He smiles, stabs his fork in the last lobster ravioli standing. “Raised by my father after my mother died when I was four. Always loved baseball because he was a former pro, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps. So I did, got injured, was forced into early retirement, came to Napa on my friend’s recommendation and bought the winery. That’s it.”
Well, didn’t he simplify that completely? I need to take lessons from him for the next time I get nosy questions. “You summed that up pretty well.”
“I figured you Googled me anyway, so you probably already know everything.” His cheeks turn ruddy, and I wonder if he’s actually blushing. “I sounded like a complete ass right then.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I did Google you,” I admit, my own cheeks heating. There’d been all the photos from his underwear ad campaign. Those had been rather . . . enlightening. “A while ago, after you took over the winery. I wanted to find out more about my new boss.”
“You hadn’t heard of me before, when I played baseball?”
“No, not really. I don’t pay much attention to sports, and if I do, the only one I care about is football.” At his raised brows, I shrug. “I am from Texas after all.”
Matt
“WELL, I GUESS I can forgive you for your football love, considering you’re from Texas and all,” I say, smiling at her.
She returns the smile, a brilliant, toothy flash, and then it disappears as fast it came. Disappointment fills me but I ignore it.
The more I talk to Bryn, the more I like her. I’m fascinated with her being from Texas only because that’s the last place I figured she’d be from, for some reason. I assumed she was a local, just like everyone else who worked for the DeLuca Winery.
The more she spoke of Texas, the thicker her accent got. It was cute, hearing her talk about grandmas and chocolate cake. She didn’t drop too many other details though. Made me think there’s a lot more going on behind the scenes.
I wonder if she’s hiding something. I know I wish I could—my past, my entire life history is out there for all the world to read and see, thanks to Vinnie DeLuca and his escapades.
She’s actually a little feisty which I didn’t expect. But I’ve only known the other Bryn. The beige-wearing, never-looking-at-me version. This new Bryn, with the sophisticated yet sexy clothes, the gorgeous hair, and the mildly sassy attitude is a pleasant surprise.
I like that she actually ate a meal too. I’ve dated women before who pick at their plates or only order a piece of lettuce and a glass of water. Not only did Bryn down almost her entire meal, she also scarfed down on bread, just like I did.
Had no idea a woman with a healthy appetite was so arousing.
“Sounds like your career was cut super short, huh.” She winces. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sure you don’t like talking about it.”
“It’s all right. Just a fact of life, you know?” I shrug, pretending it doesn’t bother me that I lost my baseball career, but it does. It hurts tremendously. “I miss it, but life goes on and brings you new challenges.”
She raises a delicate brow. “And I’m sure the winery is a challenge.”
“Absolutely it is—an interesting one though. Lots of hard work, but I believe it’s going to reward us in the end.” I said us, like she’s an integral part of this winery, which she is to me.
I wonder if she knows exactly how much I value her. And I’m not talking about her salary or how much I’m making off this venture or anything like that. I’m referring to how much I need her help. How stuck I’d be without her.
Of course, it’s not all about finances and how much money you make, right? I have enough money to last me ten lifetimes. My dad may be a loudmouthed jerk who loves to make his troubles public, but he’s a rich loudmouthed jerk. I think that’s what allowed him to be so crazy through the years. When you’re rich, you’re eccentric. When you’re poor, you’re flat out strange.
Either way, growing up with my father was quite the experience. He expected me to be just like him. So I tried my best to emulate him as much as I could, but I did it with my pro baseball career.
Until the unfortunate injury that took me out of the game permanently. Dad just about lost it. I swear he was ready to disown me and it hadn’t even been my fault. Though it was already on shaky ground, our relationship hasn’t been the same since.
Now I try my best to avoid being lumped in with my father.
“I’m sure it’ll work out. I think you might have the golden touch,” she says, her voice soft, her smile . . .
It’s such a pretty smile. She’s pretty. Beautiful. I stare at her, momentarily captivated and I shake my head, banishing my wayward thoughts.
I wonder what she meant when she said that I have the golden touch. I fucked up one career by complete accident. I’m working extra hard to make sure this one goes off without a hitch.
Now I can only hope everything sticks to the plan. We’re two days out. The grand reopening kicks off Friday afternoon and runs into the late evening, with all sorts of press events, a tour of the vineyards, a wine tasting, and finally, the party starts at six. There will be food, plenty of DeLuca wine, and live entertainment.
I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
“Well, I should get back to work,” I say as I point my fork at her. When I get time, I need to go back and check out the restaurant Bryn picked up our dinner from. It was the best damn meal I’ve had in ages.
Wonder what Bryn would say if I asked her to go with me. Like on a date.
“You’re going to stay and work some more?” she asks incredulously.
I swallow and nod. “Yeah. There are a few things I need to wrap up here before I can go home.”
“Do you need me to stay and help?” She blinks at me, those crystal-blue eyes sucking me right in and tempting me beyond reason.
Staying late at the office with Bryn, I can imagine all sorts of things happening. Like her spread out on my desk, her lips swollen from my kisses, her hair a sexy haphazard mess.
I need to stop thinking about Bryn in such a sexual manner. I need to get over my attraction to her. Focusing on work is far more important than figuring out how I’m going to get my hands beneath my assistant’s skirt.
Yeah. I sound like a sexist jackass even in my head.
“No, you can go home. It’s already well past eight. You’ve done more than enough.” I drop my fork on my empty plate and toss my napkin on top of it.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll pick it all up.” She grabs the to-go bag from the floor and starts gathering all of the garbage before she fills the bag with it. She picks up my empty plate, bending over slightly and offering me a delicious view straight down her shirt.
Her bra is white, lacy, and her breasts strain against the delicate fabric. My brow breaks out in a sweat at the tantalizing glimpse, and I keep my eyes trained at that spot for as long as I can before she straightens up and her breasts are out of view.
Damn, the woman is too hot for words.
“I’ll toss this in the trash on my way out,” she says from over her shoulder as she exits my office and heads for her desk.
I sit in my chair, immobilized as I watch her. The sway of her hips mesmerizes me. Her walk is pure seduction. That black skirt fuels my imagination, what with the way it hugs her every curve. Her ass just begs for my hands to touch it.
Get a fucking grip, man. She’s your assistant. You can’t go there.
Ignoring the negative thoughts running through my head, I stand and pull my wallet out of my back pocket, flipping it open. “I owe you money for dinner, Bryn.”