Who's the Boss Now?

by Susannah Erwin

  “Your name is Daisy Delacroix?”

  “I know, it sounds like a cartoon character.”

  “I think that’s Daisy Duck.”

  “Same difference. Anyway, when I was a child my parents told me stories about my family’s French winemaking history, and I was so enthralled I insisted on being called Marguerite. And Marguerite means daisy, so I am using my first name, just in a different form.”

  “Your parents named you Daisy Daisy?”

  “Or Marguerite Marguerite,” she pointed out. “But that’s my parents for you. They’re wonderful, and I love them, but they don’t think things through all the way.” There was a slightly bitter note to her last words but before he could puzzle it out, she continued, “They moved to Arizona when I was in college, where the only things they grow are tumbleweeds and rock gardens.” She threw him a look from under her eyelashes. “You might like them.”

  He knew the expected response. The proper response. Sure, I’d love to meet them. Or even, Let me know the next time they are in town. She would probably be happy with a smile or a wink from him. Something. Anything.

  But the alarms next to the sealed door in his mind started to clang, loudly. It was all he could do to nod his head. “If you think so.”

  A faint crease settled between her eyebrows and her gaze searched his. “Sorry. Parents might not be the best subject.”

  He scratched the back of his head. He was usually the one who read other people. But Marguerite was almost too perceptive when it came to him. It was part of the reason why he fell for her, despite every intention to fight against it.

  He knew his strengths and his weaknesses. He excelled at building successful companies, selling them, and investing most of the proceeds in his next start-up. Now Medevco was poised to move to the next level. To go global in a way his previous enterprises hadn’t. And to do more good. To provide new advances in medical technology. Better and more cost-efficient equipment. Expand their gift-giving program and ensure hospitals and medical centers in underserved communities were brought up to the same standards as their wealthier counterparts. But if he took his eyes off the prize, his goals may never come to fruition.

  And buying and selling companies was how he provided for the people in his life, like Nico and his grandparents. He ensured the people he cared about wanted for nothing. That’s how he kept them safe. If he took his focus off—

  The alarms in his head sounded again. Louder. He hit a few keys on his laptop, not caring which letters he pressed.

  “Parents. Sure. I’d like to meet yours. Someday.”

  “Someday.” She nodded, her smile as bright as ever, but some of the light winked out of her eyes. A sharp arrow of regret hit him square in the chest.

  Medevco’s crisis wasn’t solved, but the company would continue to be his. Marguerite was here, now, and he should spend every minute he could with her, to store up memories for when she would inevitably be gone. He closed his laptop and put it in the bag at his feet. “I’m sorry. I should never have left the bed. Not with you in it.”

  She lit up, a glorious glow suffusing her from within. “Bed’s still there.”

  He fake-pondered for a minute. “True. But if I remember correctly, I promised to acquaint you with every room in my house.” He stood up and crossed to where she stood, cupping her gorgeous face, reveling in the satin smoothness of her skin beneath his touch. “Let’s start...” He bent and picked her up, her gasp of surprise joyful in his ear, and placed her so she sat on the table, her legs dangling off the edge. Then he knelt, pushing the skirt of her dress higher, revealing her rounded thighs, the scrap of lace covering her mound. He moved the lace aside and grinned up at her. “Here.”

  * * *

  In the end, it was Marguerite who was delayed by work and arrived at the gala long after it started. The world-renowned chef hired to cater the Global Leader Summit wine tasting had a conflict come up with his television filming schedule and was forced to cancel. Marguerite and Aracely worked the phones from their respective places to find a replacement and negotiate the fees. Evan didn’t want to leave the house without her, but Marguerite knew it was important to him to be present for the speech by his friend Grayson Monk, who was being honored by the philanthropy hosting the gala. So she sent him off, unbearably handsome in his tuxedo and plain black half-mask, and continued to nail down the details. Thank goodness for Aracely, who was a model of organizational efficiency. She smoothly swapped in the new chef’s proposed menu and kitchen requirements without increasing the budget. They finished in time for Marguerite to throw on her champagne costume—foregoing the glitter—and make her way across the city to the Ferry Building to enjoy the last hour of the event.

  The party was in full swing by the time she arrived, the riotous cacophony of music and laughter and conversation swirling around her as she searched for Evan among the dazzling lights, colorful decorations and glittering costumes. Finally, she spotted him at a table off to the corner, away from the dancers gyrating on the dance floor and the crowds lining up at the bar. He was deep in conversation with another man.

  Her knees literally went weak at the sight of him. She’d thought the phrase was an overblown cliché but it was reality. Evan turned her legs to water. A nearby chair provided some momentary support.

  “Marguerite. This is a surprise.” The male voice came from behind her.

  She schooled her expression to be still, to not reveal the immediate blooming of hurt and shock. And then she turned, knowing whom she would find. After all, she’d hung on his every word for nearly seven years. Until she learned he was stealing her ideas and passing them off as his own.

  Casper Vos was an imposing man. Well over six feet tall with a helmet of bright platinum hair, he was easy to pick out in a crowd, which made avoiding him at wine industry gatherings easy to accomplish. She wondered that she had missed recognizing him tonight, especially since Casper was one of the few people not wearing a mask. But then, she’d only had eyes for Evan. “Casper. How are things at Dellavina Cellars?”

  “Dellavina is the wine sponsor for tonight. Quite the coup for us. What are you doing here? This is an exclusive event.” Being direct to the point of rude was another Casper trademark.

  “I’m attending a party,” she said, proud that her voice remained cool and steady. “And I see my date, so if you’ll excuse me—” Casper followed her gaze and too late, she realized her mistake. Of course, Casper would recognize the current owner of St. Isadore.

  “Your date?” He smiled. It was a rather unpleasant smile. “I see.”

  “It’s not what you...we’re here to make connections for St. Isadore.” She raised her chin. “The winery is well on its way to surpassing its output of the last ten years. Both in quantity and quality.”

  “Quantity, perhaps.” Casper shrugged one shoulder, a smirk on his lips. “Quality, impossible.” He gestured at himself. “St. Isadore lacks...proficiency.”

  She knew he would eventually attack her talents and skills. Say what you would about Casper, at least he attacked her to her face as well as behind her back.

  Anger joined the hurt, always a bad combination when it came to holding her tongue. “Therefore we aren’t set in old, tired ways and St. Isadore has nowhere to go but up. But congratulations on your success at Dellavina. Tell me, which young winemaker are you stealing from now?”

  The smirk disappeared, but only for a moment. Then it reappeared, deeper and more twisted than before. “You’ve grown claws. Brava. But you are still the same Marguerite. Still attaching yourself to St. Isadore’s owners, still hoping they will throw crumbs your way, but always doomed to disappointment.” He plucked a glass of red wine off a passing waiter’s tray and handed it to her. “Enjoy some award-winning wine while you can. Until next time. I’m sure I’ll see your resume floating around town again sooner rather than later.”

  He wal
ked off and Marguerite immediately put the glass down. Her hands were shaking and the last thing she wanted to do was stain her borrowed dress.

  To think she and Evan had been so careful not to reveal their personal relationship to anyone in Napa outside Aracely, only for to tip her hand to Casper Vos. Of all the unforeseen disasters. She needed to tell Evan. And then she should return to St. Isadore as soon as possible, do as much damage control as she could.

  She made a beeline toward Evan’s table, but as she came closer she realized Evan was not deep in discussion, he was deep in an argument.

  “If we want to jump on this deal to maneuver Angus Horne into an investment, we have to move fast,” he insisted.

  “I’ve run my own analyses,” his companion said. He was a dark-haired man, who, even wearing a half-mask, still managed to look ruggedly handsome. Luke Dallas, Evan’s business partner, Marguerite guessed. “I’m not so sure we need Horne in the first place.”

  “We need him.” Evan stared Luke down. “Horne is our best opportunity to grow and achieve maximum returns now.”

  Luke shook his head. “Only if we decide that’s the right direction for the long-term health of the company. My numbers say we’re better off concentrating on the markets we’re in. We won’t see the same immediate revenue jump, but it’s more sustainable.”

  “I’m the CEO. We’re entering the international market. It’s not negotiable.”

  “Uh oh.” A pretty blonde woman in a black and silver flapper dress appeared at Marguerite’s side. “Now Evan has done it.” She turned to Marguerite and held out her right hand for a shake. “Hi. I’m Danica. I’m married to the one doing an impersonation of a volcano struggling not to blow its top.”

  Marguerite shook the woman’s proffered hand. “Marguerite. You’re Luke’s wife. I’m so happy to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Danica turned her gaze back to the table and Marguerite followed suit. The men seemed oblivious to their presence, intent on their argument. “Do we go in and try to diffuse the situation, or let them hash it out?”

  “Do they often argue like this?”

  Danica frowned. “No. Never. They usually see eye to eye. But since Evan bought the winery—” She stopped. “Not that the winery is the issue per se. I know you work there. But the purchase coincided with Evan pushing the idea that Medevco needs to grow bigger, faster. I wonder if he overextended himself.” Her mouth twisted. “Or maybe the idea came first and the winery was the result. Evan is keen on bringing Angus Horne on board and Angus does like his wine. Maybe Evan bought it to impress him.”

  Marguerite shook her head. “He bought St. Isadore to give his brother a business to learn.”

  Danica laughed. “Please don’t tell Nico that and give him false expectations.”

  “Don’t worry. Nico decided he wants to pursue something else, anyway.” And Evan had yet to discuss with her his plans for St. Isadore once Nico left. Casper’s words rattled in her head. Still attaching yourself to St. Isadore’s owners, still hoping they will throw crumbs your way, but always doomed to disappointment.

  A slam on the table brought both women’s attention back to the men. Evan and Luke were on their feet, their hands on the tabletop, their heads held low and down like bulls about to charge. “I don’t like this,” Danica said, and started to move toward Luke.

  But then the tension broke, and the men’s stances relaxed, although Marguerite got the distinct impression they were calling a time out, not a truce. Danica reached Luke’s side and he drew her close, kissing her cheek. Evan looked around and, for the first time since she arrived at the party, caught Marguerite’s gaze. A wide grin broke across his face. “You’re here.”

  “I am.” Her arms hung awkwardly at her side. Should she kiss him hello? Or go for a hug? Or—

  “I’m glad,” Evan said simply. “I missed you.” And he took her hand in his and twined their fingers as if they were always meant to fit together. Her ribcage was suddenly too small to contain her heart.

  Denial was no longer an option. She was head over heels in love with her boss. The man who also held the future of her family’s legacy in his hands. And who gave her no indication this was anything but a pleasurable fling between two consenting adults.

  Tonight, wrapped in a new cocoon of music and colored lights and fantastical costumes, she would allow herself to indulge in pretense one last time. Pretend that Casper’s taunts hadn’t found their target. That she and Evan had a future. That they could build a life together that included St. Isadore.

  One last time, and then she would accept prosaic reality.

  Nine

  A week later, the wine tasting for the Global Leader Summit was shaping up to be the social event of the summer. Marguerite smoothed her hands over her dress, a simple sheath of dark crimson with long sleeves that clung to her arms until they reached the elbows, then belled into loose, flowing ruffles that covered her wrists, and made one last inspection of the scene.

  Strings of crisscrossing globe lights had been installed on St. Isadore’s large flagstone terrace. They would illuminate the various areas arranged for conversation and eating. Cocktail tables in two heights, chairs to match, and sleek, comfortable sofas would invite maximum mingling and conversation. At one end of the terrace, a deluxe Santa Maria–style grill had been installed, providing the guests with tri-tip barbeque and other delectable California-inspired dishes. And all of this would take place against a stunning backdrop of rolling hills lined with verdant grapevines.

  The additional staff hired for the party gathered around Nico as he walked them through the order of events for the night, with Gabi by his side as his volunteer second-in-command.

  Ted Sato, the director of operations, was setting up the wines for the formal tasting to be held later. Aracely, dressed in a flowing pink-and-purple-paisley caftan that had once belonged to her grandmother, seemed to float above the smooth stone floor as she ensured every detail, no matter how minor, was perfect: the flower arrangements, the position of the wineglasses on the catering staff’s trays, the order in which the appetizers were to come out of the kitchen and be passed to the guests.

  And the wine. St. Isadore may have fallen on hard times during Linus’s last years, when he’d refused to make changes or cede control, but the wine had always been consistently good. Not world-class, at least not in Marguerite’s estimation, but pleasing to drink and accessible to a wide variety of aficionados. Most of the guests should enjoy the bottles she chose to serve. And for those who required a more challenging tasting experience, she’d brought out some of her newer wines that were ready to drink now, like the Sauvignon Blanc, and added some of her red-blend experiments that had aged enough to be opened by Evan to share as he thought necessary.

  Nothing had been overlooked. Every contingency had a plan. There was no reason why her heart should be pounding in her ears one minute, her stomach aching dully the next.

  Well, there was one reason. Tonight marked the end of her employment contract with Evan. And she didn’t intend to enter into another one.

  She’d spent her long drive from the city back to St. Isadore contemplating what to do next. She loved Evan. But she could no longer pretend. It was tearing her soul apart, to be with him, to touch him, to shudder in his arms but know she didn’t have his heart.

  She couldn’t make him love her. But once she stopped pretending, other things became clearer, too. She would rather die than admit Casper Vos was right about her, but one of his barbs hit true. She had to stop hoping for a future at St. Isadore and to go after what she wanted.

  Last week, between last-minute preparations for the party and the usual winery business, she drew up a business proposal and payment plan for the original Delacroix vineyard. She intended to present it to Evan tomorrow morning. Along with confessing how much she loved him.

  Evan might laugh at her. Or be mad, or dismissi
ve. Or he might immediately reciprocate her feelings and make her kick herself for being so scared. Whatever happened, at least she would have taken her future, and that of her family’s legacy, into her own hands.

  Her gaze found Evan almost immediately, his unruly hair under a touch more control than normal. He’d arrived that morning, having stayed in San Francisco the past week to, as he put it, “knock sense into Luke,” who was also due at the party. She drank in his appearance. He wore a variation of his usual tech industry work uniform, but the khaki trousers were well tailored to skim just so over his powerful thighs, the fine cotton shirt was equally fitted, and the addition of a sports jacket only emphasized his broad shoulders. He raised a hand and then pointed at her, signaling for her to stay put as he walked toward her. As he drew closer, he smiled. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

  Her pulse fluttered, as it always did when he was near enough to touch. She kept her hands clasped together behind her back. “What do you think of your event?”

  “Stunning.”

  “It is, isn’t it? Aracely and her team did an amazing job.” The sun moved lower in the sky, its bright, golden light throwing a burnished glow over the winery’s stonework and the vineyards beyond. A gentle breeze played with her hair, lifting the strands that refused to stay put in a bun. The smooth stone floor, which had seemed so cold and empty before the guests arrived, now appeared warm and intimate as people broke into small conversational groups and took advantage of the chairs and tables dotted around the perimeter. She turned back and caught Evan’s gaze.

  He wasn’t looking at the Napa scenery. His attention was fixed on her. “Beautiful. Absolutely.”

  Normally, she loved it when Evan flirted with her. But acknowledging that his flirtations would never lead to anything more than the friends with benefits arrangement they currently enjoyed sucked some of the joy out of it. “Glad you approve. Of the party.” She nodded at Aracely, somehow simultaneously greeting guests, whisking away empty glasses and handing out new ones. “Speaking of, I should go help her.”