Who's the Boss Now?

by Susannah Erwin

She laughed. “Good. Because blindfolding the boss definitely violates the employment contract.” She stepped to his side and placed the velvet against his eyes, tying the ribbon to keep it loosely in place. Her fingers brushed the rough stubble of his cheeks, the silky softness of his hair. She held her breath so he wouldn’t hear it shudder and then stepped back. “Can you see?”

  The makeshift blindfold only enhanced the curves of his well-shaped mouth, threw into relief his chiseled jaw and sharp planes of his face. “No. Let me have the scent again.”

  “I’ll hold it for you.” She placed the vial under his nose. His right hand came up to hold hers steady, his touch warm and firm. She swallowed. “Anything?”

  He inhaled, then exhaled. His breath wafted over her skin, causing a shiver. “Still strawberries. And maybe sugar cookies?”

  He was describing her. Her shampoo. Her body lotion. “You’re peeking,” she accused.

  “No,” he rumbled. “But your skin smells of cookies. I like it.”

  His voiced caused tremblors deep in her belly. “It’s vanilla. But if you’re not taking this seriously...”

  “I am. I’d like to see you tell the difference between the scents.” His hand was still cupped around hers. His grip changed, his thumb rubbing ever so slightly against the sensitive skin on the back of her hand.

  She got her breathing under control. “Please. Part of my job is identifying aromas. I could identify all the scents in a kit like this in elementary school.”

  His beautiful mouth quirked into a half smile. “Show me.”

  In response, she untied the ribbon and pulled the velvet bag away from his eyes. The kaleidoscopic mix of green, amber and russet was even more mesmerizing than earlier. It took her a second before she remembered to straighten up.

  “Turn around.” Evan stood, took the bag and ribbon, and re-created the makeshift blindfold on her.

  The velvet was soft against her skin, the nap of the fabric tickling her eyelids where the ribbon held the bag in place. Evan guided her to the guest chair, the heat of his hand on her arm burning through the thin fabric of her blouse.

  “I’m ready,” she said. For what, she didn’t know and couldn’t name. She leaned forward, only to realize she was straining against a restraint that didn’t exist. The blindfold really did transform how she processed the world around her. Without sight, her ears filled in the details of the scene: the clack of glass as Evan picked up various vials and placed them on the desk, the soothing, regular sound of his breathing. Then he was next to her, the air thick with his presence even though he had yet to touch her.

  “Here.”

  Anticipation caused her stomach to squeeze. He picked up her hand, and the brush of his skin against hers made her nipples pebble even though all he did was place a cold glass vial in her fingers.

  He guided her hand with vial up to her nose—

  She sputtered and frowned in his general direction. “Horse sweat? Really?”

  He took the vial from her. “I’m sorry. That was for me. I’m fascinated to know what horse sweat smells like. I’m even more fascinated why wine smells of horse sweat.”

  She laughed, unsure whether to be disappointed or relieved that the spell was broken. “The scent is caused by a type of wild yeast called Brettanomyces or Brett for short. It’s found in red Côtes du Rhône, or it could be a sign something is off in other varietals—” She stopped. The atmosphere in the room had changed. “You’re silently laughing at me, aren’t you?”

  “Believe me, laughing is the last thing I’m doing.”

  His rough whisper sent a rush of slick heat between her legs. “You glow when you talk about wine, did you know that?”

  He reached for her hand, his warm fingers curling around her, guiding her to hold another cold glass bottle. “What about this one?”

  She sniffed. “Bay leaf.”

  His chuckle was more vibration than sound. “Now who’s using their memory instead of their sense of smell?”

  “It’s bay leaf, Evan.”

  He leaned closer to her, the molecules in the air charged with his presence. “Are you so sure? My aftershave is bay leaf.”

  She laughed. “No, you smell of basil. And lemongrass.” Not needing to see Evan to know where he was, she reached out, picked up his wrist and brought it to her nose. She closed her eyes, the better to learn him, grateful he couldn’t see the pleasure on her face. “And here—” she traced his skin, identifying the ridges and valleys marking veins and tendons “—cinnamon and cloves, with a touch of orange. You used the soap sold in the winery gift shop.”

  Evan was still, only the pulse in his wrist beating against her fingers. She dropped his hand, panic starting to rise. She’d given herself away. Now he knew she was as keenly aware of him as he appeared to be of her. Only he was flirting for flirting’s sake and she was...not flirting. She was a terrible flirt, in fact. She was incapable of keeping her emotions separate from her words and actions. Look what had happened when she tried to dissipate the tension between them by kissing him before signing her contract. The awareness only continued to build...at least on her side.

  She was attracted to Evan. It wouldn’t take much to fall for him, head over heels. But experience had taught her when she let others into her heart, she ended up shut out in the cold. She would not make the same mistake again. Especially not with her future at St. Isadore on the line.

  Reaching up, she yanked off the blindfold and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light.

  “So,” she said brightly, rising from the chair, “do you want to take the kit home? Practice on your own?”

  He shook his head, his gaze unfocused. “Thank you, though. You definitely made me appreciate my sense of smell.”

  “Anytime. That’s part of my job, after all. Teaching others about wine, that is. A good winemaker should always be able to explain their process and describe what others are drinking.” She was babbling. Anything to pretend the scent of his skin didn’t cause a rush of warmth deep in her belly. Anything to get back to a state of normalcy between them. “Do you think this will help you with Nico?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No. Definitely not.”

  “Oh.” She felt deflated. “It was worth a try—”

  “I don’t think Nico would appreciate it if I rhapsodized about how his skin smells.” Evan grinned, his gaze devilishly appreciative. “But I enjoyed it. Very much.”

  The heat between her legs blossomed. She leaned on her desk for support. “Glad you didn’t think it was a waste of time.”

  “Except I still don’t know what horse sweat smells like.”

  She indicated the kit. “You can learn.”

  “Next time.” His expression sobered. “Thank you, by the way. For being concerned about Nico. For wanting to help.”

  She smiled at him. “Of course. It’s easy to care about him.” Acting on impulse—acting as she would for any friend—she leaned up to kiss Evan on the cheek.

  He turned his head at the last second. Their mouths met. His lips were firm, hard, and then he opened his mouth under hers, and all was warmth and wetness. The impact rocked her, sending her several steps back.

  Too late, she realized what she’d done. She’d crossed the line. She’d touched him.

  She’d kissed him.

  Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. “I’m so sorry—”

  He shook his head once, twice, in brisk, precise movements. Then he reached out and drew her close, his hands closing on her waist. “Strawberries and vanilla,” he ground out. “You taste like you smell.”

  She got her breathing under control. “You don’t taste of cinnamon and basil. Thankfully.”

  “Huh. Maybe you should try again. Make sure you’re getting the right notes. That’s the correct term, isn’t it? Notes?”

  He wanted to kiss her again? Every
nerve ending screamed “yes!”

  “Notes are very important. You’re right, it would be a shame to miss them.”

  He didn’t require another invitation. His hands tightened on her waist, drawing her against him. She wound her arms around his neck, daring to press even closer. Then she raised her head to his, eyes closed, lips parted, anxious for the urgency of his kiss.

  But he took his time. His mouth landed everywhere but on hers: on her cheekbones, along her jawline, gentle as goose down on her eyelids. He lingered on the stretch of her neck, on the sensitive area behind her ear. He used his lips and his tongue and the scrape of his beard, lighting fires wherever he roamed, building a conflagration deep inside her that demanded more, now, here—

  Something buzzed. Something had been buzzing, she slowly realized. Evan must have heard it, too. He lifted his head, his gaze black and unfocused. “Phone.”

  Her heart raced as if she’d just finished a triathlon. She found enough air to gasp, “Not mine.”

  “Mine.” Keeping one hand on her waist to hold her to him, Evan reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a sleek smartphone. He answered with a curt, “Yes?”

  Marguerite couldn’t hear the other end of the call, but whoever it was didn’t seem to be bearing good news. Evan let go of her and stepped away to the farthest corner of the room to finish the conversation.

  She turned away, both to give him some privacy and to try to return some semblance of order to her hair and clothes. Her shirt was untucked, her hair mostly down instead of up, and she was missing a shoe although she couldn’t remember how it had come off her foot. She’d probably kicked it off when she wound her leg around him...

  Evan cleared his throat and she glanced up from her search for her shoe. He, too, had tidied up his appearance, although his dark curls looked far more windswept than when he’d first showed up in her office. But his shoulders were rigid and his jaw set, while apology was evident in his gaze.

  “We need to talk about what just happened but—” She knew the look on his face. “You need to go back to the city even though you just got here.”

  “We’re having ongoing issues with one of our suppliers and the CEO is unexpectedly flying in. If I leave now, I’ll be there in time to have a nightcap with him, and then Luke arranged a last-minute weekend of golf at Pebble Beach. I’m sorry. Can I call you later?”

  She nodded. “What about Nico?”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  She threw him a look from under her eyelashes.

  “I will,” he insisted. “Wild horses can’t stop me.”

  “Since untamed equines are in short supply in Northern California, that’s a pretty safe promise. Medevco, on the other hand...” She smiled, to take any sting out of her words.

  He rolled his shoulders a few times. “I know. If we can straighten out this issue, then—”

  “You’ll need to make Nico a priority at some point.” She touched his right hand with hers, and he stilled under the contact. “If you want to get to know him, that is,” she finished.

  He nodded, but she wasn’t sure if her words had reached their target. “Can you continue to look out for him?” he asked.

  “Of course! Besides, Nico reports—oh.” She smiled up at Evan, her expression steady even as his fingers caressed her knuckles, her insides melting anew. “I guess he doesn’t report to me.”

  “Right. You’re re-hired as of this moment.” Evan squeezed her hand one more time, then he let go.

  “I have to run. But you and I—”

  “No buts. And, honestly, you don’t have to gird your loins for a big conversation. You and I are good.” She paused. “Boss,” she emphasized.

  “Boss.” He considered for a minute. “I guess that means no goodbye kiss?”

  She burst out laughing. “Go. Drive safely. I have my own work to finish.”

  But after he left she sat motionless at her desk, her thoughts tumbling after each other, like kittens playing in a box, until the sun had long vanished and darkness covered every inch of the room.

  Her mind could lie to itself. Outside of work, she and Evan were friends. Friends who found each other attractive and occasionally kissed, but it didn’t mean anything.

  Her heart knew better.

  Six

  Marguerite closed her eyes and leaned under the shower’s spray, enjoying the leisurely start to her Saturday. Then her eyes flew open, and she turned off the water and stuck her head outside the curtain. Was that...the sound of her front door opening and someone coming up the stairs? She was sure she’d locked it. What the—?

  “Hello?” Aracely called. “You here?”

  Marguerite exhaled, the adrenaline surge receding, though part of her wished she’d heard a certain male voice instead of her best friend’s. “You scared me! I almost regret giving you a key,” she called back, and then quickly dried off before slipping into a robe to greet her guest. “You better have brought coffee after nearly giving me a heart attack.”

  When Marguerite got to the kitchen, she saw Aracely standing by the kitchen table, holding a carrier tray with two cups of coffee in one hand and a white paper bag in the other. “And freshly baked doughnuts.”

  “I take it back. You can keep the key as long as you want.” Then Marguerite frowned. “But why are you here? I thought you had an early morning meeting with a client.” She took the bag from Aracely and sat down.

  Aracely took the chair on the opposite side of the table. “I do. But I want to make sure I heard you correctly on the phone. You kissed Evan last night, and then he ran out the door? Do I have that right?”

  Marguerite paused, a chocolate cruller halfway to her mouth. “And good morning to you, too.”

  “This is not normal boss-and-employee behavior.”

  Marguerite put the pastry down. “Did I miss a holiday? Is today Obvious Day?”

  “No, it is I-care-about-my-friend-and-want-to-make-sure-she-is-okay day.” Aracely’s dark brown gaze met hers. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Aracely crossed her arms over her chest, her expression the definition of skepticism.

  “It’s all good. In fact, yesterday I received this month’s wine quality analysis from the lab, and everything looks great. It’s such a relief since I wasn’t sure—”

  “And what did the analysis of the kiss with your boss say? Panties melted or merely socks knocked off?”

  Marguerite choked on her coffee. “I told you, he fired me before we kissed. Technically, he wasn’t my boss.”

  “Right. The game you two play. Technically, the game does not change reality. You know this, yes?”

  “And we’re back to Obvious Day.” Marguerite bit an end off the cruller. “I know that. It just...”

  “Makes it easier to not have a conversation.”

  “I told him we didn’t need one. And we don’t. Yes, he signs my paycheck and I like him—”

  “Enough to kiss him several times—”

  “Twice. But we both know it’s not going to go any further.” Marguerite put down the rest of the doughnut. She couldn’t really taste it anyway. “He’s still figuring out his relationship with Nico, and he thinks parking Nico here at St. Isadore is the solution. It’s not, but he has to learn that for himself. But it’s obvious his first priority is his company and the Silicon Valley business scene. And I’m not leaving St. Isadore.”

  “What if he sells it?”

  Marguerite stared at Aracely. “What do you mean?”

  Aracely shrugged. “You said it yourself. He bought St. Isadore as a place to put Nico while he is busy elsewhere. What if circumstances change and Nico does not stay here? Evan would sell it, no?”

  “He bought St. Isadore to be a going business. Plus, there’s the event. You know, the one you’ve been hired to plan.�
�

  “But is that not what you said he does? Sells his companies?” Aracely put her doughnut down. “Have you made any progress in finding the ledger?”

  “No. I’ve searched the winery from top to bottom several times now. And I doubt it’s in the owner’s residence. I looked there after Linus died and besides, he never took business documents out of the office.” Marguerite shivered despite the apartment’s warmth. Evan wouldn’t divest St. Isadore. Would he?

  If only she had found the ledger. She knew she should have demanded a signed agreement from the beginning, but Linus prided himself on his old-fashioned values. He insisted his word was his bond and she’d had no reason to doubt him until...well, until she did. It hurt to believe he took advantage of her good faith, even going so far as to create a record, but with no intention of following through and turning the vineyard over to her.

  She could still hear the jeers of Linus’s great-nephews. Why would he agree to give his young female assistant ownership of the winery’s premier vineyard? If Marguerite wasn’t paid a fair wage for her services while Linus was alive, that was her problem, not theirs.

  If the ledger hadn’t shown up by now, it probably never would. Which meant Linus threw it away or otherwise destroyed it. Tears pricked her eyes.

  She took a sip of coffee and decided to change tack before her memories led her deep down a disquieting rabbit hole. “Have you spoken to your family about staying in California instead of returning to Santiago?”

  Aracely laughed. “Perhaps the reason I know you need to have a talk with Evan is because I am avoiding my own with my parents.”

  She rose from her chair. “I have to run. Talk later?”

  “Of course. And thanks. For everything.”

  “Claro, po. Always.” She waved and left the apartment.

  The room was still after Aracely left. Too still. And Marguerite’s thoughts about Evan came roaring back.

  It was clear their current status was unworkable. For her peace of mind, if not her peace of libido. As she saw it, there were three choices moving forward. One, she quit working at St. Isadore, for real. Two, Evan stopped coming to St. Isadore. Three...they had that conversation after all and established new ground rules, as it was obvious the original rules would continue to be broken every time they were alone together.