by Milly Taiden
“You’re not his usual type. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She rolled her eyes and patted Evan on the chest, turning him at the same time and pointing him toward the door. “Finn and I are not involved.” Unless you count my fantasies late at night. Then we’re very busy doing things that might be illegal in some parts of the world. “We’ve decided to be friends. It’s much less exhausting than enemies.”
Evan took a few steps, retreating out of slapping range, then shook his head. “He’s never looked at you like an enemy, Beth.”
She desperately wanted to hear more about how Finn used to look at her—and ask if he still did when she wasn’t looking—but no one could know how much she didn’t want to be Finn’s friend. Not Evan, not her friends at Bun, and definitely not Finn. Because what she wanted and what Finn was offering—no, had offered, and now retracted—were diametrically opposed ideas. A relationship, complicated and messy and loaded with potential for the future. Or an…arrangement. Carefully delineated by smooth words at the outset meant to take the sting out of a casual goodbye at end.
She wasn’t interested.
An affair. That was his way, and she wouldn’t be the first. Or the last. The thought of Finn rolling around in the sheets with women he didn’t care about made her want to vomit. And she had absolutely no right to that reaction, but it would be a billion times worse if they slept together. She’d want to rain hellfire down on him if he blithely moved on from her and since she wasn’t a Valkyrie but just an ordinary Director of Operations and Guest Services at a winery, and the worst she could actually do was refuse to sell him a bottle of wine, well…she didn’t really want to wander down that path of impotent rage.
So she needed to get him out of her system before these enquiries started to trump their day-to-day work.
“We’re just friends.” She said it once, then repeated it, following Evan to the door which she closed once he was safely on the other side. But being alone wasn’t better, because in the silence Evan’s words bounced effortlessly off the walls and into her soul. He’s never looked at you like an enemy.
*
That thought stuck with her when she headed down to the tasting room to check on Stella’s training session with Gavin Beadie, one of their bartenders. He had a blind taste test set up and Stella was carefully comparing each sip to her notes before tentatively naming the wine. Gavin was good. Beth had seen him do this training before and after a few sessions all of their casual staff could talk with some authority about the product lines.
Gavin was a part-time student, studying literature at the university in Windsor, and had shown no interest in taking on a larger role in the organization despite repeated offers. Beth would just be happy to have him behind her bar as long as he was willing. And Gavin joked that he had two younger brothers who could be trained as bartenders if she needed them, because it was in their blood—his twin sister Mari was also a bartender, at the pub in town, and had helped Beth out with a few early events before referring Gavin to her for the regular gig.
It surprised Beth that Mari hadn’t been the one to send Stella her way, as the two young women were close. Maybe it was her unsettled state of mind, but something made her more curious than usual about Stella, what made her tick, and how the shy young woman had ended up sending her a bold and entertaining cover letter and résumé a few hours after Beth had given Evie her card. So when Gavin excused himself to bring up more wine from the basement, Beth settled in next to her new employee and poured herself a glass of wine. It was five o’clock somewhere. Being the boss had to have some perks.
She leaned against the bar and smiled at Stella. “It sounds like you’re catching on quickly.”
The younger woman blushed. “I hope so.”
“Are you a wine drinker?”
Stella shrugged. “With a holiday meal. Once in a blue moon with girlfriends.”
“I listened for a bit. You’ve picked up the lingo quickly.”
“It’s not that different from maple syrup grades.” Stella bit her lip. “I mean, of course it’s not the same thing, but—”
“It’s okay.” Beth reached out and pressed a reassuring hand on Stella’s shoulder. “Maple syrup?”
“It’s one of the crops on our farm. We have two sugar bushes on our property and there are two more on my uncles’ farms not far from us.”
“What else do you farm?”
“Soybeans, corn, alfalfa. Cash crops. But it’s just me and my dad, so the last few years, most of our profits have been paid out in wages. The sugar bush is the only part that we do entirely ourselves.”
Beth wasn’t a farm girl herself, but she’d lived in Wardham long enough to know it was a tough life and getting harder every year. “That’s why you’re working with Evie and at the police station?”
Thoughts more complicated than Beth could guess at clouded across Stella’s face. “That’s part of it.” She reached for her glass of wine and when she turned back, her eyes were clear and curious. “How did you end up with your career?”
Beth shook her head and smiled. “You know, I was just telling a friend about it on the weekend. Luck and happenstance get most of the credit. And being willing to do a lot of grunt work. The first year that I was the Promotions Coordinator here, I really did a lot of envelope stuffing, box unpacking, and floor and window washing. And I spent a lot of time behind this bar.” She patted her hand on the polished wood surface. “Over time, I did more and was rewarded with greater responsibility.” She laughed. “Some days that doesn’t feel like much of a reward, but overall it’s been wonderful. Is that what you’re looking for, a career?”
Stella widened her eyes for a second, as if it was a trick question. Beth pushed as much reassurance into her own expression as she could muster, and it must have done the trick. “Right now, I’m just looking for work. Happy to do whatever will get me off the farm. Which is probably the height of irony, because in the long term I’d love to take it over from my dad. But I’m too old to live at home and he’s too young to retire to a house in town.”
“It’s just the two of you?” That would be a claustrophobic life for a woman in her twenties.
“My sister lives in Toronto. My mom…she visits. My parents have a weird and complicated relationship.”
Beth gasped. “You’re Marigold Nixon’s daughter!”
Stella rolled her eyes. “Her real name is Meredith, but yes.”
“She’s a wonderful artist.” Beth watched Stella shift uncomfortably in her chair. “You hear that a lot.”
“It’s true. But she hasn’t been an involved parent. It’s okay, I’ve never known anything different.”
But it wasn’t okay. Beth’s parents both worked, and her mother had travelled a fair bit when she was younger, doing guest lectures at universities across North America. Yet when she came home, she was home, and Beth never doubted her mother missed her while away. Something told her Stella hadn’t received that kind of reassurance as a child and still wanted it as an adult. She recognized that yearning. Felt it herself for her father’s affection. He’d been home more than her mother but not nearly as present or engaged.
But this wasn’t the time or place and she was assuming a lot. Maybe another time, another shared bottle of wine.
“Well, I’m glad you enjoy working here. That’s why I came down, actually, to confirm you’re doing the Patterson wedding this weekend. I’ve posted both the revised schedule for next week and the open one for the next two weeks. Let me know if you have any questions.” She’d moved all the employees to a web-based scheduling software suite. It took a bit more training up front but saved a lot of time over the long haul.
Gavin returned as she was talking and she left them to finish up before the anticipated arrival of a tour group.
Back in her office, Beth glanced at her notes from the morning’s meeting. She reached for her favourite pink highlighter just as her phone rang. A quick glance at the call display made her heart
skip a beat. Just friends.
“Beth Stewart.” Smooth and sexy. At least she hoped.
“Finn Howard.” He chuckled as he mimicked her.
“I was just looking at what we talked about this morning.”
“Me too.”
She tapped her notepad. “You gave us notes on amping up the Christmas party and speed dating around Valentine’s Day. You didn’t have any notes about the Winter Tea.” He hesitated long enough to give her a big clue. “You don’t like it.”
“I don’t see what it does for your brand.”
“It’s a hug hit with our loyal customers! We’ve sold out each of the last three years.”
“Do it for them, but it’s not something to promote to new people. It muddies the water.”
“It shows we’re a winery for everyone.”
“You can’t be.”
“Of course we can.” She heard the strident tone slip into her voice before she could rein it back. This is when we fight. The realization caught like a lump in her throat and unexpected sadness washed over Beth. How tenuous that claim of friendship proved to be.
But instead of snapping, Finn laughed. Warm and low, like they were sharing a joke. “Why won’t you just let me tell you what to do?”
Her own laugh was watery and weak, terribly unsure of itself. “That sounds dangerous.” In more ways than one. She took a deep breath. “I’m scared to narrow our focus to the younger demographic.”
“Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He made a thinking noise, somewhere between a hum and a growl, and she had to press her legs together. Finn at work…that turned her on in a big way. Even when he was pissing her off, and today he’d managed not to do that. “If I can show you numbers that prove there’s money to be made in targeting the right audience, will you give me more room to play with your event calendar?”
She smiled, kicked off her shoes and swayed her office chair from side to side. “What kind of numbers?”
“I’ll double your Facebook fan numbers by the end of the month, and the new likes will be in the target demographic.”
She snorted. “Easily done with an ad buy.”
He tsked in her ear and her nipples stood up and took notice. Down girls, he’s off-limits. “No ad buy.”
“Then how—”
He cut her off with that hum-growl noise again. “That’s for me to know and for you to be suitably impressed by at the end of the month.”
He had a deal, but she didn’t need to seem eager. She bit her lip to contain her glee at negotiating her way through a business conversation without wanting to shake Finn. She counted down from ten before assuming her smooth, sexy voice. “I look forward to that meeting.”
“We can discuss it further on Saturday.”
She shot straight up in her chair, limbs akimbo and sexy voice abandoned. “What?” she screeched, then slammed her palm to her forehead as he chuckled in her ear.
“We’ll both be at the Windsor Wine and Food Show.”
Crap. Their friendship worked best in limited quantities. She cleared her throat and concentrated on sounding cool again. “I may find a replacement for my shift.”
“No you won’t.” He lowered his voice. “You want to see me as much as I want to see you.”
“Is that a fact?” But they both knew it was.
*
Finn pulled up to the Willistead Manor service entrance where his intern, Kent, waited with a handcart. They unloaded the boxes of WECGA postcards and promotional corkscrews from his trunk. Many of their member wineries would have individual displays given the proximity to home but he’d brought enough swag just in case any of them ran out.
The historic mansion was the perfect venue for this event. He allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation at the choice before moving his car to the back of the parking lot and heading inside.
In addition to vintners, the show had displays from catering companies, high-end food shops, artisanal cheese makers and a couple of organic food co-ops and community share farms. Finn sat on the steering committee and he’d supported the chair’s decision to ruthlessly slim down the event to fit it into the new space.
Inside, he automatically scanned the room for Beth.
Want throbbed in his abdomen. Beth. The one desire he hadn’t managed to mould to his satisfaction. Their goals didn’t align and she had proved more than once to be his match for sticking to her guns.
He found her halfway between her booth and the end of the aisle. He stopped at the far end of the room and just watched as she glad-handed her way up the row. She wore pants today, slim black dress trousers that cupped her ass and made her legs look a mile long. At the end of those delicious legs were black heels that made his mind blank. She was probably 5’6” without them, but he realized he’d never seen her in flats. Even at the park she’d worn casual shoes with a wedge lift. He was struck by a sudden desire to see her totally unwrapped, wearing nothing but his dress shirt. A small, curvy, perfect package. Because while her heels were sexy, he realized that wasn’t why she wore them. They were a power tactic, to bring her eye to eye with the men around her.
Irrationally, he wondered how many men had the privilege of seeing her stripped bare. She was a grown woman, sexy as hell. The number wasn’t one or none. You won’t be joining their ranks, let it go. But he couldn’t let her go. She wound her way into his every thought, waking and not.
One of the organizers clapped her hands together noisily and announced the doors would be opening. He soaked up one more look at Beth and turned and stalked to the WECGA booth in the corner.
Go West was on one of the inner aisles, close to the end but in just far enough that he couldn’t see her. In lulls of conversation, though, her laughter would carry and he’d find himself pacing a few steps into the crowd before reeling back.
In addition to Kent, he had two other people scheduled over the course of the day, overlapping schedules so he’d have time to network when there were two people at their booth. When Allison arrived, he took the first opportunity and walked the long way around the room. So he could pretend it was about saying hello to everyone and passing out business cards to new faces, but his destination wasn’t back where he started.
He pulled up short of the Go West booth, though, because Beth was talking to an interested customer. Male. Tall. Very interested.
“Our tasting room is open every afternoon,” he heard Beth murmur as she slid a brochure into the man’s hands.
She was rewarded with a smile and a subtle lean from the stranger, which she saw and seemed to like, and a glower from Finn, which thankfully she didn’t see because she wouldn’t like.
Tough. He resumed his intercept course.
“Will you be the one pouring the wine?” Mr. Must Work Outside asked.
She smiled—smiled!—and shook her head with regret. “Not usually, no.”
“If I give you my number, would you call me when you’re behind the bar?”
She laughed. “You’d be waiting a while, I’m afraid. But our bartenders are all fantastic.”
“Hmmm, that won’t do. I’m not a patient man. How about a private tasting?”
Finn clenched his jaw tight enough his teeth protested and willed Beth to turn this douchebag down. His wish was denied. She fluttered her eyelashes and handed over a business card. “Tell you what…if you come by the winery, show the bartender my card. If I’m free, I’ll make an exception for you.”
Enough of that nonsense. Finn took the last few strides to bring him alongside Beth. He saw the moment she sensed his presence, her eyes got wide and she bit her lower lip. Damn straight.
***
CHAPTER SIX
Beth slid her best don’t do this look at Finn but he wasn’t having any of it.
He reached out and curved his hand gently around her elbow. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“I’m in the middle of something here,” she muttered through a smile. And I won’t feel guilty about it.
The man whose name she hadn’t yet gotten—and didn’t really want but would pretend to if it pissed Finn off, and how juvenile was that—nodded his head toward the exit. “Actually, I gotta go. But I’ll call you.” He glanced at the card, even though she’d introduced herself ninety seconds earlier. She definitely didn’t want his name or number. “Nice to meet you, Beth.”
She kept her pasted on smile in place until he turned away, then pursed her lips together and turned her attention back to the rude one. “Yes?”
He glanced behind her where she was pretty sure Gavin was flirting with a group of women. “Come with me.”
“No.” She stood her ground.
He cocked one eyebrow in silent challenge, then took another tack. “Please?”
She laughed despite herself. “You don’t pull off requests very well.”
He pressed against her upper arm, steering her toward the double doors leading out of the great room. He didn’t leave any room between their bodies and in the small space between them he whispered, “What can I say? I like to be in charge.”
That should not make her throb. It totally did. She decided the safest response was none at all. A “don’t feed the wild animals” type of thing.
In the foyer he pointed down a hallway, then another. The dull roar of the crowd faded and all of a sudden they were alone.
Finn had asked—sort of—and she’d blindly followed him. She swallowed hard against whatever that might mean and tried to look business-like. “What did you want to talk about?”
He let her step away from him, just watching her as she put some space between them. He stretched the silence out long enough that she wondered if he might not answer. But then he did and made her see red. “Don’t tell me you actually wanted that guy’s number.”
Screw him and the commitment-phobic horse he rode in on. “I want all the numbers, Finn. I’m a single woman in her thirties. I’m not going to apologize for looking for a mate.”
