by Judy Duarte
Had he been impressed enough with the job she’d done that she could tell him about the mix-up? Would he get angry? Or would he laugh and let her hang around him and his family for a while?
She’d called Nathan Fortune yesterday as a follow-up to a letter she’d sent him last week. But before making a five-hour drive to visit him in person, she wanted to get a better feel for the renowned Fortune family. Who knew what the Mendozas might reveal or what questions she might have after talking to them.
Carlo pulled the loosened cork from one of the half-full bottles and made a generous pour. Then he handed a glass to Schuyler.
She thanked him and took a sip, savoring the hint of black cherry. No wonder some of the chefs had raved about it. “This is very good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He held up his glass to the outdoor light overhead, flicked his wrist ever so slightly and watched the wine swirl. Then he returned his attention to her. “So how’d you like working this event tonight?”
“I had more fun than any of the attendees.” And standing outside under a canopy of twinkly lights adorning tree branches with a handsome Latino made it all the better.
It was, however, getting a little chilly. She took another sip of merlot, hoping it would warm her from the inside out. Yet she still gave a little shiver.
“You’re cold,” he said.
“Just a little. It’s not bad enough to run back to my car for a sweater.”
“I’m not sure if I told you that’s a pretty dress. It was perfect for the tasting tonight.”
“I have plenty more like this one at home.”
“I’d be disappointed to learn that you didn’t. I assume that means you like to go out on the town.”
“Every chance I get.” She offered him another spunky grin, noting his playful expression. Apparently, he was enjoying her company as much as she enjoyed his.
“You’ve got to be hungry,” he said. “I certainly am. Why don’t you join me for dinner?”
“I’d like that. Just give me a chance to freshen up. I’ll use the hotel restroom.” Ten minutes later, after running a brush through her hair and reapplying her lipstick, Schuyler stopped by the registration desk in the front lobby. She needed a place to stay while she was in Austin, and the Monarch was certainly convenient.
After checking in for the night and getting a key, she returned to the garden, which was now empty—thanks to the efficiency of the hotel cleanup crew.
“Ready to go?” Carlo asked.
“Yes. Are we walking or driving?”
“If you’re okay with Italian food, we can walk. There’s a great little restaurant a few blocks from here.”
“I love all things Italian.” And Latin, it seemed.
“Then let’s go. It’s close to the office, so you can get a sweater or jacket from your car, if you want to. Either way, it’s a short walk.”
When he offered her his arm, she took it, hoping to absorb some of his body heat. “Lead the way.”
Carlo blessed her with a dazzling grin that could turn a girl’s knees to mush. Then he guided her along the sidewalk to the street.
Her heels and the soles of his loafers tapped a steady beat, and while she should probably remove her hand from his forearm, she enjoyed his warmth, as well as the taunting scent of a masculine soap that complemented his sea-breezy cologne.
“How long have you worked for the temp agency?” he asked.
Uh-oh. She hadn’t minded playing along with the identity mix-up at first, but she wasn’t ready to reveal her hand quite yet. What if he had some kind of commitment with the agency that he thought had sent Schuyler as a substitute hostess this evening? What if he reneged on the job offer to hostess future tastings?
She’d have to face that possibility, but maybe it would be best to tell him over dinner—or even dessert.
“Would you believe this was my first time on the job?” she asked.
Okay, while that wasn’t an out-and-out lie, it wasn’t completely honest. But still, it was somewhat truthful. She’d never been a hostess for a wine tasting before.
“Well, you’d never know it from my vantage point. You were a champ.”
Moments later, they approached Rossi’s, a small brick building with a black wrought iron railing that provided an enclosure for curbside dining. Several portable heaters supplied warmth for a few couples who’d taken a seat outdoors.
“Inside or out?” Carlo asked.
“It doesn’t really matter to me.”
“Then let’s take the first available table.” He opened the green door for her, just like a gallant Latin lover, and she entered the small restaurant that boasted white plastered walls and dark wood beams.
The place had an old-world charm, right down to a colorful mural on the east wall and a rustic fountain in the back. And if the aroma of tomatoes, basil and garlic was any clue, the food had to be good.
“Two for dinner,” Carlo told the hostess.
“This way.” The hostess reached for two leather-bound menus, then led them to a linen-draped table, which was adorned with a red rose in a budvase and several flickering votives.
Carlo pulled out Schuyler’s chair, and she took a seat. Then he sat across from her.
The hostess handed them the menus. “Your waiter is Alfonso. He’ll be with you in a moment.”
Moments later, a short balding gentleman in his fifties stopped by their table, introduced himself and took their drink order.
“We’ll have a bottle of Mendoza merlot,” Carlo told Alfonso.
“Nice choice, sir.”
Schuyler couldn’t help but smile. “Did you choose this place because of the food they serve—or because of their wine selection?”
He leaned forward and said, “The food is excellent. And for that reason, we offered a tasting here a couple weeks ago. The customer reaction was so positive that the owner placed an order. So I’d also like to be supportive.”
Schuyler set her menu aside. “So tell me. What’s it like working for a family business?”
“It’s pretty cool. We all get along—and we have a common goal. We want to see the winery be the best it can be.”
“That’s nice.” Schuyler supposed Maddie felt the same way about Fortunado Real Estate.
Carlo studied her for a moment, and a slow smile stretched across his gorgeous face. “You’ve got pretty eyes.”
“So do you,” she said. “Some women would trade just about anything for long, thick lashes like yours. I hadn’t noticed until I saw them from this angle—and in the candlelight.”
“Thank you. As a kid, my brothers used to tease me about them.”
Siblings could sometimes be cruel without meaning to. “I’ll bet that made you feel bad.”
“No, it made me double up my fists and let them have it.”
She laughed. “I’ll bet it did. So did you guys fight a lot growing up? I’d imagine, with all that testosterone flowing, there’d be some pretty big power struggles.”
“Sometimes, but it was usually just in fun.”
When Alfonso returned with their wine, they grew silent, waiting for him to uncork the bottle and pour them each a glass. Then, after telling them he’d be back with water and to take their order, he left them alone.
They’d hardly taken two sips when Carlo’s phone rang. He glanced at the display, then said, “I don’t normally take calls at the dinner table, but this one might be for you.”
Schuyler arched a brow. What made him say that? Who knew she was here—other than his father and brothers?
“Yes,” Carlo said. “Speaking.”
His brow furrowed as he pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Oh, yeah? No, that’s not a problem. At least, not yet. Can we talk about this tomorrow?” After a moment, he nodded. “Thanks.”
Schuyler leaned
forward, wondering if he’d tell her who’d called—and why he thought they’d want to speak to her. She’d never been especially patient.
“That was the temp agency we’ve been working with,” he said. “They were apologizing because they couldn’t find a fill-in for the hostess who canceled out on us.”
Uh-oh. Schuyler bit down on her bottom lip. Too bad she hadn’t been up-front with him when she’d first arrived. Or given him her cover story about wanting to make an investment. He probably would have accepted her help anyway. And she would have saved herself from an awkward moment.
His eyes narrowed as he speared her with an assessing look. “So who are you?”
* * *
Schuyler’s eyes widened, and her lips parted. Apparently, Carlo wasn’t the only one who’d been thrown off stride by that phone call from the temp agency.
He leaned forward, his arms braced on the table, and waited for her answer, which she seemed to be pondering. That wasn’t a good sign.
Several beats later, she brightened. “You know...” She lifted her index finger and gave it a little twirl in the air between them. “It’s funny you should ask.”
“I don’t find it funny. Why did you lie to me?”
“Whoa, now just wait one minute. The only thing that was the least bit dishonest was the fact that I never set you straight when you assumed I was the woman sent by the agency. But other than that, I was up-front with you. My name is Schuyler Fortunado, I know a little about wine and I spent two summers at a friend’s Italian villa.”
At this point, he questioned everything about her.
“All right,” he said. “Then assuming that’s true, why’d you let me believe the temp agency had sent you?”
“I can be a little impulsive at times, and I like to have a good time. Serving wine at a classy event sounded like fun. Besides, it was pretty obvious that you needed my help.”
He didn’t doubt any of that, especially the part about his needing her help. And while he was still suspicious, he had to admit that she fascinated him. Why not enjoy his time with her this evening, even if only to discredit her?
“Okay, I can buy the fact that you had fun tonight. You’re also a natural at serving wine and schmoozing. What kind of work do you do?” Modeling immediately came to his mind. Acting, too. And if that were the case, she had to be pretty successful at it. That car she drove and the purse she carried weren’t cheap.
“Actually, I’m currently unemployed.”
He wondered why. She’d admitted to being impulsive. Had she walked off her last job? Had she been fired? Temporarily laid off? And what position had she held up until that time?
Rather than pepper her with those questions, he asked, “How do you pay the bills?”
At that, her smile faded. “You’re about to learn that I’m honest, even if it’s not something I care to admit.”
Oh, wow. Was she a high-end call girl? If so, he hadn’t seen that coming.
“My father set up a trust fund for me,” she said, “so I really don’t have to work. But that doesn’t mean I’m not looking for the right job.”
A trust fund baby, huh? Daddy’s little girl, too.
“Are you an only child?” he asked.
She laughed. “Sometimes I wish that I were, even though we’re all fairly close. I have three brothers and two sisters.”
“And they’re all supported by trust funds?”
“No, just me.”
Carlo lifted his glass and took a slow, steady sip. The woman was as interesting as she was gorgeous. He was usually pretty good at pegging people, but he wasn’t having much luck with her tonight.
“My brother Everett is a doctor,” she added, “and my sister Maddie works for my father’s real estate company. But I’m more of a free spirit who dabbles in the arts, so my dad feels compelled to take care of me, like he did my grandmother.”
Carlo wasn’t used to women being that open and up-front—assuming that Schuyler was being forthright now.
She fingered the stem of her wineglass, then looked up and caught his eyes. Her beauty alone was staggering, but the sincerity in her gaze nearly stole his breath away. “Just so you know, I’m not always going to be on the family dole. I’ve gone to college and traveled abroad. I just haven’t quite figured out what I want to do with my life, and at twenty-five, I don’t think that’s too unusual.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is. I went through a time in my life when I was unsure about what I wanted to do.” At twenty-five, after his divorce, he’d been forced to reevaluate his future, and that had left him a little out of step for a while.
“Apparently,” she said, her blue eyes glimmering, “you’ve got your life all sorted out now.”
“In time, it all came together.” He studied her in the candlelight, the lush blond locks, the heart-shaped face. Some men could lose their heads over a woman like her. That is, if they didn’t drown in those sparkling blue eyes first.
But Carlo wasn’t about to let his hormones run away with him. “I’m glad you came along when you did, but that doesn’t explain why you happened to be at the distribution center in the first place.”
She lifted her wineglass and took a sip. “I’d heard some interesting things about the winery and wanted to check it out for myself. I might even want to purchase some stock.”
He supposed that was possible, and while he wanted to believe her, he was still a bit skeptical.
“So tell me,” Schuyler said, “have you lived in Austin all your life?”
“No, I’m originally from Miami. I moved here six months ago.”
“And you’re working for your cousin now.” It wasn’t a question. The lady must have done her homework. But he supposed that wasn’t so hard to figure out.
“Your family must be pretty close,” she added.
They hadn’t always been, but things were looking up between his brothers and his cousins. “I guess you could say that.”
“Is your side of the family as close to the Fortunes as some of the other Mendozas are?”
Now there was a question that didn’t sit right. Something about it was...off.
“Okay,” he said. “What are you really up to?”
“Nothing,” she said.
Yeah, right. “You can’t play a player, Schuyler. Whatever scheme you’re cooking up, I’ve probably already attempted it myself.”
She blinked, and her lips parted. For a moment, he found himself softening. But he didn’t dare let down his guard. “Listen, I can’t be bought, sold or conned. But there’s one thing that might persuade me to open up and answer your questions.”
“What’s that?” she asked as if she seriously wanted to know what might tempt him.
“The truth.”
Chapter Three
Schuyler hadn’t meant to be deceitful. Nor had she tried to “con a con man.” So it really ought to bother her to have Carlo assume that she was playing him. But in reality, she was a bit turned on by the fact that he wasn’t like other men—and that she couldn’t charm him into submission, like she was often able to do.
As Carlo continued to stare at her as if reading her innermost thoughts, as if he understood her better than anyone else in the world, she realized, for some inexplicable reason, that she actually wanted him to.
“Who are you?” he asked again, his demeanor cool and unaffected.
Admiration and attraction went up another notch. “I told you before. My name is Schuyler Fortunado, but you can also call me Schuyler Fortune.”
He furrowed his brow, clearly confused—and unconvinced.
She’d better explain. “Gerald Robinson’s father is my grandfather—which makes Gerald my uncle. But my father was illegitimate and kept secret from the family.”
“But why’d you show up here, at the Mendoza Distribution Center?�
�
“Because I want to get to know the Fortunes. Rather than pop in on them unannounced, I decided it would be best to take a slow-and-easy approach in meeting them. And since the Mendozas have strong family ties with them, I thought I’d start with you.”
“I’m not going to be very helpful.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you have to admit that today turned out to be a win-win for both of us. You needed my help. And I needed to meet someone who knows the Fortunes, even if it’s by six degrees of separation.”
“You also need a job.” Carlo sat back in his seat, no doubt stretching out his legs under the table. “Money, too, I suspect.”
So he didn’t believe what she’d told him about the trust fund and thought she was in it for a payday. That’s where he was wrong.
Schuyler lifted her wineglass and took another sip. “Contrary to what you might think, the Fortunes’ wealth has nothing to do with this. You see, just like my uncle, Jerome Fortune, aka Gerald Robinson, my father is a self-made man.”
“So you say.” The intensity of his gaze nearly bored into the very heart of her, but he was way off.
“Why are you so skeptical of me?” she asked.
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“I suppose it’s only natural.” She blew a little sigh out the side of her mouth. He wasn’t going to be an easy man to win over. And oddly enough, that made him all the more appealing.
“Just to be clear,” he said, “the Fortunes are experts at recognizing impostors and gold diggers.”
“No doubt they are, but I can assure you, some people don’t need a famous name to be successful. If you’re smart and the cards are in your favor, you can make it to the top. And my father is as smart as they come. He’s lucky, too. A real King Midas. He parlayed a winning lottery ticket into real estate, and his investments paid off. He now lives in the most exclusive area of Houston and owns an agency in a downtown high-rise, with branches in Austin and San Antonio.”
“Fortunado Real Estate?”
“That’s us. So, you see, we don’t need the Fortunes’ money.”
