Champagne Kisses

by Zuri Day

  “You know what they say,” Dexter continued casually as he strolled into the room. “People who talk to themselves either wish to converse with a highly intelligent audience…or have a screw loose.”

  “Ha!” Marissa relaxed even as she noted how different the two brothers were. Where Donovan was reserved, Dexter was flamboyant and devil-may-care. Where Donovan seemed to take every moment of life seriously, Dexter seemed to tease fate, living each moment as if it were his last. And while Marissa appreciated his endless party lifestyle, she also knew that dating such an individual would drive her crazy. “I’m probably guilty of a little of both.”

  “I thought I saw you last night. And then Donovan told me that you were helping him with our international expansion into the Asian market.”

  The frown jumped on her face before she could stop it. “Yes, well…”

  “A little trouble in paradise or, in this case, the vineyard?” When Marissa didn’t answer, Dexter walked to the door and pushed it closed. “We’re practically family, Marissa. You can talk to me.”

  Marissa sighed as she leaned against the large filing cabinet. A part of her wanted no part of voicing her thoughts out loud; the other part relished a second opinion. “I’m not quite sure whether your brother and I are very different or too much alike. Either way, we sort of got off on the wrong foot.” Marissa told Dexter about the night of the engagement party and how she’d not met Donovan as they’d initially planned. She left out the part about Steven’s participation, hidden behind the more general “something came up.”

  Dexter listened intently, arms crossed, pose casual as he leaned against the wall. “Let me tell you something about my brother,” he said once she’d finished. “He’s the serious one of the siblings, a ‘strictly business’ kind of guy. But he’s a good man, too, who can be very focused when it comes to something he wants or cares about.”

  “Look, I know how important this project is to him and to your company. He’s made me very aware of how confidential it is, how critical it is to this next phase in your business plan, all of that. I understand that, and I’ve told him that while I know I can’t take Sharon’s place, I will do my very best to pick up the slack in her absence.”

  “I have no doubt that you will,” Dexter said, raising off the wall and heading toward the door. “But when it comes to what Donovan wants, I’m not talking about a job well done. I’m talking about you.”

  “What?” Marissa sprang forward from leaning against the file cabinet, her back becoming ramrod straight.

  Dexter chuckled. “You heard me. My brother is digging you. And from your reaction, I’d say the feeling is mutual.”

  By the time Marissa got her mouth working, Dexter’s whistle could be heard down the hall.

  Chapter 11

  Thank goodness for Chad Witter, owner of Data Design and Solutions. He was the angel Marissa found seated in Donovan’s office when she arrived there a full five minutes before his be-there-in-half-an-hour-don’t-be-late command. At least she wouldn’t have to be alone with Donovan.

  Dexter’s parting comments had left her reeling, and wondering. Was Dexter speculating when it came to his brother’s feelings about her? And why had he assumed she had feelings for Donovan when she hadn’t even acknowledged those feelings to herself? All of these questions and speculations she hid behind a shield of complete professionalism: asking the right questions, nodding in the appropriate places. But what was really on her mind was Dexter’s comment: he’s digging you. That and images from her dream last night—she and Donovan together, quite alone and quite naked, on the hilltop in the moonlight. Their bodies, sweaty, entwined in the throes of passion. His tongue searching, capturing, devouring. His lips, those lips, those lips moving and talking and…

  “Marissa?”

  “Oh, sorry, Donovan. I was pondering what Chad just said.”

  A quick look passed between Chad and Donovan. “It normally doesn’t take much thought to answer where one graduated college,” Donovan said, his voice laced with humor. “Although understandable that some of us want to forget about those campus days.”

  Busted. But Marissa put her 3.8 GPA to use and recovered in a bat of an eyelash. “Forgive me. I’m still thinking about the translation and formatting component to this software, Chad, and ways that by tweaking the columns, this could possibly be used in the categorizing of wines, as well, specifically the new inventory against the present selections, and the exclusive ones developed for the wine bars. It would streamline the entire inventory process, cataloguing by type, year, whatever details are important. I’m sorry,” she said when she realized she was going on and on. She switched her attention from Chad to Donovan. “I know my work here is limited primarily to the customer base, but in my mind, it’s an obvious parallel.”

  “No apology needed,” Donovan replied, a flicker of new awareness and admiration in his eyes as he slowly stroked his goatee. From the moment he’d met Marissa she’d seemed to be a study in contradictions. Sort of like an onion, with layer after layer to peel away. But if there was any place that he was certain they could have a fairly innocuous meeting of the minds, it was around business. This was, after all, the only reason she was here, right? Donovan determined at that moment that he wanted to peel back the various veneers to the mystery woman seated near him. And he wanted to start tonight.

  After another hour, the meeting with Chad wrapped up. “Thanks for everything,” Donovan said as he stood, signaling the end of the discussion. Marissa stood, as well.

  “No problem, buddy,” Chad replied, putting his minicomputer and papers into his briefcase and then joining Marissa and Donovan near the center of the office. “I’m just happy to see our product do what it is supposed to do and that is make our customers’ lives easier and their work more streamlined.” He turned to Marissa. “It was my pleasure to meet you,” he continued, his hand outstretched. “If there is anything that you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to contact our office.” He held her hand in his, his blue eyes sparkling with open admiration. Marissa smiled back, genuinely impressed with the products Chad and his company had developed.

  But somebody wasn’t a fan of this mutual admiration society. “Yes,” Donovan said, his voice authoritative as he reached out his hand. “I’ll call you if we need anything. Good seeing you again, Chad.”

  Marissa’s brow rose ever so slightly. Can we say dismissed?

  “Marissa,” Donovan said to her retreating back as she started to follow Chad out.

  She stopped in the doorway, and the way the sun from the window framed her face it was as though she wore a halo.

  Angel or devil, Ms. Hayes, Donovan thought. Which are you? “I appreciated your input just now. It was obvious that we hit upon your niche.”

  “At one time I thought about getting my degree in computer programming,” she admitted. “But at the end of my sophomore year Ste—uh, a friend convinced me that a degree in business administration would be more versatile.”

  “I see. So armed with your degree and obvious intelligence, why are you a secretary?”

  Marissa wasn’t offended by the question, although, on the part of working assistants everywhere, she could have been. But she more than understood. It was one her parents had repeatedly asked when she left—translated, fled—the job where she’d held a junior management position. “Timing. Jackson needed an assistant. I needed a job. I’m very happy working with Boss.”

  The astute brain that made Donovan an excellent businessman immediately sensed more to the story. “He’s a good man. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re in a position that some would consider beneath your education and skill set.”

  Marissa looked beyond Donovan’s shoulder and took in the picture-perfect day as she pondered his question. “It’s a long story,” she finally said.

  “Well, I’d like to hear it if you don’t mind,” Donovan easily countered. “Over dinner, tonight, seven o’clock.”

  “It
’s not something that I feel comfortable sharing,” Marissa said. “So thanks for the dinner invite, but I think I’ll just do room service.”

  “I’m sorry if that sounded like a question,” Donovan said, his mannerism all business as he walked to his desk, sat and began shuffling papers. “What you choose to share with me is your option. Dinner is not. I’ll meet you at Grapevine at seven.” Ignoring her frown, he continued, “Right now, I need help with some handouts for an important meeting tomorrow. I have a lot of information to cover, but I’d like to have it organized succinctly in no more than a one- to two-page handout. Do you think you can handle something like that?”

  Marissa crossed her arms and hid a smirk. “I believe I can.”

  “Good.” He went through the papers on his desk, pulled out various facts and figures and told her the results he hoped to achieve. “Any questions?”

  “No, it sounds pretty straightforward. I’ll draft a couple different layouts and have you approve the one that suits your needs before proceeding.”

  “Perfect. That’s it for now. Remember dinner, tonight, Grapevine, seven sharp.” He looked up from the papers in an authoritative manner that Marissa found quite annoying. “Don’t be late.”

  Donovan hit a computer key and began scrolling through his calendar for the rest of the day’s activities, a clear (if rude) indicator that their meeting and conversation was over. Marissa stood there for several long seconds, debating on what if anything she should say in parting. Finally, because she couldn’t resist saying something, she pulled up her utmost Southern drawl and replied, “Yessah, massa.” Then, still in a huff, she turned on her heel and walked out.

  Donovan continued scrolling through his calendar, but a wisp of a smile turned his lips up a little bit.

  * * *

  That evening, Marissa arrived at the vineyard’s premiere restaurant shortly before seven. In characteristically passive-aggressive fashion, she’d ignored Donovan’s suggestion for casualness in the workplace and donned the one suit she’d packed. It was her favorite: a very professional yet form-enhancing St. John number. The one-button jacket accented her plentiful breasts and small waist while the skirt stopped a few inches from the knee, showing off legs surprisingly long for someone of her stature. She paired the perfectly cut yet simple black suit with an equally understated white shell with thin black stripes, simple silver jewelry and minimal makeup. Her hair was in a loose chignon, wisps of curls framing her face and caressing her neck. Spiky black pumps and a splash of perfume completed the look. If she couldn’t feel good, which was becoming an increasing possibility where being around Donovan was concerned, then she was going to look good.

  She walked to the restaurant’s entrance and stood near the hostess station. Thinking of his love of wine, she glanced toward the bar but didn’t see him.

  “Hello,” said the hostess, who’d just returned to her station. “Will someone be joining you this evening?”

  “Yes,” Marissa replied still looking around. “They’ll be one more.”

  “May I have your name?”

  “Marissa Hayes.”

  “Ah, Ms. Hayes. Mr. Drake is already here. If you’ll follow me, please.”

  Marissa followed the hostess farther into the restaurant. For a week night it was fairly crowded and Marissa was glad she didn’t have to search out Donovan on her own. They continued through the main dining area and around a corner. Can we be any farther in the back? Because of my parting statement, did he think I’d show up with a kerchief on my head? Before Marissa’s indignation could get any more righteous, they turned yet another corner and crossed the hall to another door. After a slight tap, the hostess opened the door to a private dining room, smaller than the one where Diamond’s rehearsal dinner had been held, yet equal in its tasteful appointment. “Mr. Drake, your guest,” she said before stepping back to let Marissa enter. Donovan stood and thanked the hostess, almost stopping Marissa in her tracks. He too had dressed for whatever occasion was about to happen and looked perfectly dapper in a chocolate-brown suit, a black shirt open at the collar and those deep chocolate orbs relentlessly trained on her.

  It was going to be an interesting evening.

  Chapter 12

  Entering the private dining room Marissa became coy, almost shy. “You’re looking quite—” what was the word? “—dapper, Mr. Drake,” she said, as he pulled out her chair to be seated. “What’s the occasion?”

  Donovan sat back down, stroked his goatee. “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

  “A chance to wear one of the dressier outfits I packed,” she said with a shrug. She took a sip of her water, looked around the room. “What about you? Special night?” Marissa giggled, part nervousness, part flirt. The evening was not at all turning out as she’d envisioned, something that with Donovan Drake was becoming routine.

  “I don’t know why I chose to dress up,” Donovan said truthfully. “But I’m glad I did.” He nodded toward an open bottle of bubbly chilling in a silver bucket. “Would you like a drink?”

  “I guess one glass in the middle of the week will be okay.”

  Donovan arched a brow. “Only one?”

  “Wouldn’t want to get hungover,” Marissa countered. “My boss is a slave driver.”

  “Ha!” His countenance turned serious. “Marissa, you and I seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. I want to change that.”

  Nodding slowly, Marissa answered, “Me, too.”

  From seemingly out of nowhere two waiters appeared. One placed down two salad plates while the other set down a basket of rolls and topped off their lemon waters. The first then poured two flutes of champagne and, after an almost imperceptive nod from Donovan, soundlessly retreated through a side door.

  Donovan didn’t reach for the bubbly right away. Instead he looked at Marissa, his intense and thoughtful gaze causing her heartbeat to quicken and her thighs to clench. “I want to apologize for my sometimes boorish behavior,” he said at last. “I take the business quite seriously and when I’m focused, I know I can be a bit short. I’m sorry.”

  Marissa smiled. Donovan held his breath and captured what was for him an angelic image on the camera in his mind. “Thank you, Donovan. I too apologize for…everything.”

  Donovan was tempted to bring it up again, that night so many months ago that started the conflict. He still wondered about the man at the bar, the one Marissa said she knew. The reason that she didn’t come in. Who was he? An ex-boyfriend most likely, though she’d denied it. But why else would it matter to the guy who Marissa dated? The thought of her being with someone else didn’t sit well with Donovan at all. He didn’t like imagining another man enjoying her subdued charm, didn’t like picturing anyone’s hands on her but his. And following these thoughts, Dexter’s words floated to the fore. We’ve got to live each day to the fullest and let the chips fall where they may. I say you should go after her. Dexter was absolutely right. Life was short, and this window of uninterrupted opportunity was shorter. Eight days, now. That’s how long he had to wear down the armor Marissa had seemingly built up around her heart. Whatever had happened in her past, Donovan knew he had his work cut out for him.

  He reached for the champagne flute and lifted the glass. “To new beginnings.”

  Marissa followed suit. “To new beginnings and great working relationships.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  They drank, and the sparkle in Marissa’s eyes rivaled that in the glass of fruity ambrosia with a hint of a kick.

  “I’m not much of a champagne drinker, but this is really nice,” she said after a couple sips.

  Donovan nodded. “It’s still a work in progress, part of the exclusive line that we’re developing for the Asian market and a few other select clientele. This top-shelf product will only be available in the most exclusive of establishments. It’s been aging for five years and will be uncorked and publicly unveiled for the first time during the holidays. That’s what this is…one of our
latest creations.”

  “What is it called?”

  “We don’t know yet. Dexter’s department has been tossing several names around. Boss suggested that we call it Diamond.”

  “I like that!”

  “So does his wife,” was Donovan’s dry reply.

  “I can see calling it Diamond rather than Dexter or Donovan.”

  “Ha! You have a point.”

  Marissa smiled and took a sip of the champagne before placing the flute on the table. The champagne was not only delicious, but potent. She could already feel a buzz. “So, Dexter is the winemaker?”

  “Among other things. Our parents raised us to know all aspects of the business and juggle multiple responsibilities. Along with being the head winemaker, he’s also director of Business Development. I’m CFO, but also spend quite a bit of time in sales, my initial position after graduate school. Thus, my heading up the international expansion, working very closely with my dad.”

  “And Diamond is the director of PR and Marketing, right?”

  “Right. But as you know she also headed up the last phase of our renovation.”

  “And did an excellent job,” Marissa said, again looking around the room. “And while doing so she met Boss, and the rest is history.”

  “At least that part of it,” Donovan agreed, taking another sip of his drink. “But considering tonight, I’d say that history is still being made.”

  “How so?”

  Donovan shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.” He motioned to Marissa’s plate. “After you.”

  “Of course.” Marissa placed the stark white linen napkin in her lap and took a bite of the salad filled with herbs and greens from the vineyard’s large, organic garden.

  “How’s your room?”

  “Absolutely gorgeous! I love how all of the rooms are themed by colors and wines.”

  “Which one are you in?” Donovan took a generous bite of salad and reached for one of the freshly baked rolls still warm and waiting beneath a heavy napkin.

  “The Chardonnay Suite, which, again, is very generous of you. Considering the hours I’ll be working, a regular room would have been more than enough.”