An Exquisite Challenge

by Jennifer Hayward

  “You did,” she agreed fiercely. “And I’ve given you everything. Everything. I haven’t slept in a month to make this night a success for you.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t keep you instead.” He turned around, his rich voice so devoid of emotion, the look on his face so shuttered, she knew right then and there they were done. “You’re far more beautiful than his wife.”

  Her heart splintered into a million pieces. “I didn’t want him. Dammit, Gabe, I was just as much the injured party as Jordan’s wife. I was in love with him. I thought I had a future with him. When I found out he’d lied, I hated him for it. I had been living a lie.”

  His gaze hardened. “Blame isn’t the issue here. The issue is you didn’t tell me.”

  She nodded. “I should have. I absolutely should have. But please don’t judge me based on emotion. Think about what you’re doing.”

  He walked back to her, staring down at her, proud and fierce, everything she’d ever wanted. “I wanted to be there for you, Lex. I wanted to be the one to make you believe. I wanted to make myself believe that what we had was the real thing. But you were never going to let me in, were you?”

  “I was,” she whispered. “I was letting you in.”

  “Too little, too late,” he gritted. “My appetite for taking on your issues has passed.”

  “Gabe—”

  He held up a hand. “I need to get back upstairs.”

  She could have called him back. Could have tried to say more to make him understand. But the look on his face stopped her—the finality of it. The judgment. Whatever she said, it wasn’t going to be enough.

  The party was still in full swing when she went upstairs, the lights and loud voices stinging her senses. She put on the mask she wore so well when it was time to survive—to just get through it. She’d done it so many times it felt like putting herself on automatic pilot.

  Lilly looked exhausted, so she sent her and Riccardo home. It was just about time to do the big reveal, so she prepped the staff and went in search of the fireworks crew. Then she found Gabe, refused to let his icy demeanor tear her apart and coordinated the toast on the outdoor patio.

  Fireworks shot up into the air. In Napa, they had been a brilliant cascade of light against a black country sky. Tonight they were muted, overwhelmed by the lights of Manhattan. Just one more addition to a landscape already overloaded with flash. The excitement in the air grew. The reception for the wines seemed universally positive. It made her skin hurt to hear it. She left Gabe in a throng of people waiting to congratulate him and went inside, a good proportion of the crowd still indoors. She noticed the commotion near the bar immediately.

  Emily appeared by her side. “They are going at it.”

  “Who?”

  “Davina and David.”

  Great. It had taken them longer than she’d thought. Setting her jaw, she elbowed through the crowd and took stock of the situation. David looked drunk and furious. Davina, triumphant. Matty, as she’d suspected, was in the thick of it.

  “What is wrong with you,” she hissed, taking him by the sleeve. He gave her an innocent Matty broad-shouldered shrug.

  She pointed to the patio. “Go. Whatever this is, it is not your night to take Davina to bed.”

  The youngest De Campo unfolded himself from the bar, gave Davina one last look and left. Alex leaned down and gave David her most reasonable smile. “Might not want the paparazzi snapping you like this, my friend. How about we get your car?”

  David started to issue a drunken protest. The look on her face must have stopped him. Not tonight. She dumped him in his car, minus his girlfriend. Gabe left with Matty an hour later. Minus her.

  She told herself that was not her heart breaking. That that wasn’t her future walking out the door. Sure, she had made a massive mistake not telling Gabe about Jordan. But she’d made a bigger one fooling herself that this one might be different.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “UM, ALEX? YOU’VE been pacing for a half hour.”

  Emily flashed her a tentative smile from the doorway of her office. “Anything I can do?”

  Alex stopped in front of her desk and gestured toward the coffee cup on it. “Could you tell the street vendor his coffee sucks?”

  Her junior executive gave her an uncertain look. “You want me to get you another?”

  A guilty flash went through her along with an extended growl from her stomach. Someday God was going to punish her for her smart mouth. “Sugar,” she muttered. “I need sugar. Whatever empty-calorie carb you can find that will put me in a diabetic haze, I’m there.”

  “Got it.” Emily wisely backed out while the going was good. Alex eased her hip onto her desk and breathed. Big, full breaths like Lilly’s yoga instructor had counseled, only that wasn’t helping either. Nothing was helping. She was apparently going through the five stages of grief her disturbingly sensible, designer shoe-loving therapist had counseled her about. Stage one—denial—she had a firm grasp on that, it seemed. She’d knocked off two of the three new business proposals this week, sent them off and begun a punishing army-boot-camp regime at six every weekday morning where the instructor did an excellent impression of the sadistic drill sergeants from the movies. And now she couldn’t move. Even better.

  Oh, and let’s not forget the unrehearsed conversation with her father this morning to give him an earful about her childhood. Needless to say, that hadn’t gone overly well. Perhaps par for the course when it had started, “Why weren’t you ever there for me?” and ended with her father’s bewildered acknowledgement that yes, he shouldn’t have left her in jail overnight.

  The only thing that would help, it seemed, was a bone-meltingly good kiss from a sexy Italian who knew his way around a woman. That was, if she could get over stage two of the grieving process—the anger part—which seemed to be burning her up faster than an oxygen-aided fire in a decrepit old building.

  She braced her hand on the desk and took another of those big breaths before she had a coronary. Had what they’d shared meant nothing?

  It wasn’t fair. She picked up her stress ball and threw it across the room. The way Gabe had totally dismissed all the progress she’d made. How much she had trusted him. The fact she’d told him things she’d never told anyone else. Because of one bad decision he’d written her off? It had been a big one, she conceded. But you didn’t just jump on a bike and fly down a hill, did you? You put the training wheels on and hoped for the best.

  Clearly, it had not been enough. The De Campo–branded envelope sitting on her desk with the massive check in it said that loud and clear. Full payment for the events had arrived this morning, early and unexpected, even though she hadn’t had a chance to round up all the supplier invoices and costs yet. But it had been more than enough. As if Gabe had wanted to sever all ties.

  Evidently, that kiss wasn’t coming any time soon. As in ever.

  She stood up and shoved the check in a drawer so she wouldn’t have to see it. But her throat and chest still ached as if it was staring her in the face. She missed him. She missed his damn espressos and she missed having his arms around her making her feel as though no matter what happened, she had an anchor. Someone who was willing to take a chance on her. Someone who made this whole crazy world make sense.

  But it wasn’t going to happen. She got up with a jerky movement and walked to the windows, staring down at the hundreds of worker bees scurrying back and forth to their offices on the bright summer day. There had been radio silence from Gabe. Not a phone call, not an email. If he’d walked into her office and announced in that smooth, rich tone of his they were over, he couldn’t have done it more effectively.

  When Jordan had sent her the flowers with the “we’re done” note after six months together, she hadn’t eaten for a week. This time, with Gabe, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to eat again. At the risk of using a corny phrase she’d said she never would, there wasn’t a question in her mind that he was the love of her life.
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  She had broken every rule for him. She would have broken more if he’d let her.

  And still it hadn’t been enough.

  So now she had to move on. Mop herself up with big-girl acceptance and let go of the past. Step five. And frankly, she couldn’t stand here doing nothing anymore. It was making her crazy.

  Three phone calls and a half an hour later, she stepped out of her building into the sunshine. She was about to flag a cab when she turned around, walked back to the street vendor she had idle chitchat with every morning and lifted her chin. “Your coffee sucks. Every morning I buy your coffee and it sucks.”

  He gave her a dumbfounded look. “Buy the coffee or don’t buy the coffee, lady. That’s what I serve.”

  She nodded. “I’m buying an espresso machine. I just thought you deserved my honest opinion.”

  She stalked to the curb, flagged a cab and called Lilly from it. “I heard about your phone call home,” her sister said dryly. “Too much caffeine this morning?”

  “Not enough.” Alex grimaced. “I’m in a cab to the airport. In case the plane goes down and they’re identifying bodies, thought you should know. Back tomorrow.”

  “You said you didn’t have to travel for a while.”

  “Jordan Lane is holding credentials presentations this week.”

  “Alex. Gabe will lose his you-know-what if you take that job.”

  “What does it matter?” she asked calmly. “He’s done with me.”

  “You don’t know that. Gabe isn’t a knee-jerk kind of guy. He probably needs time to think this over. Give him—”

  “Remember that movie where the two women get in all that trouble and decide to drive off the cliff in the end?”

  “Alex.”

  “I’m not driving off any cliffs. I’m done with that. But I am going to clear the decks along the way.”

  She heard her sister swallow. “Alex, you get out of that cab. Take a Valium—do whatever you need to do, but do not get on that plane.”

  “No can do,” she replied cheerfully. “Oh, look. My phone’s dying. Catch you on the other side.”

  * * *

  It should have been a great moment. Gabe watched the first bottle of the Angel’s Share roll off the line with a tightness in his chest that defied description. It was done. The biggest gamble of his life was in motion. And if the reaction on Saturday night, if the reaction from every wine columnist and blogger in the country was any indication, he’d made the right choice.

  It didn’t hurt that the sommelier of the biggest chain of hotels in the world had taken one sip of the Angel’s Share and agreed to carry it. Or that all his distributors and suppliers seemed to be coming around to the idea of a pure Malbec from Napa. It would be October before the first bottle hit store shelves and they would really know the wine’s fate, the most crucial selling period for a winemaker. Between now and then, it was all about filling the supply chain and keeping the faith.

  He sorely wished he could do that with his personal life. He was so angry at Alex, he’d had permanent smoke coming out of his ears. It was bad enough she’d had an affair. Even if he did believe her that it had been unknowing—which he did because he knew Alex by now—the fact that it had been Jordan Lane had sealed it for him. Along with the fact she’d kept it from him.

  Inexcusable. Violated the biggest code of honor he had—absolute honesty. Darya had made that essential.

  It made him sick to think of her with Lane. With the man who wanted to bury him. He was sick at the thought of having a mole in his winery. Sick of it all.

  The bottles came off the line, one after another, their proud dark blue De Campo logos gleaming in the light. The Angel’s Share. Alex’s wine. It was impossible for him to think of it as anything else. She had named it. She had created all the buzz around it. They had been a team.

  And she had let him down. Just like Darya had. yes on dpgroup

  He gripped the railing that overlooked the production line, his knuckles straining white. Okay, not like Darya. Alex had other issues. But he’d wanted her to prove him wrong. That he’d been wrong to want a business partnership when he could have what he had with her. A woman he wanted as much out of bed as in it. A woman with a fighting spirit that refused to quit.

  In hindsight, he knew deep down Alex had had nothing to do with Lane or the mole. She had put her heart and soul into those events. But honesty was non-negotiable. He could not live without it.

  Pedro waved him down. He pressed his hands into fists and pushed away from the railing, descended the steps to the production level. His mentor handed him a bottle, a proud gleam in his eye. “Numero uno. You should have it.”

  Gabe looked the bottle over, checked the label, verified the addition he’d requested to the back fine print was there. Too little, too late.

  The wine felt right. His big bet felt right. Too bad he didn’t.

  “Grazie,” he murmured. “I should get back to work.”

  * * *

  Alex arrived at the restaurant at Fisherman’s Wharf at precisely six in the evening West Coast time. She was immaculately attired. Not one detail about her remotely resembled the naive twenty-two-year-old she’d once been. In fact, she’d just added another row of cynicism to her belt. Perfect. Exactly what she needed.

  Her warning antennae went up as the tall, thin maître d’ led her to a table at the far end of the lavishly appointed seafood restaurant. This didn’t look like the type of place to have a business meeting. She spotted Jordan ahead of her. At a table for two. The warning signals went off the chart. Where the hell was her competition?

  “I don’t understand,” she murmured quietly as he got up to greet her with a kiss on both cheeks. “Where is everyone?”

  He gestured toward the chair opposite him. “I thought we needed to talk first.”

  She stood there, every cell in her body telling her to run. “About what?”

  “Sit down, Alex.”

  She sat down. “Are the rest coming later, then?”

  His brilliant blue eyes met hers. “They aren’t coming.”

  She stood up with a jerky movement. How could she have been so stupid as to think this could be about business? That Jordan might want her for her brain?

  “Let me explain.” His gaze was hard, unwavering. “Sit down. You’re making a scene.”

  She glanced around her. Noted the curious looks of the other patrons. And sat. “Do you have no shame?” she murmured. “Isn’t what you did five years ago enough?”

  His blue eyes darkened. “I asked you here tonight because I wanted to apologize. I’m so sorry, Alex.”

  “For what? For almost destroying my life?” She slammed her palms down on the white damask, anger at herself singeing her nerve endings. “I can’t believe I thought my professional credentials were what brought me here.”

  “They are. I’ve told the committee they should pick you.”

  “Then what’s this?” She waved her hand at the table. “This is not business, Jordan.”

  “But it is.” He poured her wine she didn’t want with a smooth movement. “I need to know you’re not sleeping with Gabe De Campo.”

  Gabe. The man who was worth ten of him. The man he was trying to destroy. “I don’t think I want your contract.”

  “You need my contract. Get over your personal feelings, accept my apology and move on, Alex.”

  That was what she was supposed to be doing today. Moving on. If Gabe didn’t love her, she needed to bury herself in work. “I have no relationship with Gabe,” she said tightly.

  He studied her face with that ice cool gaze. Then nodded. “Fine. Shall I walk you through the RFP?”

  She pulled her copy out of her briefcase, her survival patterns telling her just to do it. She forced herself to focus. But every time Jordan talked about his Black Cellar Select, it made her stomach churn. It was Gabe’s wine. And yet here he was talking about it as if it was the product of his blood, sweat and tears.

  She loved
Gabe. The words blurred in front of her. She realized now she had been infatuated with Jordan’s worldliness, with the way a powerful man like him would want someone like her. But she loved Gabe with a depth that was so much more. She loved his passion. She was not ready to give him up.

  If she took this job, she would.

  Jordan took a call, then excused himself to go to the washroom. She sipped her wine, her fingers trembling. Then picked up the RFP and ripped it in half. She could stop the vicious cycle now. Gabe might not take her back, but at least she would have tried.

  She was done running.

  Her gaze flickered over Jordan’s phone as she waited for him to return. It was still unlocked. Before she had any idea what she was doing, it was in her hands and she was pressing through the home screen to his contacts. Her heart pounded like a high-speed train as she scrolled through the hundreds of names. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was searching for and was starting to think she was looking for a needle in a haystack when a name popped glaringly out at her. Sam Withers. Sam Withers. One of Gabe’s winemakers. Why was he in Jordan’s contact list? She clicked on his name. He’d made multiple calls to Jordan this week.

  Oh, my God. She cleared the screen and set it down with a thump. Was Sam Withers the mole?

  Jordan came back. Surveyed the ripped RFP with a raised brow.

  She stood up. “I can’t work for you.”

  His eyes flashed. “You wanted me, Alex.”

  She shook her head. “I wanted a mirage. It never existed.”

  She picked up her briefcase and walked out of the restaurant, head held high. She’d put her last ghost to rest.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  DUSK WAS SETTLING over the Napa hills when Alex parked her car at the De Campo vineyard, ushering in an intimate stillness that made her heart sound even louder in her chest. She sat for a moment, gathering her nerve. If her phone call to her father had been unrehearsed, this visit was positively fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants nerve-racking. She had no idea what she was doing, no idea what she was going to say. She just knew she had to try.