by Kelly Kay
“Manhattan.”
“Kansas?”
I am getting impatient. Noelle is clearly from New York, look at her.
She corrects them, “No. New York. But grew up in Kansas.”
“Fancy. You still live there?” Will chimes in.
They need to know what she does. I’m anxious to get this ball rolling. Will gets pulled away just as she speaks.
She speaks only to Sarah, “I own a marketing and branding firm there.”
Phew. I hang back as my plan takes shape. If all goes well, I’ll be deep into Noelle within the hour.
“Really? What sorts of things do you do? Will! Will, come here.” He’s across the room but returns swiftly pulling a chair to join the ladies.
“Elle owns…”
Will interrupts, “Honey, you’ve not earned that name yet.”
“Shut up, my One Perfect Thing. She owns a marketing, branding firm.”
Will bellows, “FATE! Tell us specifically about your work.”
“Okay, you want my elevator pitch?"
"YES."
"I elevate the visibility of unique brands in a competitive market. We also work with smaller brands within larger corporations. We create awareness, mostly events. We create the tools, launch, and walk away. You don’t need us managing your business for more than a couple of years.”
Good girl. She can hook anyone. I walk away confident that Noelle is going to be in my life for quite a while.
Chapter Twelve
Noelle
Will asks, “You have a high turnover?”
“It’s more like project-based clients. It keeps us fresh and away from falling into old tricks or habits. Everyone pays a retainer, and we’ve been able to make a profit this way. We’ve worked with Apple on twenty individual niche projects, but never their overall marketing structure. We handle boutique or luxury brands.”
Will grins widely. “We’re in the process of looking for a buyer for the winery.”
“Really? Why?”
Will and Sarah exchange looks, and she nods. Sarah places her hand on my arm. It’s an intimate gesture but doesn’t feel odd. “Elle…” She looks to Will. My connection with these people is palpable. And they lighten my soul a bit.
He nods his approval and says, “You may use my nickname for her. You’ve earned it.”
Sarah continues, “I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s about three months ago. Please don’t say sorry. I’m so utterly sick of pity.”
“Then you’ll get none from me.” I squeeze her hand that’s on my arm.
“The diagnosis made us want to step away from the pressures of the winery business and be with each other. See the world, maybe explore alternative treatments.”
Will says, “We’ve been chained to the winery, which we love since we were twenty. Sarah’s been there her whole life. And we want a different second act.”
“Surely there’s someone to take it over for you.”
Sarah and Will share a pointed look. He puts his hands on her shoulders as she shakes her head no. I don’t push further. They’ve been so open, this seems like a raw subject, so I let it go.
Will sits back up and shakes his head. He leans into me and lowers his voice a little, “The initial offer was two million.”
“Which is total bullshit.”
Will’s lips flatten into a smirk. “Agreed. We were told if we want a larger number, we need a higher—”
I interrupt, “Profile. There are great San Francisco firms if you want a recommendation.”
That offer is pathetic for any company, let alone a winery. I’m sipping their Cab, and it’s delicious.
“We, uh…”
Sarah clears her throat to gently interrupt her husband. He takes her hand as she begins to speak. “We know all of the local firms, but they’re all winery, all the time. Maybe you could offer a fresh perspective. You’re not from the area, and you said that you pick things that excite you. Do we?”
I’m blown away. I break out into a smile, and warmth spreads throughout my body. It’s nice to be wanted. “I’m honored you want me to pitch. I don’t know anything about winemaking. Except for the five grapes in a Bordeaux blend.”
Will slaps me on the back, “That’s enough. It’s perfect.”
I laugh. “What’s the timeline of the pitch? And I’ll need your RFP.”
Sarah responds, “No pitch, dear, no request for proposal needed.
Just tell us your retainer fee and come by the winery as soon as possible to tell us your plan. We’ll wire the money right now.”
Will hovers his finger over his phone screen, “I’ll do it. Don’t doubt me. I can get it done right now.” They tell me as if they’ve already discussed all the details. They’re so in sync with each other they don’t need words apparently. “But our only condition, we don’t want an account manager.”
Sarah clarifies, “No, Elle. We want you. We can put you up if you need it. But we want you. I feel as if we were meant to meet. That this is fate and I’m done turning up my nose at fate and leaving anything until another day. So right now, we need you.”
I feel a strange tug towards these people. My life is upside down. I’m fighting tears of joy. I’m drawn to these people, and they want me as well. “When?”
“When what?”
“When do you want my plan?”
“There’s a staff meeting in five days. They’d have to approve of the plan and you. We don’t do anything unless our staff is on board. You’ll have to win them over too.”
Will says, “Mrs. Dotson’s going to be your stickler. She does payroll and runs the credit card reports and shit like that. I think. She was old when we took over the winery thirty-two years ago, but she’s a battle-ax now.”
I look at their faces, smile and take a leap of faith. “That’s a tight turnaround.”
Will sits back. “Thank god. I fucking hated everyone else.”
“Can I call if I have questions?” And I take a Melissa approved leap of faith. No planning, no control, simply dive into the deep end. Take that, guacamole girl.
Sarah says, “Let’s have lunch tomorrow, and we can lay out what we need and what you might not understand. And you can tell me if it’s something you want to do for real. How about the girl and the fig restaurant at 1 p.m.? It’s in Sonoma, not up here in Healdsburg. Our winery is just at the far end of town. After lunch, we’ll go so you can get a sense of the place.”
I stand up to go tell Asher, but Will pulls me into an embrace. A true hug. I don’t know the last time I had one of those. No random back-patting or half-hug but a giant embrace. My brain is buzzing with ideas and questions, but suddenly, my mind goes still as I hug him back.
Chapter Thirteen
Asher
I’m begging, “Noelle. Please stay at my house. You can work here.”
Alas, she stayed with me for only two nights. Then moved to the El Dorado hotel forty minutes from my house and on Sonoma’s central plaza. In her tenure at my home, we didn’t make love. We did have a splendid night after dinner on Saturday night, but it was torture as she dove into her computer rather than me the following days.
“I’m so sorry. The town is helping me see and formulate my plan.”
“I miss you.”
“Come to dinner. We can eat at EDK and then maybe have dessert upstairs.”
That Sunday morning after the dinner where she met Sarah and Will, she disappeared into a vortex of research and plans, her brilliant mind working overtime. She picked my brain for all the information I had on LaChappelle/Whittier Vineyards. I told her just enough.
She met with them each day. Her presentation is tomorrow. She spent time tromping through mucky vineyards and meeting all their employees. She didn’t need to do any of that to win the account. I’m the one who got her the job, not those disposable vineyard workers. Tonight will be all about me and us.
Sitting at the table, I’m staring at her. She looks exhausted, less than Noelle perfec
t. I don’t care for a casual look. Her hair is in a messy ponytail, and she is without makeup while we eat foie gras. She’s stunning when she’s showered and coiffed, but she's currently wearing a Sonoma sweatshirt. I’m in a suit, and she looks a bit like a college student. I’ll have to picture her beautiful.
Chapter Fourteen
Noelle
“I’ve been researching like a demon. Did you know that the winery is a hundred and forty-seven years old and it’s never been out of family control?”
“I do. Do you know how my day was?” He snipes at me. “If we’re a couple, I’d like to be part of the conversation.”
We have been on dates, but are we really a couple? “Oh. I’m sorry. I’m so wound up and nervous about tomorrow. How was your day?”
“Spectacular. I’ve been asked to judge a competition in Ft. Lauderdale…” I stare while he drones on, and all I can think about is Sarah’s father and what I discovered today. He bought land and planted a second vineyard in Lodi with another vintner's family from here in town. No one could see that it would produce enough juice for two mass-market labels. All the winery stuff is clouding everything else. I’m super stressed and afraid I’ll forget a detail. I need a release. I’m ready for tomorrow, but I am wound the fuck up.
We’d sort of found a rhythm last Saturday night for about six minutes. I did have the slight beginning of an orgasm. Sadly, I had to finger myself later to release the rest of the tension. Hopefully, it will be a little longer tonight or maybe twice. Or perhaps that’s who we are, and I’ll get used to it with time. If we’re a couple. I don’t know.
I did blow him that night, and he stopped me. I do enjoy that activity. I was hoping he’d want to reciprocate, but I got the golden tongue argument again. My goal is to not need my own hand tonight. I can convince people to do almost anything. I’m a salesperson by trade. I move mountains in my job every day, surely, I can make this happen.
He seems to be uninterested in what I have to say, and yet I’m supposed to be completely enraptured by his travel plans. All the details for tomorrow are swimming in my brain. I only wish he were more captivating to take my mind off it.
Sex. Fucking him will get my mind clear. He needs to stop bragging for a minute. I motion for the bill, and we've barely gotten our food. I whisper to the waiter to put it all on my room, and he nods. I grab the bottle and look at him suggestively.
“Do you want to keep talking about your day or do you want to come upstairs and help me forget mine?”
His lips upturn into a tight smile. I can see the slight bulge in his pants instantly, and I lead the way.
On the other side of the door, I whip off my ridiculous tourist hoodie to reveal my absurd local restaurant merchandise, my new Sunflower Caffe t-shirt. I didn’t pack for casual, so I Amazoned some leggings and purchased a lot of local swag. He slowly removes his tie and lays it out on the couch. Then carefully removes the rest of his clothes while I throw my jeans in the corner and whip off my shirt. I lunge at him, and he backs away until he’s folded his pants and placed them with the rest of the pile. Passion and wrinkled clothes are not his things.
Then he places his hands on either side of my face and squeezes a little too hard. I can already tell we’re out of step with each other. I push on. I need to get laid. For real. I’m going to guide him to give me multiple orgasms tonight. I’m wound too tight.
He’s kissing me, and his blobby tongue is taking up all the room in my mouth. I push him down on the bed and stroke him through his briefs, and he moves his fingers to my nipples. “They’re perfect.” He rolls them between his fingers, and I push my body into the side of him, hoping his hands will continue south.
I’m slightly wet and need a little bit of encouragement. The nipples are helping. But Asher doesn’t even use his mouth. He removes his underwear, and his dick is still not completely hard. I grab his shaft, and his hands return to my face. No. That’s not where I need his hands. He lays me back and gestures for me to pull down my thong. Then he kisses my belly button. That is three inches too high, dude. Lower. Please god, lower. And then I hear a slight squirt of lube, and I sit up abruptly. Hold up! Where does he think he’s going with that?
“Hold out your hand. Angel, this will solve your issues.”
Huh? Holy shit, he won’t even rub lube on me? Maybe if he sees me do it. I rub my own clit with it, close my eyes, and gasp. I open my eyes, and he’s picking lint from the lampshade. Okay. We’re done here. That’s enough. Pack it up, man. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Wow. This sucks, and now I’m sticky. He even bought a shitty lube.
I roll over before he can come at me with his needle dick in a condom, and I grab my phone from the other nightstand. Then stand quickly. He’s holding himself and looking at me quizzically.
“Asher. Terrible timing. I’m so sorry. Evan, my business partner, just texted with a time-sensitive marketing emergency. Can we put a pin in this?” Because that’s a thing, a marketing emergency. I need him out of here.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“I saw it flash. So sorry. Emergency.”
He goes limp instantly. I hand him his underwear, which was folded on the edge of the couch.
“Noelle. My angel. My soft moment.” I may puke, that’s the worst pet name yet. After he puts his underwear on, I wipe off the lube. I grab my only clean panties, and they happen to be my sexiest lingerie.
“My sweet darling, I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I know that we have time and you’re so important.”
“About that Asher. I’m going to deep dive into work for a while. We should really take a break. I know you’re traveling. Bon Voyage! I’ll be in touch.”
He looks puzzled. “You’re still pitching tomorrow to Will and Sarah?”
And now I look puzzled, “Yes. Of course, but why are you worried? Do you know something that I don’t?”
“Not at all. I just wanted to be supportive and tell you good luck, my exquisite angel lips.”
He kisses me, and the dead slug tongue does its last sweep inside of my mouth. This is the worst kiss I’ve ever had, and I’m done with Asher.
Chapter Fifteen
Elle
He won’t stop telling me I’m exquisite, and I don’t know what to say to that. How was I so off about this guy? Also, stop calling me angel. I hate pet names and nicknames, it’s one of my rules. I refuse to get myself off again. That entire experience was just ick. I want to wash the taste away with whiskey. I grab my red cashmere poncho wrap and trek down the block to a bar. An actual bar. Not a wine bar but one with beer and cocktails I understand. I need to get my head clear, and drinking wine isn’t going to help.
Steiner’s Tavern is dark and moody. The neon sign in the window looks as if it’s been there forever. There’s a series of mirrors running along both sides of the bar. On the left is an odd long shelf that could hold a beverage and the right is a curved old oak bar with shelves of open bottles in front of the mirror. It’s perfect. There’s a smattering of high-top tables in the middle. I hear pool balls clacking in the well-lit area towards the back. I sit near the door at the wrap-around part of the bar. I turn towards the room with my back to the mirrors. “Basil Hayden, two fingers neat, please.”
“Beer back?”
“Sure. Whatever’s on tap is fine.” I shrug. I don’t care. Just bring me something to get the blobby taste out of my mouth.
The bartender is younger than me. His lank blond hair pulled in a ponytail, and his glasses balance on the end of his nose. My hair is out of control. I tuck the strays back behind my ears then shove the rest back into a self-contained messy bun. I genuinely look like Melissa right now, sans food stains. “Tab?”
“I’ll cash out.”
“I’ve got it.” A red-faced puffy man offers up. Sitting down next to me, he places his hand on my knee. I’m ill-equipped to deal cleverly with this drunk sixty-something letch. I attempt to remove his hand, and he squeezes tighter.<
br />
“I can buy my own drink. Thanks.”
“Why would you have to? I’m here.” He wobbles a bit as he says it. There’s a group of his peers calling him back to their table. He’s not listening. “You and I are going to have a good time tonight.”
I don’t want whiskey anymore. I want out. I tug at this random man's hand again, and he pushes further, almost knocking me off the stool. I grab onto the bar and ponytail bartender looks a little scared of this guy. This whole night is shit. A commanding but sexy, raspy voice booms from behind me and it rattles my brain.
“Hey, there, Dr. Johnson. Seems you’ve made a mistake. Clearly, this lady is taken.” A steady hand removes the intruding meaty paw from my knee. My head flips to his face as he puts his hand on my shoulder. I don’t usually enjoy being rescued, but tonight I could use a helping hand. Especially this strong and large one.
Then his eyes capture mine, and we stare at each other. They’re azure blue and sparkling. His hair is a sandy copper blond and looks like it could get out of control if he didn't tame it with so much product. His worn jeans are tight, and I notice his outline as my eyes skim up his body. He’s wearing a tie and certainly knows how to fill out a tailored jacket. He seems completely off. Like he’s supposed to be at a different bar, one with more complicated drinks and clientele. He’s controlling the moment, and I just want to rip off my clothes.
“Are you alright?” His voice is calm and rich.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” It’s like I’m responding to an imaginary sex invitation. I have to say something else, so I don’t seem like a moron. I struggle and then find my voice and wits. “Thank you, stranger.”
“I’d like to say he means no harm, but I’m not sure.”
My breath is gone. I’m momentarily stunned at how masculine he is and how magnetic a pull I feel to this stranger instantly.