Leaning Into Series: The Complete Box Set Page 19

  I pocketed the card and pushed Finn and his not-so-thinly-veiled sexual overtures aside. It was time to deal with the next pressing nuisance on my to-do list: the wine.

  Eric’s secretary smiled in greeting as I approached his office.

  “Miles baby, I need access to the forbidden realm. Give me the key to your master’s lair at once,” I said in a serious tone.

  Miles’s eyes creased with instant humor. “I cannot, sir. No one can be granted entry. The price is too dear.”

  Miles was six feet tall with thick auburn hair and bright blue eyes. He was good-looking in a quirky way. I liked his sharp wit and sassy mouth. He was one of those ultra-fabulous types I admired but was vaguely intimidated by. His wardrobe alone was intimidating. The guy paired well-cut, elegant suits with comic-strip ties and socks. His choices were strangely tasteful, though he occasionally pushed the envelope. Today he was wearing a sharp navy suit with a suggestive Superman and Batman tie that was eye-catching enough to encourage a second glance.

  “It’s a matter of life and death,” I insisted.

  Miles stood and dangled a key from his fingers. When he spoke again, he dropped the playful act and gave me a diva-style head bob. “In your case, that might be true. Eric is going to kill you if you don’t get rid of the wine.”

  I made sure he saw my eye roll before he turned to unlock his boss’s door. He flipped the light switch and pointed unceremoniously at the boxes stacked in the middle of the room. I crouched low to examine the logo on the nearest box. A wrought-iron gate with a C in the arch framed between two cypress trees. Conrad Wineries, Napa Valley. I moved to Eric’s desk and grabbed a pair of scissors from his top drawer before heading back to slash through the tape on one corner of the box. Then I bent the thick cardboard and yanked out a single bottle of wine.

  I studied the label, twisting the bottle from side to side. The burgundy liquid contrasted nicely against the black-and-cream-colored artwork, and the sophisticated font paired with a rendering of the winery’s grand entrance was elegant and tasteful. Like my ex-fiancée.

  If I remembered correctly, it was the last winery Lisa and I visited the weekend I’d proposed. I’d been operating on a dangerous high: EN Tech had just closed a multi-million-dollar deal, and we’d been written up in several prestigious industry magazines. Our wealthiest investor, who happened to be Lisa’s father, had been so excited by the heady windfall of good news that he’d pledged to donate a mind-boggling sum to fund our innovations and keep the creative fires burning. Eric and I were blown away. He shook hands with Don Carrigan over a ridiculously overpriced filet mignon, and I’d asked his daughter to marry me. A step too far. As usual.

  It was tempting to blame alcohol and excess adrenaline on my impulsive proposal, but it really had seemed like a good idea at the time. I liked Lisa. She was sweet, smart, and pretty with long dark hair and green eyes. I asked her out for the first time just as the Bartlett deal was building steam. When it came through three months later, I foolishly took our good fortune as a sign that Lisa was my good luck charm. I hadn’t planned on proposing when I booked a romantic weekend getaway for us in wine country, but after the “Will you marry me?” left my mouth, I decided it was a brilliant idea. Until I realized forever was a very long time.

  “Want me to have our delivery guys ship it to your house?” Miles asked, interrupting my reverie.

  “No way. It’s bad-luck wine. I don’t want it anywhere near me.” I carefully placed the bottle back in the box then stood slowly.

  “Nick, it’s just wine. Good wine, actually. Give it to your friends.”

  “I don’t want to spread bad karma.”

  Miles snorted. “This stuff is ninety bucks a bottle. I’d certainly take a chance on it, but unfortunately, I don’t have room for this much Pinot Noir. And Andy is allergic to red wine, anyway.”

  “That sucks,” I commented idly.

  “It does. So, what are you going to do with it?”

  “I’ll deliver it in person. Do me a favor…make that two favors. Call the winery and make sure the owner will be in tomorrow, and if so, have someone put these in the back of my SUV.”

  “You’re going to Napa? It’s supposed to rain, you know,” Miles cautioned. His squinty-eyed scowl clearly indicated he didn’t think that was such a great idea.

  “Maybe in the city but it won’t rain in Napa,” I pronounced confidently.

  I ignored Miles’s skeptical sideways once-over. I had a feeling I was finally on to something. This wine was bad juju; it had to be returned to clean the slate. Maybe then I could reclaim my life, minus the guilt of a broken engagement. Peace of mind and the illusion of a fresh start were too intoxicating to ignore. Maybe that was what I needed to find the missing link in my project. A little rain wasn’t going to stop me.

  * * *

  It didn’t rain a little. It poured.

  Sure, it was a typical overcast, foggy morning in San Francisco, but I had high hopes for clear skies when I left my house in the Marina District. I figured the clouds would begin to part as I drove northeast, away from the coast. The weather could be finicky this time of year. Most Northern Californians knew to dress in layers, and the smarter ones usually carried an umbrella in their cars. I obviously didn’t qualify as such. I was a freaking moron who had issues keeping his priorities straight.

  I should have stayed at my condo near the office in Mountain View and worked in the lab all weekend. I had a code to crack, and the stakes were huge. My research team was more than capable, but I had yet to meet anyone who could physically see the configurations the way I did. No one else was going to solve this problem. A schlep to Napa and back was two and a half hours wasted; I should have given better thought to my time management. At the very least, I should have checked the damn Weather Channel.

  My cargo clanked ominously in the back of my brand-new Range Rover as I turned right onto a cypress-lined driveway. I winced at the sound then leaned forward in my seat. I doubted having my face plastered against the windshield would help visibility, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. I could make out the rolling vineyards adjacent to the road and the seemingly endless rows of perfectly spaced vines. In spite of the weather, the countryside was beautiful—a drastic change from city skyscrapers in San Francisco and the flat industrial vibe of the Silicon Valley. It was peaceful here and undeniably romantic.

  I parked my SUV and zipped up my jacket. Then I opened my door and raced to unlock the hatch. Raindrops splattered off the glass steadily. Whatever part of me wasn’t sheltered by my truck was immediately drenched. I wrestled a bottle from one of the cases as quickly as possible and tucked it inside my jacket before closing the trunk and racing toward the winery entrance.

  The foyer was warm and cozy. Classic jazz drifted through the speakers, adding a layer of sophistication to the gentle clink of wineglasses and soft conversation in the adjacent tasting room. I stomped my feet on the mat emblazoned with a giant C and shook the moisture from my hair.

  “Can I take your coat for you, sir?” A pretty college-aged woman stood in the alcove under an ornate chandelier.

  Her friendly smile made the question seem more like a suggestion, but her outstretched hand indicated she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “Um, sure.” I unzipped my jacket and pulled out the bottle I’d carried inside like a magician plucking a rabbit from a hat.

  “Would you like a bag for your wine?” She tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder and motioned for me to follow her through the stone archway into the wine-tasting room.

  “No, a bag isn’t necessary. I’m here to return this. Well, this and the other hundred and nineteen bottles in my truck.”

  She cocked her head and gave me a quizzical look. “Let me get Geordie. Maybe he can help you.”

  “Is he the owner?” I asked.

  “No, but—”

  “I need to speak to the owner, please.” I wracked my brain trying to recall the name Miles had given m
e. It started with a W. He said something about directions too. North, east, west…Wesley. That was it. “Wesley Conrad. I was told he’d be in today. Would you please let him know Nick Jorgensen is here to see him?”

  “Yes, of course.” She inclined her head gracefully then pointed toward the massive stone hearth at the opposite end of the tasting room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll let him know.”

  I cast a cursory look around as I entered the tasting area. A dozen or more people were bellied up to the main bar and a few more stood at the high barrel-topped tables under a huge picture window with a view of the lush courtyard and vineyards beyond. The space was awe-inspiring—a wine lover’s version of a chapel. It was a gorgeous blend of old-world charm with a contemporary approach. The high ceilings were covered with rough-hewn wood planks that matched the flooring, and the same thick old stone from the façade graced the inside walls the way they did in European wineries. The juxtaposition of traditional stone and wood with modern lighting was eye-catching.

  A spherical chandelier delineated the tasting section from an informal seating area with comfy-looking leather chairs and wine-barrel side tables. I headed toward the fireplace as instructed. I wasn’t interested in sampling wine today—with any luck, this would be a quick transaction. I smiled wanly at an older woman perched on one of the dark leather chairs near the hearth then turned to stand with my back to the blaze. This was the perfect vantage point to do some shameless people watching.

  The clientele looked like the typical in-from-the-city well-heeled crowd that usually frequented exclusive boutique wineries. Almost everyone had a designer accessory of some sort. Burberry raincoats and umbrellas, Louis Vuitton bags, and Prada boots. I wanted to roll my eyes at the over-the-top ostentatious displays of wealth, but that was a tad hypocritical coming from the guy driving a Range Rover. Thirteen years might have passed since I’d left home for college, but I occasionally had to remind myself I could afford nice things without apology.

  “Nick Jorgensen?”

  I glanced up and smiled an automatic greeting at the incredibly handsome man with his hand outstretched. He was tall and muscular with a square jaw, chiseled cheekbones, and piercing green eyes.

  “Uh, yeah,” I stammered, staring at the guy for a beat too long before shaking his hand.

  Lame. I couldn’t help it. I was tongue-tied and for the life of me, I didn’t get it. Sure, he was good-looking, but he was old. Well, not old…just older than me. The laugh lines at the corner of his eyes and the threads of silver at his temples gave him away. I’d bet he was in his early forties. I suddenly understood the lure of a “silver fox.” I couldn’t wait to tell my friend Josh about this guy. He had a constant boner for Anderson Cooper. This man wasn’t all gray like Anderson, but he had that mature look Josh thought was hot. He’d freaking love—oh.

  “I’m Wes Conrad.”

  My face heated under his intense scrutiny. I let go of his hand and cleared my throat noisily.

  “I’m Nick—oh, you already know that. Hey, uh…” I held up the bottle in my hand as if to remind myself why I’d killed a precious Saturday driving to Napa in the pouring rain. “I need to talk to you about this.”

  Wes took the bottle from me and cradled it gently in his hands. It gave me a moment to observe him and get my shit together. What the hell was wrong with me lately? I was lusting after hot men with a regularity I hadn’t experienced since college when I finally acknowledged I was as attracted to men as I was to women. Gallagher yesterday, Conrad today. Maybe I just need to get laid. I stared at his long eyelashes and strong profile. I liked the way the hair at his nape brushed the collar of his forest-green checked button-down shirt and the—

  “ ‘Nick and Lisa forever.’ I remember,” he said with an amused half grin. “And I’m rather certain we’ve had this conversation before, Nick. I can’t process the return of a custom order. You had one hundred and twenty labels specifically made for—”

  “I know. I…” I massaged the back of my neck and shot a wary look at the older woman eavesdropping from the comfort of her leather chair. “Can we discuss this privately?”

  Wes held my gaze for a second before inclining his head. “Come this way.”

  He led me through an arched doorway near the bar then through a short hallway to a set of stairs. I could hear the warbled strains of someone singing along to The Sound of Music as I stepped across the landing. I raised my eyebrows comically when Wes stopped in front of the first door on the right. He gave me a funny grin and gestured for me to enter what looked to be his office.

  “That’s Geordie,” he said as though that explained everything. “Take a seat.”

  He handed me the bottle then sank into one of the smaller chairs in front of his desk rather than the executive one behind it. I obeyed and accidentally bumped my knee against his. The jolt of awareness was unexpected. It was one thing to admire the man’s hotness but quite another to openly lust after him. I had to pull it together and get into no-nonsense business mode before I did something stupid.

  “Look, I’m not sure if you know the whole story, but…I came here last year with my then-girlfriend. In the heat of the moment, I proposed to her in the middle of the vineyard in front of a bunch of strangers on a wine tour. When she suggested it would be romantic to have special bottles of Conrad Pinot at each of the tables, I agreed and commissioned this”—I pointed an accusatory finger at the bottle. “The wedding is off and has been since January. I don’t want the wine, and I’m willing to cut a deal with you to get all ten cases off my hands.”

  “I’m sorry, but—”

  “No, listen.” I set the bottle on the desk then stood abruptly and paced to the huge window a few feet away and then back again. “Half price.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Give me half what I paid for them. You can relabel them and stick ’em back on your shelves and sell them for double what you charged me. It’s a win-win. You get half your money back immediately and will most likely triple it when you resell.”

  Wes let out an amused snort. “I don’t think that’s quite how it would work, unfortunately. The cost of creating new labels for a wine that’s been eclipsed by last year’s harvest isn’t sound business. You signed a final sales clause, and I don’t make a habit of breaking contracts…especially ones that were finalized almost a year ago.”

  My nostrils flared as an entirely different kind of heat tingled through my body, making my fingers twinge with an intense desire to wring his freaking neck. The only bright side was that he no longer seemed so attractive to me.

  “No offense, but your wine is bad luck. I don’t want it. I’m willing to pay you to get rid of it. That’s a great deal, right?”

  Wes narrowed his eyes and stood slowly, somehow managing to look like a hero from an action flick about to kick some serious ass. I was too pissed off to enjoy the full effect, but I couldn’t deny he was sexy as hell when he got a little riled.

  “That’s not what you said, Mr. Jorgen—”

  “It’s exactly what I said,” I snapped, pushing my hand through my hair irritably before pacing back to the window again. “I’ll give you half the money back. Just take the fucking wine!”

  Wes’s gaze took on a stormy quality that spelled trouble. The authoritarian kind of trouble that reminded me of scenes from some of my favorite pornos. He was the cop; I was the asshole who’d run the same stop sign for the fifth time in two weeks. He was the boss; I was the belligerent employee. No matter the scenario, he was the one with the power, and I was the one anxiously waiting for him to put me in my place. Except, that was jerk-off material only. This was real life.

  My muscles tensed as the firestorm in his eyes intensified. I clenched my fists, waiting for him to speak, yell, throw the damn bottle, or just say something…anything. I watched him closely and saw the exact moment the fiery look died and became…nothing. Not annoyance, exasperation, or even flat out irritation. I was being dismissed. And fuck, I didn’
t do well with that. I opened my mouth to blast him, but he stopped me by simply raising his hand.

  “I think we’re done here…Nick.” He drew out my name with a subtle edge that made my dick twitch in my khakis. “Thank you for your offer, but I’m going to respectfully decline.”

  Wes moved across the room and held the door for me meaningfully without breaking eye contact. I was buzzing inside. I literally felt like a swarm of bees was circling my cranium and burrowing into my gray matter. I cautioned myself to be smart and not say or hopefully do anything I’d regret. I’d already made a fool of myself. Why pile onto the lunacy?

  I nodded curtly and grabbed the bottle and what was left of my dignity before heading out the door, down the stairs, through the hallway and the tasting room, and into the driving rain.

  I hurried to my SUV and tossed the bottle onto the beige leather passenger seat. I started the engine, cranked the heater on high and then put the Rover in reverse and backed out of the parking space. I was halfway down the long road leading to the main street when my cell rang, interrupting an angsty Linkin Park song that had fit my mood to perfection.

  “Hey Josh,” I answered sharply.

  “Hey. Grant says he can be ready in twenty minutes.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Hiking, remember? We talked about this yesterday morning. The absent-minded professor strikes again,” he snarked.

  I ignored the jab, knowing I’d earned it a few times over. I had serious lapses in short-term memory when I was consumed with bigger worries. “Hiking? It’s fucking pouring!”

  “No, it’s not. Where are you?”

  “Napa.”

  “Ah! Did you solve the great wine conundrum?”

  “No. I didn’t. As a matter of fact, in addition to one hundred and twenty bottles of wine in the back of my Rover, I also have the beginnings of a major headache and—oh, look—some fucking asshole on my tail.” I frowned into my rearview mirror and turned my blinker on at the stop light.