much for coming in. I’ll be blunt. I’m going to pay you out for two weeks. Please hand over your laptop to Evan. I’m afraid we’re going to go in a different direction with this position.”
“Evan is a sycophant! A class-A suck-up. He does what they tell him to do. No creativity! I’m the only flair left in this place.”
I loudly exhale as my phone buzzes and flashes Asher’s name. I grin.
She says, “Focus up, Noelle, you’re firing me. I should take precedence. Just saying.”
I quickly answer, “Of course. I’m so sorry. That was rude.”
“Forgiven. I can’t stay mad atcha.”
“I’m not sure why that is. But Melissa, I feel we can be informal now.”
“There’s just something about you. You feel it too don’t you?” She crosses her legs again and I swear crumb fall out of her pants.
I say a bit exasperated, “Perhaps but really I’d like to say, I don’t think marketing and advertising are your forte. I think you’re more of a free spirit.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here. To liven up your stuffy environment.”
“We’re not exactly stuffy. I do feel there’s a better fit for you in another career.”
“Of course, there is, you nutty perfectionist. I stuck around here because I find you fascinating.”
“What?”
“I had to lay low because of my
former line of work and I just can’t stop coming into this office. I get it. I’ll go. But you should know that aside from my wicked crush on you, I feel as if there’s something bubbling up in your psyche and I wanted to see if I’d be around when you crack.”
“Perhaps your other career held more promise. You could go back to that.”
“You know why I like you?”
“No. I don’t.”
“You’re a straight shooter wrapped up like sweet candy.”
“If you say so.”
“You’ve got steel in your veins, but the package is wrapped in is all lightness and cotton candy. You look delicious all the time, and you’re firing me right now and I don’t even mind. In fact, I straight up trust you.”
I shift my weight and lean forward on my desk. I just want this over. “Thank you, I guess.
“Can’t go back to the old profession. Certain branches of the government have requested that I don’t. I’m a hacker.”