by Sami Lee
“I didn’t. You know who I am, I’m David.”
“David Genero. Not David…” She frowned, making David wonder if she even had this other David’s last name. She can’t have met him before, if she’d assumed he was him.
“Were you supposed to be on some kind of blind date?” The notion was downright ridiculous. A woman as desirable as Sarah didn’t need to be set up.
“I don’t know why this was easier to accept when I thought you’d screwed me for money.” She muttered the words almost to herself, running her hands up and down her arms as if she were cold. “But at least then I understood what was going on. This is so sinister and deceitful, so vile.” She aimed a glare at him, emphasizing that last descriptor.
David took offense, his confusion morphing into irritation. “I didn’t screw you for money. I’d never do that.”
“No, but you’d do it to sell more of your wine. And perhaps a little extra on the side to keep quiet about Sarah Harrington’s bedroom activities, the fact she had to pay someone just to get laid. That’d be a juicy tidbit for the papers, wouldn’t it?”
A coldness swept over David, his body finally responding to the chill in Sarah’s voice, the contemptuous accusations. It numbed him, the cold, made his voice sound as though it came from far away. And to think he hadn’t been able to picture her reduced to going on a simple blind date. “Sarah, did you hire a…male prostitute?”
She tilted her chin. “I believe the preferred term is escort.”
David stared at her, grappling with the concept. “Dear God, why?”
“I should think that’s obvious,” she seethed. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
David couldn’t stifle the humorless laugh that barked from his mouth. “You thought I was him?”
Oh, that was priceless. Him, a paid stud? She had to be kidding. He was an average Joe…or average Dave as the case may be. Guys at his station in life might occasionally pay for it—not that David ever had—but never the other way around.
“You’re laughing at me?” Her query was flat, stripped of all emotion. David wasn’t fooled. She crossed her arms over her chest, her shoulders hunching, her body virtually curling in on herself. She took a few steps backward and it was that retreat that told David he’d hurt her immeasurably.
“Not at you—at me,” he explained. “The thought of me doing that.”
Of any woman, especially one as stunning as Sarah, paying him for his expertise. What another outrageous idea. He’d jumped her bones like a drunk footy player on an end-of-season trip. He’d hardly been accomplished or seductive. Hadn’t she been able to tell he was no expert?
“So you think you’re above it?” She stood straighter, some of her pride bouncing back. “Tell me how what you did last night is any different.”
“Last night I met a woman who completely blew my mind.” David walked toward her, approaching carefully as he might a wounded animal. Her expression was wary but she didn’t shrug off his touch when he placed his hands on her arms. The silky fabric of her robe was cool, unwarmed by the flesh beneath it. She was chilled to the bone. David’s chest ached at the thought.
He continued quietly. “When this woman, this beautiful, mesmerizing woman, invited me into her bedroom, I couldn’t believe my luck. I went because she was simply…irresistible. I never thought about the winery, not after she kissed me. I only thought about her.”
She examined his face carefully, testing the veracity of his words. Hope breathed to life inside him. If she was issuing a test, David wanted to pass it. He met her scrutiny, never wavering from it, and let every one of his emotions shine in his gaze.
“You know me, Sarah. You met me last night, when we laughed over the champagne and rolled around in bed and when I stared into your eyes when you came around me, when I came inside you. You know I’d never do what you’re saying I did. In your heart, you know it.”
Sarah couldn’t believe it. Despite all the evidence pointing to the fact David was a complete reprobate, her heart was buying this bullshit. It melted inside her chest, growing weak at the emotion thickening David’s voice and the desperation clear in his demeanor. He needed her to believe in him, badly, and he wasn’t too guarded to show it.
Of course he needs you to believe him. Your largesse could mean a lot to his business.
Sarah stiffened her spine and backed away from David. She ignored the remorse that clutched at her when she saw the way his face fell, the shine of pain in his eyes. Her chest tightened in response, as if their hearts were inextricably linked. His pain would always cause her pain and vice versa.
Absurd. One night, that was all they’d had. And it was all they were going to have. David’s anguish was an act. Sarah was only sorry she couldn’t say the same for her own.
“Get your things.” Sarah was glad her voice didn’t betray any of her fanciful thoughts about her heart and his being soul mates. “I want you out of my sight.”
“Sarah…”
“Now!” Her own raised voice shocked her. She rarely had to shout to get her point across. She hadn’t even shouted at Brent when she’d found him inside that overeager intern. She’d shut down then, and she wanted to shut down now. She didn’t want David to know how much last night had affected her, how stupidly hurt she was that she’d pegged him wrong.
Sarah walked to the window and stared out at the view of Melbourne. The pink light of the sun was trying to peek through the clouds but it was a losing battle. It was going to be a rainy, cold day that would turn the city skyline to a pitiless tableau of concrete and steel. The frostiness of it reached down to Sarah’s soul as she heard the telltale sounds of David behind her, the rustle of fabric as he dressed. The mental image of him disrobing for her last night played in her mind but Sarah blocked it out. She didn’t even have a nice memory to keep her warm in the lonely nights ahead because he’d tainted it with deceit.
She was as mad about that as she was about the rest of it.
The door to the suite opened, remained that way as she sensed David hovering on the threshold. At length he spoke, his voice quiet. “Do you remember last night when you said we should pretend we were making love?” The silence throbbed like a heartbeat when Sarah didn’t answer. “I think I pretended a little too well. I’m going to miss you, Sarah. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
The air cooled the second he was gone. The door made a faint click behind him, like a period marking the end of a sentence.
The end of her foolish escapade.
* * * * *
It wasn’t the end.
How could it be when shame over what a fool she’d made of herself possessed Sarah’s mind day and night in the ten days that followed? When she suffered the recurrent worry that there would be a phone call from a tabloid newspaper, asking her to comment on the story they were about to run. Sarah Harrington embroiled in sex-for-cash scandal. Her father might be in New York right now but Sarah didn’t kid herself he wouldn’t find out about something so potentially damaging to the Harrington name. He’d be livid. And she would be unable to show her face. She’d probably have to quit the company, go somewhere quiet to lick her wounds. Dye her hair and take up needlepoint.
Actually, that didn’t sound so terrible. Needlepoint might be relaxing. Living somewhere under an assumed name…oh, that sounded like heaven on a day like today, when the meetings and the phone calls never came to an end. It wasn’t labor that troubled her. Sarah had worked diligently from the time she took her first piano lesson at the age of three, so knuckling down and getting the job done was second nature.
But the performing, that took its toll on her.
As the key figurehead of Harry’s Nook, and as a Harrington, Sarah had to project a certain aura, a façade of cool confidence and unruffled capability. To prove she wasn’t in charge of the chain of wine bars that were a subsidiary of her father’s conglomerate solely because of her relationship to him, it was imperative she work twice as hard as anyone el
se. And as a woman often required to stare across boardroom tables at an intimidating row of dark-suited, middle-aged men, Sarah had to act three times as tough as any of them. If the veneer slipped in any one of those areas, she was toast.
It was exhausting.
Yet the one time recently she’d let her guard down and truly been herself, she’d done it for a man who’d lied to her. The shields were there for a reason.
“Miss Harrington, your three o’clock is here.”
Sarah glanced up to see her secretary standing in the doorway, carrying a cup from a local coffee shop that Sarah had discovered did the best macchiato in the world. Heather traversed the carpeted floor and set the cup on Sarah’s desk. “I thought you might need one of these.”
“You’re a godsend.” Sarah removed the lid and breathed in the scent of the strong brew with relish before taking her first sip. “What would I do without you?”
The woman of around fifty with kind blue eyes and a chic bob of salt-and-pepper hair, smiled wryly. “I think you’d find someone else to run out for your macchiato three times a day.”
Sarah returned her smile. “Seriously though. Aren’t you due for a raise or something?” The woman always anticipated Sarah’s needs before she herself guessed what they were. That had to be worth a lot more than a base secretary’s wage.
Heather said, “You pay me very well, Miss Harrington.”
Sarah was embarrassed to realize she had no idea what salary her employee earned. Shouldn’t she understand more about the woman who’d bothered to learn exactly how she liked her coffee and scheduled every last one of her appointments? Shouldn’t they at least be on a first-name basis? “Call me Sarah, why don’t you?”
Heather’s surprise was obvious, as was her discomfiture. “Oh, I don’t think I’d be comfortable, Miss Harrington.”
Of course she wouldn’t. Sarah was a Harrington. Harringtons weren’t on a first-name basis with their employees, it simply wasn’t done. Sarah’s smile froze in place. Silly to be stung that the woman didn’t want to become friendlier with her. “Whatever you think is best. Send Mr. Cawley in.”
The secretary slipped out of the office appearing relieved to escape. Her demeanor bugged Sarah. Was she really that fearsome? Heather had only worked for her a short while, since Sarah had set up base camp in Melbourne. Her previous secretary, Bonnie, hadn’t been able to leave the United States so Sarah had found her another job in the company enabling her to stay near her family. Prior to that, Bonnie had worked for Sarah for three years. The day she left she was still calling Sarah “Miss Harrington”.
God, she needed a friend. Someone she could trust, someone who held her name in their mouth and spoke it carefully as if it really mattered to them. David had done that, made her name sound like something special. You’re a beautiful, dirty, amazing woman. Scream for me, Sarah Harrington. I want to feel you come around me.
How could he have so thoroughly fooled her? Had he fooled her or had the whole thing been a dreadful misunderstanding? Why hadn’t she heard a thing from him since?
Bernard Cawley hurried into the room, a thick report under his arm. Sarah straightened and put on her game face. She couldn’t spend any more time mooning over recent mistakes. She had work to do.
Bernard launched into the latest update on the upcoming opening of Melbourne’s second Harry’s Nook. Sarah listened intently, asking for clarification when necessary. By the time the meeting was drawing to a close, Sarah was satisfied everything was well in hand. Why wouldn’t it be? She employed excellent staff and they did their jobs well. Other than for check signing and making the larger strategy decisions, she was barely needed for the day-to-day running of the brand.
The realization gave her the sense she’d been set adrift in an endless sea of nothingness…or possibility.
Possibility?
“One more thing, Bernard.” Her employee turned at the door, ready for further instruction. Sarah wasn’t sure what she was going to say until the words were out. “There’s a small local winery interested in stocking their product at Harry’s Nook. Windy Valley, I think it’s called.” She didn’t think, she’d memorized the name by heart. “Are they on the supplier’s list?”
“I’m not sure. I can check.”
“Please do. I tried some very nice Shiraz from there recently. It’s best for the industry all around if we give some of the smaller producers a chance to shine, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” Bernard agreed. “I’ll make it happen.”
Why on earth did you do that? Sarah wondered as the door swung shut behind Bernard.
Maybe it was because it had been almost two weeks since that night and it was obvious David hadn’t leaked her story to a journalist. Neither had he turned up here to put the screws on her for shelf space at the wine bar.
Perhaps it was simply that she believed every word of what she’d just told Bernard—small local merchants produced unique wines that kept the industry from growing sterile. She did believe in giving unknown operators a chance to become known, to thrive.
In the end Sarah feared she’d given Windy Valley the go-ahead for more sentimental reasons. David’s words filtered back to her. He could have been cruel. He could have been hurtful. He certainly could have been petty. But he hadn’t been any of those things. His voice had been gentle, kind, perhaps even sincere. I’m going to miss you, Sarah. I hope you find what you’re looking for.
So Sarah had been the one left feeling hurtful and petty. Not to mention alone.
And lonely, as always. When was it going to end?
Chapter Seven
“In one hundred meters, turn right into Butcherbird Road.”
Sarah followed the directions issued by the disembodied voice of her car’s navigation system, her heart pounding as the distance between her and her destination closed. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and asked herself again what she was doing. Why couldn’t she have left well enough alone? If David Genero wanted to refuse her company’s offer to stock his Shiraz in Harry’s Nook, that was his choice. There was no reason it should cause Sarah such vexation.
Yet his turning down their offer—and second offer—had vexed the hell out of Sarah. Who did that? What kind of businessman cut off his own nose to spite the face of the person he ought to be selling to? Last night had been the third sleepless one in a row and the final straw as far as Sarah was concerned. If double-shot macchiatos weren’t helping, it was time to get to the bottom of what was keeping her awake.
“In one hundred meters turn left.”
Sarah didn’t need the instruction. She saw the sign advertising Windy Valley Winery for herself. It marked the entrance to a dirt road flanked on either side by rows and rows of green vines growing on wooden trellises, studded by plump purple grapes. Sarah lowered her window and inhaled the heady fragrance of warm earth and ripening fruit. The afternoon sun slanted across the plants, turning the leaves all different shades of green. She stopped the car and took a moment to appreciate the stillness of the landscape, so different from the bustling cities she’d always lived in. The quiet throbbed in her ears.
“You have reached your destination.”
“Good information, duly noted,” Sarah groused, muting the voice option on the device. “Unless you’ve got some advice on how to face your most embarrassing mistake in the flesh, keep quiet.”
She’d driven the hour from the city in a fit of pique that had made the idea of seeing David again seem so reasonable. People didn’t refuse offers made by Harrington Enterprises, and Sarah had to know why David was being so obstinate. If the attitude he’d shown her wine buyer on the phone had anything to do with what he thought of Sarah, then she had to set him straight. Personal opinions had no place in business. Whatever ill-will he had toward her was irrelevant.
Right, Sarah. That’s why your heart’s performing like it would in an intense personal training session. She hated to think the real reason she’d driven out here was to f
ind out exactly how David did feel about her, but the closer she got to the estate proper, the more tenuous her grip on the steering wheel became. Her palms were sweating at the possibility he might be hostile.
Which she may well deserve.
The more she’d thought about it over the past week, the more she’d started to consider the possibility she’d misjudged David. The shock he’d displayed in the face of each and every one of her accusations appeared genuine in hindsight, not the slick act she’d assumed at the time. David hadn’t faked his name, he’d never told her he was someone other than who he was. He assumed she knew his identity when she called him David, a common enough name that it was shared by him and her escort. A coincidence, but not outrageously improbable. And if he’d been using her to get exposure for his product, he would have accepted the company’s offer, surely?
Unless he’s holding out for something bigger. Was his ploy all along to get you out here, Sarah?
The façade of the small retail facility appeared to her left and Sarah pulled in beside it. There was one other car parked in the section marked “visitors” but Sarah had learned from her research the cellar door wasn’t open to the public until the weekend. The wood-framed glass doors were closed, the name Windy Valley etched across the panes, the small logo of purple circles and swirling blue lines an artistic representation of wind-tossed grapes. There was a small picnic area to the right of it, timber tables and bench seats dotting the ground beneath two massive elm trees. Beyond that was a small cottage painted yellow with a wraparound porch of stark white drooping with vines that would no doubt flower in spring.
It was a small outfit, with a rustic style that immediately charmed. As Sarah opened her car door, two black-and-white working dogs came pelting from behind the shop, barking in greeting. At home, her family had always kept Afghan hounds, so Sarah wasn’t intimidated by the energetic leaping of the border collies. She held out a hand in a friendly gesture and they both sniffed her curiously. Then Sarah picked up the slobbery stick one of the dogs proffered and tossed it a good distance.
