Not So Charming: A Hate to Lovers Romance (Carlisle Cellars Book 1)

by Fabiola Francisco

  “I’ll be frank. The job is yours if you want it.” I lean back on my chair, relieved that I finally have someone who could do the job.

  This causes a different reaction than I was expecting when her eyes snap to mine, and she says, “You’ve barely interviewed me. Just because you’re on some ego trip for whatever reason doesn’t mean you can’t give me a fair chance.” This woman. I close my eyes and pray for patience.

  “June, do you want a job or not? You applied. I didn’t drag you in here or force you to email me your application. Look, I don’t know why you dislike me.” Her snort interrupts me, and I narrow my eyes. “I need someone for this job, and you’re the most qualified. Bonus points for not dressing provocatively and being a professional.”

  She doesn’t speak right away, so I continue, “I promise this has nothing to do with that made-up ego trip you keep mentioning. I’ve been interviewing people, and no one has fit the position. You’re smart, you’ve worked for a corporation before, and you like wine.” I add that last bit with a gleam, remembering she was drinking wine when I saw her at Last Call.

  “The pay is good considering the position. It’s part-time, though I’m sure you already know that from the ad. You’ll have to work weekends, but you’ll have Monday and Tuesday off.” She nods as I speak but remains silent.

  “If you want to take a couple of days to think about it, that’s fine, but I was hoping you could start tomorrow. Carla needs help in the tasting room and with tours. You’ll have to be trained and memorize the different wines and the information for the tours, but you’re smart, and I’m sure you’ll learn quickly.”

  June’s eyes are emotionless as she stares at me. Just when I think she’s going to turn it down, she nods slowly. “I can begin tomorrow.”

  I nod once. “Thank you. If you want, I can show you the area before you leave and introduce you to Carla. You’ll shadow her the next few days before you begin your own tours.” I hand her a folder with a stack of papers including the company’s information, our wine list and their qualities, and a map of the premises.

  June signs her contract, silence lingering between us. Internally, I’m cheering like a crazed fangirl. I’ve been ready to fill this position, and I know June will be great at it. I’m also kicking myself because chances are that now that she works for me, a date is most certainly off the table. There’s no specific rule in place that says I can’t date an employee, but I keep my personal life outside of the winery. Not to mention, it could make things messy.

  After finishing up in my office, I walk June toward the restaurant and show her the space before guiding her to the tasting room. I introduce her to Carla, who instantly smiles and sighs. She talks a mile a minute, expressing her gratitude for a second person to help.

  She takes it upon herself to walk June around, and I chuckle to myself as I watch them. June is wide-eyed and borderline scared at Carla’s constant and excited chatter. When her eyes meet mine for a brief instant, my breath hitches. It’s a good thing I don’t work on the weekends. It will help give me a break from seeing her and the temptation I feel to grab her face and taste those plump lips.

  I finally drag June away from Carla, promising her that she’ll have time to get to know June better tomorrow.

  “She is…” June shakes her head, almost talking to herself.

  I laugh regardless. “She’s excited to have a work partner again. The tours can get chaotic. We’ve resorted to scheduling less so she can manage them all, but usually, people will linger around after the tour and order a glass or two in the tasting room. Being understaffed makes the situation stressful. We also have a financial quota to meet each quarter, and if we’re scheduling less, then we’re making less.”

  “That makes sense.” She nods, pensive. “There aren’t any tours on Mondays and Tuesdays?”

  “Nope, we close our kitchen and tasting room those two days. They’re typically slow days and not worth opening.”

  She nods but doesn’t say anything else. I clap my hands to break the awkward silence and say, “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven-thirty. Study those papers.” I tap the folder she’s holding.

  June nods silently. Her mouth opens and closes without adding anything.

  “All right then.” I slip my hands into my pockets and nod once. Before I can finish turning around, June calls out.

  “Thank you, Miles.” Her face is serious, and I’m sure it mustn’t have been easy to say that.

  “Don’t mention it. You’re also helping me out.” I watch her walk out of the building before heading back to my office to finish up my day.

  A rebellious excitement moves through me, knowing that I’ll be seeing June at work. Maybe she’ll see I’m not the bad guy and actually give me the time of day. That’s something I’ve never had to work for.

  Chapter 8

  June

  “You have a job!” Lucy exclaims with a bright smile, sitting across from me after she finished her shift at The Grind. I came in to study the wine list Miles gave me and get some much-needed coffee after my afternoon surprise.

  I nod, still feeling like I’m having an out-of-body experience. It’s what happened earlier when I sat in Miles’s office, and he offered me the job. After my initial shock, I had to surrender my annoyance with him and give in. It’s the best option I have in town, and I’d be a fool to give it up because of my pride.

  I take a bite of lemon cake and nod. I have a job. I have a freaking job. I thought I’d be more excited when I became employed once again, but I feel indifferent. I’m grateful to have financial security, but I wonder if I was offered the position because Miles is hellbent on seeing me, or am I really the most qualified person who’s applied? I think back on his comment about the people—presumably women—who have gone to interviews dressed like Lord knows what. If he said it was inappropriate, then I rather not think about that.

  When I don’t respond, Lucy continues speaking, “And you’ll be working with Miles Carlisle. Sigh, he’s so hot.” She looks past my shoulder with a silly expression.

  “He’s okay,” I shrug. “Besides, I’m working for him, not with him.”

  Lucy’s eyes snap to mine. “Okay? Just okay? Have you seen his arms? And his jawline, his eyes, even his red hair is sexy. I’ve never cared for a ginger, but that man… Goodness, just okay,” she mumbles this last part while shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

  I rather not hear about how good-looking my new boss is. I’m not immune to it, and I wonder if he’ll use our proximity to his advantage in whatever game he’s playing. Although, I did become unaffected by his charms long ago.

  “Earth to June.” Lucy waves a napkin in front of my face.

  “Sorry.” I drink my coffee. “Anyway, yeah, he’s okay.”

  “Wait…” Lucy leans back on her chair and wrinkles her eyebrows as her eyes assess me. “Is he one of the people who would treat you badly when you were younger?” The confusion on her face is almost comical if it weren’t that we’re talking about the bullying I experienced growing up.

  Lucy takes my silence as confirmation, and she leans forward on her elbows. “That doesn’t make sense. He’s always seemed like a nice guy. I don’t really know him or his family, but everyone in town has always loved them.”

  I simply nod and finish my coffee, hoping we can switch topics. “Have you started the book I recommended?” I try a diversion.

  “Yes! I forgot to tell you. I’m only a few chapters in, but you were right. It’s exactly what I needed.” I suggested she read a romantic comedy I love after she had a dud of a date last week.

  “I’m glad. It’s such a great read.” I sit back with a small smile. Books really are the best medicine.

  Checking the time, I thank Lucy for the company and leave to pick up my mom before I’m late.

  When I tell her the news on the way home, she yells, “Yay!” before hugging the side of my body as I try to keep the car on the road.

  Laughing, I r
oll my eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Let’s go to dinner to celebrate. I’ll take a quick shower when we get home, and we’ll head out.”

  “No,” I shake my head. “We have leftovers.”

  I feel my mom’s glare, but I ignore it as I turn onto our street. “I’m your mother, and I say I want to take you to dinner to celebrate your new job. Now, I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes. That’s plenty of time for you to change.”

  “Mom,” I try to argue, but she stops me.

  “Nope. I want to do this. You’ve been gone for so long, and I know you’ve been feeling down because of this transition in your life. Let’s celebrate you tonight. I’m proud of you, sweetheart.” She clutches my hand and smiles.

  I face her once I’m in the driveway. Looking into her sad and tired eyes, I nod. I’m unable to turn her down. I know how much she works to make a better life for us, and I hate that she wants to spend it on dinner when we have food at home. However, I also know how stubborn she is, and she won’t take no for an answer.

  My mom practically skips toward the front door, opening and going straight to her room. “Be ready soon,” she calls out.

  I huff and go to my room, changing into something besides my interview attire. After putting on a ruffle sleeve smock dress, I comb my hair and put on some chapstick. Once I’m ready, I put the folder from the winery on my bed. I’ll read over it when we get home from dinner. Maybe my mom can help me. While I may not be expected to have it all memorized in a few hours, I want to be as prepared as possible.

  “Do you want tacos?” my mom asks when she walks into the living room.

  “Do I ever not want tacos?” As if that’s even a question.

  “Good point,” she chuckles. “Come on.”

  We head toward the restaurant, comfortable silence settling over us as the beats from an old country song come through the speakers. As soon as we are seated at the restaurant, my mom tells the waitress that we’re celebrating my new job. I blush a hundred shades of red as my mom ignores the death glare I’m giving her.

  When the waitress walks away with our drink order—my mom insisted on margaritas—I lean forward and whisper-yell, “Mom, seriously?”

  “What?” She looks at me innocently. I can’t with her. She reaches her hand across the table and clutches mine. “June, I’m proud of you, and I’m happy to have you home. Let me enjoy this.”

  I sigh and nod. “We both know I don’t like being the center of attention, so can you not order a cake with a sparkling candle and have the whole restaurant sing some made up congratulatory song?”

  My mom laughs. “Darn it, let me wave down the waitress.” I get my sarcasm from her, too.

  Sometimes I wonder what I got from my dad. Maybe my hair and tanned skin since my mom’s hair naturally dries as perfect beach waves, and she’s fair-skinned. She gives me hair envy. From the little I know, my dad was—is, I guess since I believe he’s still alive—Hispanic.

  The waitress brings our margaritas, and we order our meal. Then, my mom goes full-on interrogation as she asks me for every detail about my interview. Her eyes sparkle when I tell her Miles interviewed me.

  “I think this will be great for you,” she assures me.

  “I hope so. I’m kinda nervous,” I confess.

  “Why?” My mom licks the salt from her lips.

  “I’m not used to interacting with people. I’ve always worked behind a desk, but I’ll be face-to-face with people each day.”

  “You’ll do great, and they’ll love you. Be yourself, baby. You’re an amazing woman, so let others see that part of you.” I nod at her words, grateful when the waitress interrupts us to deliver our food.

  I dig right in, not making an attempt to respond. My mom can read me like a book, and she knows I don’t easily open up to others. After a delicious meal full of spicy flavors, tart pico de gallo, and another margarita, we head home completely satisfied. I don’t ask my mom to help me study the wine list since she’s been yawning the entire ride home. Instead, I go to my room, open the folder, and read through it myself, my mind wandering to different scenarios I could encounter at work. I jolt from my half-slumber when the vision of Miles kissing me over his desk wakes me.

  Holy… Okay, that is not part of my job description.

  I take a deep breath before walking into the tasting room, where I find Carla and Miles waiting for me with smiles. Carla practically rushes me with her excitement while Miles stands back with gleaming eyes. He probably thinks he won some twisted game I wasn’t even participating in.

  The space is gorgeous. A combination of stone, just like the exterior wall, and clean ivory walls, make it the perfect blend of rustic and modern. The entire building of the winery reminds me of the Carlisle Estate, no doubt using the same design. Built-in wine racks fill one wall. Instead of the regular square design, these are diamond-shaped and full of bottles of wine. Another display shows bottles of all kinds hidden behind glass doors. Across from that, on the other side of the room and near the door, is the bar where we’ll be serving the samples of wine for customers.

  The first hour flies by with information overload. Carla shows me how to use the register, the price list, and where the wine is stocked. Miles is there like a shadow. When a group of four walks in, Carla smiles and greets them. From what she told me, there aren’t any tours scheduled until later in the afternoon. I listen and watch her interaction, making mental notes. They ask for a tasting by the bar, and I join Carla, taking pointers from her when she asks me to serve a certain wine. She explains the flavors in each one, the types of grapes, and what they pair well with.

  I’m overwhelmed but learning. I take deep breaths and remind myself that it’s my first day.

  From then on, the day gets busier. More people come in, including the scheduled tour. While Carla does the tour, I stay in the tasting room with Miles. He guides me in serving the clients and adds the details I don’t quite know yet about each wine. He’s comfortable and confident, telling jokes and getting to know each person with his usual charm shining through, and everyone eats it up. I could learn a thing or two from him as well, as much as it pains me to admit.

  Miles leans down to my ear and whispers, “You’ll get the hang of it. If I didn’t think you could, I wouldn’t have hired you.” I shiver and breathe deeply. How did he read me?

  I nod, swallowing thickly, and look anywhere on his face except his eyes. Looking into his green orbs will be too much right now. I hate feeling vulnerable, but I hate it more when someone senses my vulnerability.

  Miles straightens and clears his throat. After an awkward moment passes, we get back to work. The afternoon goes faster than the morning, with a thirty-minute lunch break where I read over the wine descriptions while chewing on a ham and cheese sandwich.

  By the time the day is over, my mind is buzzing, my feet hurt, and I’m starving, but I’m happy. Despite the tension and anxiety I felt about working with Miles, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. He was professional, helpful, and gave me space. I’m not focusing on the parts where he smelled amazing, my belly tingled when he was close, and the way his hair would stick up after he’d run his hand through it, tempting me to comb it down.

  Nope, that shall not be mentioned. Miles Carlisle is not a man I want to get involved with. He’s everything I ran from when I left this town and never looked back. I guess when we stare at the rearview mirror for too long, though, it becomes our main view. And now I’m standing in the middle of everything I promised never to be a part of. Living in Willow Creek, working for the Carlisles, and a college dropout.

  Chapter 9

  June

  Since I’m once again a contributing taxpayer, I thought I’d celebrate surviving my first week at my new job by going to the bookstore before picking my mom up from work. I came this way on a whim after opening a new bank account. It took longer than I would’ve liked, and I was anxious to finish so I could do something fun on my day off. Well, as fun as possible in
the small town of Willow Creek. None of the books I own are calling me, so I figured what better way to celebrate than to buy myself a book. I haven’t gotten my first paycheck yet, but I can afford a paperback.

  I smile as I pull open the door at The Book Nook and find Mrs. Collins behind the counter, organizing a stack of books.

  “Hi,” I wave over at her before heading down to the book-lined shelves holding my next escape.

  My first week at work was better than I thought. I shadowed Carla on tours, learned from her, and even enjoyed talking to some of our customers. I still have a lot to learn, but I’ve eased into it this week and handled the register alone.

  I’m reading the back synopsis of a women’s fiction novel when the door chime rings, and the voice of a little girl excitedly talking makes me smile. She’s talking about bookmarks, and another soft voice talks about coloring books and cupcakes.

  I chuckle to myself. Books and cupcakes are the perfect combination. I finish the synopsis before reading the last line in the story. It’s something I’ve done since I was a little girl. The last line of a story could make or break it for me. Other readers might be appalled at my actions, but it doesn’t spoil anything for me. On the contrary, it makes me more excited about getting to that last phrase and seeing the journey the characters took to arrive.

  The final words will be the difference between a memorable read I’ll want to revisit or an okay story that will leave me feeling less than fulfilled. It’s like your parting words when you know you won’t see the person again for years, or ever, or the final words in a debate.

  They’re just as important, if not more so, than the rest of the story since they are the last words that will stay with the reader. Satisfied with it, I add it to my stack. I’ll have to narrow it down to just one, but I want to make sure I’ve checked all options, so I don’t miss a great read.