Who's the Boss Now?

by Susannah Erwin

  “See?” Evan said. “Goop. As soon as you hear her name.”

  “I wasn’t aware goop was the technical term for caring about one’s wife.” Luke rose from his chair and crossed the room to leave. “Enjoy the weekend. But don’t forget about Tuesday.”

  “I won’t.” Evan waved Luke off and went back to packing his work bag in preparation for the trip ahead.

  He wasn’t leaving now to see Marguerite. He did need to spend time with Nico. Nico, whose resentment of him must be ready to erupt like a geyser for dragging him to Napa and dumping him in an ancient mansion while Evan went back to San Francisco to work. Nico, who—

  Images of tousled waves of dark hair piled into a messy bun crowded everything else out of his brain. Dark brown eyes, so dark he almost missed the dilation of her pupils after she kissed him. Pale skin that, no matter how nonchalant and unaffected she pretended to be, betrayed with a flush her true emotions.

  He’d spoken on the phone with Marguerite every day during the last three weeks. Her conversation revealed her bright wit, delivered through dry asides and wry jokes that kept him laughing. He found her intriguing—after all, she’d broken into his house and he’d ended up hiring her—and he wouldn’t be averse to kissing her again and letting things build to their inevitable conclusion, preferably in a nearby bed. But that’s where any entanglement with her stopped.

  There would be no goop—aka mooning after a hypothetical wife—in his future. He would not walk around the office with a goofy smile on his face like Luke did after receiving a text from Danica. Not now, and not in the future.

  Relationships took time, energy and resources. He was only human and he had limited supply of each. He knew his strengths and where he could maximize his returns. If he had returned home after his parents died and taken custody of five-year-old Nico as his grandparents had suggested, he wouldn’t have been able to develop his ideas, work on the code, hire additional developers, network with investors, meet with buyers. And he wouldn’t possess the money now to ensure Nico didn’t need to struggle the way Evan had. To set Nico up in a career he loved, to pave the way so his journey would be far smoother than Evan’s.

  He’d done the right thing then, and he was doing the right thing now. Nico had had a good childhood with their grandparents, and now that he was a young man, Evan would help him find his way. Therefore, he was eager to get to St. Isadore for one reason only: to ensure his investment was in good hands as long as it took for either Nico to take over or for Evan to sell it at a profit and reinvest the money in another occupation for his brother.

  Besides, Marguerite was his employee. They had a contract. They’d both made it clear they did not indulge in personal relationships at work.

  By the time he crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, visions of tumbled black curls and darkly slumberous eyes, dazed with passion, filled his head.

  * * *

  Marguerite stared at her computer screen. Her entire day had been spent answering questions. Her in-box should be nearly empty. But as she scrolled, the number of unread emails continued to climb. She picked one at random, read the first line and clicked away almost immediately, screwing her eyes shut.

  With Evan called back to San Francisco for an emergency at his tech company, the responsibility for St. Isadore’s day-to-day operations fell on her shoulders. Although they talked every day, what Evan knew about the industry would fit on a wine label and still leave room for the logo and the government warning about sulfites. She had assisted Linus, but she hadn’t realized until now how much work Linus kept to himself. No wonder the winery had suffered as Linus’s health declined.

  There was so much that needed to be accomplished. Aside from ramping up the winemaking operations, the tasting room needed to be remodeled and brought into the twenty-first century. The main building required a laundry list of repairs. And their distribution network was on life support and must be rebuilt, along with their sales team.

  They were close to hiring a director of operations, and she had a stack of resumes to give to Evan for the other open jobs. Once St. Isadore was fully staffed, things would run more smoothly, but what made Marguerite think she could get the business to that stage? And what had possessed her to tell Evan she could?

  Her own damn pride, that’s what. And loyalty. Family honor. At least as long as she was at St. Isadore, she could continue her quest to return the Delacroix name to its legendary winemaking status.

  Assuming she kept her job through the next few weeks, much less the next six months.

  She groaned and folded her arms on her desk, the better to pillow her forehead while she tried to decide which urgent priority to tackle next.

  “I have broken down the event for the Global Leader Summit into steps.” Aracely breezed into the office, looking like she was ready to take her seat in the front row at Paris Fashion Week instead of an office in Napa. Her dark olive complexion was flawlessly made up, her ebony hair piled on top of her head in a complicated twist. She stopped short and her long skirt billowed around her legs. “You haven’t spent the entire day napping, I hope?”

  Marguerite raised her head. “Steps? You have next steps?” Something like hope blossomed inside her.

  “Of course. That is why you recommended me to be the event planner.” Aracely put a binder stuffed with pages on Marguerite’s desk and took the chair opposite her. A vision of Evan in that chair flashed across Marguerite’s mind. How his mouth had opened under hers, his tongue sweeping hers, his hands—

  “That is also why you’re paying me the big money.” Aracely wagged her eyebrows, earning a laugh from Marguerite.

  “Why Evan is paying you,” she corrected.

  “Right, Evan. I am still impressed you turned a break-in into a job offer. Not to mention a place to live.”

  “The carriage house was empty and could use a paying tenant.” Marguerite shrugged. “I know, because I was the last person to live in it. It was a no-brainer.”

  Aracely smirked as she tapped the binder. “This contains sketches for the party layout, photos of possible decorations and some fabric samples for the tablecloths as well as the shirts for the serving staff. Oh, and speaking of clothes, I dropped off a few things for you at your place. Some pieces of mine you might want to borrow for the party. Or any other occasion now that you’re back at St. Isadore.”

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Marguerite answered automatically, but she gave Aracely a wide smile. Aracely’s wardrobe truly was a wonder to behold. Not only did she possess exquisite taste and the funds to indulge it but she’d also inherited closets of designer clothes from her mother and grandmother, both noted socialites in their youth.

  “Just a few things.” Aracely pushed the binder toward her. “Here. Look.”

  Marguerite flipped through the pages. On top were drawings of the winery’s terrace with various configurations of furniture and food stations. Underneath a divider were mood boards containing color palettes, suggested lighting configurations and flower arrangements for the tables. And below another divider, she found cloth samples and examples of various embroidery styles so the servers’ uniforms would proudly proclaim they worked for St. Isadore. “All I see are decisions that need to be made.” She pushed the binder back at Aracely. “My head is spinning. You do it.”

  “Pobrecita.” Aracely didn’t sound sympathetic. “If you want to run a winery, hosting events will be an important part of your revenue stream. Start with the first page and go one by one.”

  Marguerite sighed. Aracely was right. Becoming a sought-after venue for meetings and celebrations was vital to the stability of St. Isadore’s financial health. “Sorry. Momentary moment of mortification. Won’t happen again.”

  “Yes, it will. You are human.” Aracely grinned. “But this is exciting! We get to spend someone else’s money. My favorite form of exercise.”

  “You do like to give cred
it cards a workout.” Marguerite opened the binder to the beginning section, removing the pages so she could arrange them on her desk. “Start with the layout first, then decorations?”

  “Then the details.” Aracely nodded. “I will be cheeky and tell you my favorites.”

  “In case I choose wrong.”

  “But of course,” Aracely agreed with an angelic smile. “My reputation is riding on this as much as yours.”

  Marguerite looked up from the first sketch. “What are you talking about? You’ve only been in Napa three years, and you’re one of the most sought-after event planners around. Besides, you’re going back to Chile in December. Which I’m not forgiving you for, by the way. I don’t care how much your parents’ business needs you.”

  “The business does not need me.” The smile stayed on Aracely’s face, but it no longer reached her eyes. “My parents want me to return.”

  “But to take over the business, right?”

  Aracely made an impatient gesture. “It does not matter why. Now, do you prefer to set up the area for dining on the north end of the terrace or the south end? Here are several different layouts.”

  “If you don’t want to go back, you should tell them.”

  Aracely kept her gaze focused on the sketches. “I think the north end. It is more protected from the wind.”

  “You know I’m here if you need to discuss anything.”

  A flash lit Aracely’s gaze, so quickly Marguerite didn’t know if she saw it or imagined it. “I will figure it out, like I am figuring out the wine tasting without your help. Care to join in? I am assuming Evan will want to know the plans.” Her familiar smirk appeared on her lips. “Or not. Perhaps this is only pretend so he can canoodle more with you.”

  “Canoodle? What old movie did you learn that from?”

  “Aha! This suggests I used the right word as you are not disputing the meaning.”

  Marguerite rolled her eyes. “There’s no canoodling. Not now, not in the future. Especially not with people I work with.”

  Aracely shook her head. “And yet you and Evan canoodled.”

  “Can we stop using that word? There’s nothing going on. I kissed him to prove a point, nothing more. Now he’s my employer, and that’s the end of the relationship between us.” Marguerite stabbed at the first piece of paper she saw on her desk. “Here. Let’s go with this one.”

  Aracely picked it up. “This is a letter from the sanitation department about the proper disposal of refuse. It will be a stretch to make this work for the wine tasting, but I have an excellent imagination.”

  Marguerite snatched the letter back. “Set up the food tables on the north end. Because of the wind.”

  “Excellent choice. So, chairs. Do you want—?”

  Marguerite’s cell phone rang, cutting off Aracely midsentence. Marguerite looked at the caller ID. “It’s Nico.”

  Although Nico had stayed at St. Isadore after Evan returned to San Francisco, she rarely saw him and they exchanged even fewer words. Why would he call her? Her mind raced to several conclusions, and she didn’t like any of them. “Hello?”

  Nico didn’t bother with a greeting. “Evan’s not with you, is he?”

  “Um, no.” Why would Nico think that? What did Evan say—?

  “I was hoping he was back from San Francisco.” Nico’s voice was strained as if he were in pain.

  “Sorry, I haven’t seen him. Are you okay?”

  He was silent for a few beats. “There was a...thing. I need a ride.”

  “Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  “I’m fine. My friend, too. We just need to get out of here. We tried to order a rideshare, but no cars are available.”

  “Are you safe?”

  He huffed into the phone as if catching his breath. “Yeah. Now.”

  “Do you know where you are? Give me the address.” She wrote it down. “I’ll be right there.” She got up from her desk, grabbed her purse and car keys. “If by any chance you see or hear from Evan, let him know I’m on my way to get Nico,” she called to Aracely as she exited.

  Nico was in a community over forty-five minutes away, which wasn’t so much of a town as a collection of gas stations, food markets, and the odd restaurant and wine-tasting room. Luckily, the traffic was light on the back roads skirting the various vineyards, and she was able to get to him in record time.

  He paced outside a convenience store, his hands thrust in his jeans pockets, his thin shoulders hunched around his ears. She pulled into the parking space in front of him. “I’m here,” she called out the window.

  Nico’s shoulders fell, but he retained his air of guarded wariness. “One minute,” he said, and he disappeared into the store. When he emerged, he was escorting a young woman. He didn’t touch her, but it was evident from the way he bent his head to listen to her and curved his body as if to shield her that she must be the friend he’d mentioned on the phone.

  Or more than a friend.

  Nico opened the rear passenger door and escorted the woman inside the car and then came around to the other rear door and slid in behind the driver’s seat. “Thanks for picking us up,” he said. “This is Gabi. Gabi, this is Marguerite.”

  Gabi raised her head and caught Marguerite’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Thanks for taking time out of your day. We appreciate it. I called my friends but they’re all at work and couldn’t leave.”

  Marguerite could see why Nico liked Gabi. She was a pretty brunette with dark brown skin, a direct gaze and straightforward manner. Marguerite nodded. “No problem. So, what happened?”

  Nico peered out his window. “Do you mind if we start moving first?”

  “Sure.” Marguerite reversed out of the parking space and put the car in Drive. When they reached the main road, she threw a glance via the mirror at the couple in the rear seat. “This is all very cloak-and-dagger-ish. Want to tell me what happened now?”

  Gabi leaned forward. “I’m an intern at Dellavina Cellars. In winemaking.”

  Something slithery crawled in Marguerite’s stomach. “You work for Casper Vos.”

  “Right. Anyway, we all went out for drinks the other day—all the interns, that is. And Nico was at the same place and we...”

  “Started talking,” Nico supplied.

  “Yes. And we both had to leave, but we’ve stayed in touch. So when I had today off, I suggested Nico and I meet up this afternoon to go for a bike ride, explore some more of Napa.” Gabi sighed.

  The uneasiness in Marguerite’s stomach expanded, although at least it was no longer connected to Casper. “I didn’t see bikes when I picked you up.”

  Gabi shook her head. “No.”

  Marguerite glanced at the couple via the rearview mirror again. “Were they stolen?”

  “I got a flat. We pulled off the road to patch the tire.” Nico’s voice was a good impersonation of a volcano struggling not to blow and let loose lava flows of hot anger. “Then these guys drove by, yelling trash at Gabi. We didn’t think anything of it. Fifteen minutes later, they came back from the other direction.”

  “How awful.” Marguerite kept her focus on the road, but her heart was with the couple in the back seat. “I’m so sorry.”

  “They probably had too much to drink. But when they drove by the third time, we decided to ditch the bikes and hike across some fields to the nearest safe place,” Gabi said. “And that’s when we called you.”

  “I’m glad I answered. Do you want me to send a truck out to collect the bikes?”

  “If they’re still there.” In the rearview mirror, Nico’s lips pressed together in a thin, hard line. “They belong to Dellavina, so we should try to return them.”

  Marguerite nodded. “I’m going to call the sheriff. Do you have a description of their car?” Then she realized she was almost at the turnoff for
the long driveway that led to St. Isadore. “I’m so sorry, I’m driving on autopilot. Gabi, where should I take you?”

  “Gabi’s staying with me.” Nico’s tone was ironclad. “And I memorized the license plate number.”

  Marguerite bypassed the turnoff for the winery and kept going. “Why don’t you both come to my place? It’s more comfortable than the winery office, and we can call the sheriff together.”

  * * *

  Every San Franciscan in possession of a car had decided to visit Napa for the weekend, or so it seemed to Evan after it took three hours—spent on phone calls trying to schedule a meeting with Angus Horne’s people—to reach St. Isadore. He couldn’t wait to get out of the car, pour himself a glass of one of Marguerite’s wines and spend some time catching up on what had happened at the winery in his absence.

  It was only eight o’clock. Marguerite tended to work late. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind coming up to the house, with its dark corners and overstuffed furniture creating an intimate atmosphere no matter the size of the rooms. A vision of her sitting next to him, a circle of warm light encompassing both of them as they discussed her plans, danced in his head.

  For once, he didn’t mind the Gothic haunted house aesthetic.

  But when he entered the owner’s residence, there was a stillness to the rooms that indicated no one was home. And when he pulled back the curtains to check on the winery offices across the large flagstone terrace, Marguerite’s window was dark. Nico, sure. He didn’t expect a young adult male to hang around an empty house waiting for an older brother when there were bars and clubs and other people his age not too far away. Marguerite, on the other hand... Her absence delivered a right hook that he hadn’t seen coming.

  He rolled his eyes at himself. Of course she had better things to do on a Friday night than sit at her desk, waiting for her boss to arrive so she could debrief him. But he’d thought...maybe...she’d want to see him since it had been three weeks since they were last in a room together.

  He looked at his phone. There were several missed calls from Nico. Well, at the least, the kid was keeping him informed of his comings and goings after that first night. Evan pressed the callback button as he searched the meager offerings in the refrigerator. Looked like Nico hadn’t grocery shopped, either. Again, not that he blamed him.