“Says the man taking his obsession with him to New York City so he can do business.” Gage rolls his eyes. “Give me a break, man. We know exactly why you’re taking Bryn with you. To get in her panties.”
Thinking about Bryn in her panties just about gives me a coronary. So many lost opportunities we’ve had in such a short amount of time. Now she acts like she couldn’t give two shits about me.
I hate it. And it’s all my fault so I have no one to blame but myself.
“Definitely not,” I say firmly. “I think she’s over me.”
“Ha!” Gage points at me, his gaze bright and full of triumph. “You admit it; you two are interested in each other.”
“Yeah well, if she was interested in me, she’s definitely not now. She’s back to the efficient, no-nonsense Miss James.”
“I bet she sure is hot though, when she’s the efficient, no-nonsense Miss James,” Gage says with a shit-eating grin.
Jealousy flaring, I throw a fry at him aiming for his face, but he dodges it just in time. “Shut up, dickhead. You’re acting like a child.” What the hell, I feel like lately we’ve reverted to college talk—when we were young and dumb and talked crudely to and about everyone, especially each other.
“Who’s the child here, throwing food and calling me a dickhead?” Gage shakes his head. “I don’t know if any of us are going to survive these new terms. The longer you go without getting some, the grumpier you become. I bet your Miss James lost interest because you’ve become such a tyrant.”
That can’t be the reason. Can it? I doubt it. I think it has something to do with Dad. I have no idea what he said to her; she’s not talking and neither is he. I called him up a few days ago and flat out accused him of saying something shitty to Bryn but he didn’t give an inch.
Leaving me to conclude that he’s guilty as hell.
“The DeLuca Winery is all anyone’s talking about around town,” Gage says, thankfully changing the subject. “Your reopening was a huge hit.”
“Yeah, it went pretty well, didn’t it?” I’m trying to downplay it more for my own sake than anything else. There are still some deals and transactions in the works—trying to get some regional markets to carry the DeLuca brand, pushing out and growing our distribution list. More publicity opportunities too, ones that I’m hopeful will come to fruition and take DeLuca wine to a national level.
Going to Savor will get the DeLuca brand out there even more. I’ve realized quick, especially after meeting with the local Vintners group, that I need to be constantly pushing the name, constantly talking to people in the industry. Creating a good wine is key, but networking is a necessity to selling good wine. Growing, learning, taking it all in—especially at conferences where I meet others in the business, so I can bring it back to DeLuca and apply everything I’ve learned—is important.
Do I really need to take Bryn with me to Savor? Probably not. I would’ve been exhausted running around that conference for two days, and missed a few talks or workshops I wanted to check out, but I could’ve done it all on my own. It’s just so much more fun having her with me. And easier, of course, since she’s beyond capable and will keep me on schedule.
Spending time with her on a plane, in the city, at a hotel. It’s all ripe with possibilities.
If the woman I’m interested in actually acted interested in me, that is.
Chapter Ten
Bryn
Two weeks later, New York City
I SIT ON my cushy king-size bed with my laptop, glancing over my hand-scribbled notes taken from the endless amount of workshops I went to all day. I have never, in all my life, stayed in a hotel like the W New York at Times Square. Of course, the biggest city I’ve ever been to before was Los Angeles and that’s just a sprawling metropolis with crowded freeways and shopping malls everywhere.
New York City has a completely different vibe. All the buildings are so tall, the sidewalks packed, and everything is open so late. I’ve never seen anything like it. In my hometown, the sidewalks rolled up and shops closed around eight o’clock, nine on Saturdays.
We arrived last night, and Matt had wanted a slice of pizza at one in the morning. We’d promptly gone out and found a place open—not only open but packed.
It thrilled my small-town-bumpkin-self right down to my toes.
While I attended workshops today, Matt went to a discussion symposium, a special wine tasting, and currently he’s at a keynote dinner. He tried to get me to go with him, but I declined, saying I’d rather call for room service and type up the notes I knew I’d have.
He’d reluctantly agreed, telling me I could order whatever I wanted from room service since he was paying for it.
It’s funny, considering how hard I’ve seen him work and how many hours he’s put in at the winery, a lot of the time I forget Matt’s wealthy. As in billionaire-wealthy. The guy is loaded, thanks to both his father and Matt earning a bundle from his baseball contract and various endorsements.
And those are just the most recent ones.
It wasn’t until we stepped on the plane and sat in first class that I saw how the other half lives. Talk about star treatment. I’ve flown once in my life and that was when I went to California—on a shitty little crowded plane that made me pay for a soda, for the love of God. I declined, sitting in my cramped little seat between two large, sweaty businessmen who leered at me the entire flight.
I hated it.
But flying first class in the wide comfy seats, being served constantly, and sitting next to Matt? I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven.
That was until I saw the hotel. Oh, my word, it was the prettiest, most modern hotel I’ve ever seen in my life, not that I’ve stayed anywhere beyond a Motel 6. I made sure Matt had a two-room suite with a gorgeous city view and since my room was right next to his—which he’d asked for—I had the same.
I didn’t even care that I wasn’t outside amongst the hustle and bustle of Times Square. I was perfectly content sitting in my suite with the gorgeous white bed and shocking pink comforter. The sleek glass furniture and the blooming hot pink orchids everywhere. Me, the Cactus, Texas-supposed-slut, feels like a real life fairytale princess.
All thanks to Matt.
What sucks? I have to give my notice when we return. There’s just no way I can continue working for him. I’m pretending to be this certain type of quiet, demure woman when I’m not. My real self is bound to pop out sooner or later, and I don’t want to do that in front of Matt. He thinks I’m a good girl.
And I can’t seem to let go of my old, bad girl insecurities.
It’s bad enough we’ve kissed a few times. The last thing I want to do is hurt his reputation, so I try my best to avoid him, but it’s near impossible. The tension between us is still there though we never talk about it. I see the way he stares at me when he thinks I’m not looking. I want to return that longing stare. Worse, I want to lock myself away in his office, plop myself on his desk right in front of him and beg him to kiss me.
I think he’d take me up on the offer. I know he would.
But then I’d become the slut everyone accuses me of being. Sleeping with my boss to get ahead—at least, that’s what it would look like. Indulging in a heated affair with the man who signs my paychecks is not smart. Didn’t I learn anything after my failed attempt at a minor affair with Brian Fairbanks?
Leaning against the fabric headboard, I stare out the window at the city lights that surround me. I hadn’t thought of his actual name since I don’t remember when. I prefer to think of him as this faceless, nonentity, otherwise known as my ex-boss. It’s just so much easier that way, not thinking of his name.
Now it all comes back to me. Brian would flash that charming smile as he whipped his thin blond hair away from his eyes, his gaze always eating me up. He had this way of making me feel like I was special, despite the ridiculous way he talked to me about titties and ass and how much his palm itched to give me a spanking.
Yes, he said that. He said a whole lot more too, plenty of which I wish to banish from my brain forever.
When I told my grandma what happened with Brian—how it turned out he had a wife and kids—she’d read me the riot act. Chewed me out for what felt like hours, though it probably only equaled about fifteen minutes. Told me if I continued flirting with these men who were in positions of authority, I’d never get ahead unless I had sex with them. That was all they thought of when they looked at me.
A sexpot. She’d called her own granddaughter a sexpot though now I suppose she said it to warn me. I always heard how I needed to make good choices.
So I tried. I tried and tried and tried and here I sit, in a hotel suite paid for by my boss, and I’m still contemplating how I can get him into my room, so I can have a chance with him at least once before I quit and go back home to Cactus.
Have I lost my mind? I worry so much how others will see me, yet I still want Matt. I can’t help it. If people are going to call me a sexpot, a slut, or a tramp, I guess I can go ahead and give them a reason to, right?
Respect yourself. If you don’t, no one else will either.
I need to remember that.
My cell phone buzzes and I glance at it to see a text from Matt.
You in your hotel room?
I sure am, typing up notes just for you, I answer.
No reply, and I stare at the screen of my phone, willing something to appear. When nothing happens, I toss it aside and start typing up my notes again, my eyelids growing heavier with the menial task.
It was bad enough I had to sit through those sessions. Now I’m reliving them by rewriting the notes, reminding me exactly how boring they’d been.
Well, boring to me. Matt would probably find it fascinating since he’s in the business but definitely not me.
My phone dings again, and I grab it.
You should meet me at the Blue Fin Restaurant downstairs in thirty minutes.
Why?
I chew on my fingernail, waiting for his answer. I already had room service for dinner, ordering a delicious pasta dish with shrimp and a salad on the side the moment I got back to the hotel. I’m not even hungry.
I want to take you out to dinner.
The Blue Fin is a gorgeous restaurant in the hotel; I keep peeking in there when I walk by. I’m dying to check it out but not like this.
Staring at my phone’s screen, I contemplate how I should answer. The conference is over for the night. We have one more day tomorrow and then it’s over. Dinner tonight isn’t official business.
It feels personal. Like a date.
I already ate. Didn’t you eat too?
Have dessert then. And the meal they gave us at the keynote was crap. I’m still hungry.
A little sigh escapes me, and I stare out the window again, drinking in the beautiful city view. I should decline. I should stay in my pretty hotel room and type up my messy notes and fall asleep in my deliciously soft bed. A good girl would do that. She wouldn’t be tempted to do something bad, like go out on a dinner date with her boss.
But I never said I was a good girl.
I want to spend time with Matt. I want to go out to dinner with him and stare at his handsome face from across the table. I want to hear him tell me a story, and then I want to tell him a story and make him laugh. I want him to reach across the table and grab my hand, entwining our fingers.
I want it all, and I want it with Matt.
Grabbing my phone, my fingers hover over the keys for a millisecond before I start typing.
You said thirty minutes?
Yep, he replies. We on?
A smile curves my lips as I answer him.
We are definitely on.
Matt
I’M EXHAUSTED. THE jet lag, the running from one session to the next at the conference, the information coming at me from all sides, it’s all depleting my energy. I should’ve just gone to my room, ordered room service and collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.
But none of that matters because here I am, waiting for Bryn at the entrance to the Blue Fin, eagerness at seeing her making my stomach jump like a pond full of hyperactive fish. I’ve hardly seen her since we arrived in New York City. We’ve been on separate schedules, meeting up in odd spots, like in the corridor of the event center earlier this afternoon. I’d been rushing by, but I called her name when I noticed her exiting a room.
She’d waved, looking adorable in dark-rinse jeans that fit her sexy legs perfectly, a secretive smile curling those sensual lips.
My c**k had literally twitched at seeing her, even for such a fleeting second.
“Hi. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
I turn at the first sound of her sultry voice, smiling when I see Bryn standing before me. She’d changed and is now wearing a sleek, simple long-sleeved black dress that covered pretty much every available inch of her save her face, hands, calves and feet. Yet somehow she still manages to be sensual as hell, what with the way the fabric clings lovingly to her body.
“Miss James. I must say you’re looking extra beautiful this evening.”
Her cheeks color, turning a beautiful shade of pink as she clutches her hands in front of her. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her gaze meeting mine for the briefest second before she lets it drop. “You look good too.”
I’m still in the black trousers I’ve worn all day but changed into a white button-down shirt right after I texted her, wanting to dress up a little bit since I figured the Blue Fin had something of a dress code. I’d planned on going to dinner alone. Well, I told myself that. “Thank you. Ready to be seated?”
When she nods, I lead her to the front desk, requesting a table for two. The hostess grabs two menus and leads us up the floating stainless steel staircase to a semi-private alcove, filled with quiet booths that line the wall and overlook the bright lights of Times Square. A small jazz quartet plays along the opposite wall—soothing, soft music that adds to the hushed atmosphere.
Thinking about Bryn in her panties just about gives me a coronary. So many lost opportunities we’ve had in such a short amount of time. Now she acts like she couldn’t give two shits about me.
I hate it. And it’s all my fault so I have no one to blame but myself.
“Definitely not,” I say firmly. “I think she’s over me.”
“Ha!” Gage points at me, his gaze bright and full of triumph. “You admit it; you two are interested in each other.”
“Yeah well, if she was interested in me, she’s definitely not now. She’s back to the efficient, no-nonsense Miss James.”
“I bet she sure is hot though, when she’s the efficient, no-nonsense Miss James,” Gage says with a shit-eating grin.
Jealousy flaring, I throw a fry at him aiming for his face, but he dodges it just in time. “Shut up, dickhead. You’re acting like a child.” What the hell, I feel like lately we’ve reverted to college talk—when we were young and dumb and talked crudely to and about everyone, especially each other.
“Who’s the child here, throwing food and calling me a dickhead?” Gage shakes his head. “I don’t know if any of us are going to survive these new terms. The longer you go without getting some, the grumpier you become. I bet your Miss James lost interest because you’ve become such a tyrant.”
That can’t be the reason. Can it? I doubt it. I think it has something to do with Dad. I have no idea what he said to her; she’s not talking and neither is he. I called him up a few days ago and flat out accused him of saying something shitty to Bryn but he didn’t give an inch.
Leaving me to conclude that he’s guilty as hell.
“The DeLuca Winery is all anyone’s talking about around town,” Gage says, thankfully changing the subject. “Your reopening was a huge hit.”
“Yeah, it went pretty well, didn’t it?” I’m trying to downplay it more for my own sake than anything else. There are still some deals and transactions in the works—trying to get some regional markets to carry the DeLuca brand, pushing out and growing our distribution list. More publicity opportunities too, ones that I’m hopeful will come to fruition and take DeLuca wine to a national level.
Going to Savor will get the DeLuca brand out there even more. I’ve realized quick, especially after meeting with the local Vintners group, that I need to be constantly pushing the name, constantly talking to people in the industry. Creating a good wine is key, but networking is a necessity to selling good wine. Growing, learning, taking it all in—especially at conferences where I meet others in the business, so I can bring it back to DeLuca and apply everything I’ve learned—is important.
Do I really need to take Bryn with me to Savor? Probably not. I would’ve been exhausted running around that conference for two days, and missed a few talks or workshops I wanted to check out, but I could’ve done it all on my own. It’s just so much more fun having her with me. And easier, of course, since she’s beyond capable and will keep me on schedule.
Spending time with her on a plane, in the city, at a hotel. It’s all ripe with possibilities.
If the woman I’m interested in actually acted interested in me, that is.
Chapter Ten
Bryn
Two weeks later, New York City
I SIT ON my cushy king-size bed with my laptop, glancing over my hand-scribbled notes taken from the endless amount of workshops I went to all day. I have never, in all my life, stayed in a hotel like the W New York at Times Square. Of course, the biggest city I’ve ever been to before was Los Angeles and that’s just a sprawling metropolis with crowded freeways and shopping malls everywhere.
New York City has a completely different vibe. All the buildings are so tall, the sidewalks packed, and everything is open so late. I’ve never seen anything like it. In my hometown, the sidewalks rolled up and shops closed around eight o’clock, nine on Saturdays.
We arrived last night, and Matt had wanted a slice of pizza at one in the morning. We’d promptly gone out and found a place open—not only open but packed.
It thrilled my small-town-bumpkin-self right down to my toes.
While I attended workshops today, Matt went to a discussion symposium, a special wine tasting, and currently he’s at a keynote dinner. He tried to get me to go with him, but I declined, saying I’d rather call for room service and type up the notes I knew I’d have.
He’d reluctantly agreed, telling me I could order whatever I wanted from room service since he was paying for it.
It’s funny, considering how hard I’ve seen him work and how many hours he’s put in at the winery, a lot of the time I forget Matt’s wealthy. As in billionaire-wealthy. The guy is loaded, thanks to both his father and Matt earning a bundle from his baseball contract and various endorsements.
And those are just the most recent ones.
It wasn’t until we stepped on the plane and sat in first class that I saw how the other half lives. Talk about star treatment. I’ve flown once in my life and that was when I went to California—on a shitty little crowded plane that made me pay for a soda, for the love of God. I declined, sitting in my cramped little seat between two large, sweaty businessmen who leered at me the entire flight.
I hated it.
But flying first class in the wide comfy seats, being served constantly, and sitting next to Matt? I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven.
That was until I saw the hotel. Oh, my word, it was the prettiest, most modern hotel I’ve ever seen in my life, not that I’ve stayed anywhere beyond a Motel 6. I made sure Matt had a two-room suite with a gorgeous city view and since my room was right next to his—which he’d asked for—I had the same.
I didn’t even care that I wasn’t outside amongst the hustle and bustle of Times Square. I was perfectly content sitting in my suite with the gorgeous white bed and shocking pink comforter. The sleek glass furniture and the blooming hot pink orchids everywhere. Me, the Cactus, Texas-supposed-slut, feels like a real life fairytale princess.
All thanks to Matt.
What sucks? I have to give my notice when we return. There’s just no way I can continue working for him. I’m pretending to be this certain type of quiet, demure woman when I’m not. My real self is bound to pop out sooner or later, and I don’t want to do that in front of Matt. He thinks I’m a good girl.
And I can’t seem to let go of my old, bad girl insecurities.
It’s bad enough we’ve kissed a few times. The last thing I want to do is hurt his reputation, so I try my best to avoid him, but it’s near impossible. The tension between us is still there though we never talk about it. I see the way he stares at me when he thinks I’m not looking. I want to return that longing stare. Worse, I want to lock myself away in his office, plop myself on his desk right in front of him and beg him to kiss me.
I think he’d take me up on the offer. I know he would.
But then I’d become the slut everyone accuses me of being. Sleeping with my boss to get ahead—at least, that’s what it would look like. Indulging in a heated affair with the man who signs my paychecks is not smart. Didn’t I learn anything after my failed attempt at a minor affair with Brian Fairbanks?
Leaning against the fabric headboard, I stare out the window at the city lights that surround me. I hadn’t thought of his actual name since I don’t remember when. I prefer to think of him as this faceless, nonentity, otherwise known as my ex-boss. It’s just so much easier that way, not thinking of his name.
Now it all comes back to me. Brian would flash that charming smile as he whipped his thin blond hair away from his eyes, his gaze always eating me up. He had this way of making me feel like I was special, despite the ridiculous way he talked to me about titties and ass and how much his palm itched to give me a spanking.
Yes, he said that. He said a whole lot more too, plenty of which I wish to banish from my brain forever.
When I told my grandma what happened with Brian—how it turned out he had a wife and kids—she’d read me the riot act. Chewed me out for what felt like hours, though it probably only equaled about fifteen minutes. Told me if I continued flirting with these men who were in positions of authority, I’d never get ahead unless I had sex with them. That was all they thought of when they looked at me.
A sexpot. She’d called her own granddaughter a sexpot though now I suppose she said it to warn me. I always heard how I needed to make good choices.
So I tried. I tried and tried and tried and here I sit, in a hotel suite paid for by my boss, and I’m still contemplating how I can get him into my room, so I can have a chance with him at least once before I quit and go back home to Cactus.
Have I lost my mind? I worry so much how others will see me, yet I still want Matt. I can’t help it. If people are going to call me a sexpot, a slut, or a tramp, I guess I can go ahead and give them a reason to, right?
Respect yourself. If you don’t, no one else will either.
I need to remember that.
My cell phone buzzes and I glance at it to see a text from Matt.
You in your hotel room?
I sure am, typing up notes just for you, I answer.
No reply, and I stare at the screen of my phone, willing something to appear. When nothing happens, I toss it aside and start typing up my notes again, my eyelids growing heavier with the menial task.
It was bad enough I had to sit through those sessions. Now I’m reliving them by rewriting the notes, reminding me exactly how boring they’d been.
Well, boring to me. Matt would probably find it fascinating since he’s in the business but definitely not me.
My phone dings again, and I grab it.
You should meet me at the Blue Fin Restaurant downstairs in thirty minutes.
Why?
I chew on my fingernail, waiting for his answer. I already had room service for dinner, ordering a delicious pasta dish with shrimp and a salad on the side the moment I got back to the hotel. I’m not even hungry.
I want to take you out to dinner.
The Blue Fin is a gorgeous restaurant in the hotel; I keep peeking in there when I walk by. I’m dying to check it out but not like this.
Staring at my phone’s screen, I contemplate how I should answer. The conference is over for the night. We have one more day tomorrow and then it’s over. Dinner tonight isn’t official business.
It feels personal. Like a date.
I already ate. Didn’t you eat too?
Have dessert then. And the meal they gave us at the keynote was crap. I’m still hungry.
A little sigh escapes me, and I stare out the window again, drinking in the beautiful city view. I should decline. I should stay in my pretty hotel room and type up my messy notes and fall asleep in my deliciously soft bed. A good girl would do that. She wouldn’t be tempted to do something bad, like go out on a dinner date with her boss.
But I never said I was a good girl.
I want to spend time with Matt. I want to go out to dinner with him and stare at his handsome face from across the table. I want to hear him tell me a story, and then I want to tell him a story and make him laugh. I want him to reach across the table and grab my hand, entwining our fingers.
I want it all, and I want it with Matt.
Grabbing my phone, my fingers hover over the keys for a millisecond before I start typing.
You said thirty minutes?
Yep, he replies. We on?
A smile curves my lips as I answer him.
We are definitely on.
Matt
I’M EXHAUSTED. THE jet lag, the running from one session to the next at the conference, the information coming at me from all sides, it’s all depleting my energy. I should’ve just gone to my room, ordered room service and collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.
But none of that matters because here I am, waiting for Bryn at the entrance to the Blue Fin, eagerness at seeing her making my stomach jump like a pond full of hyperactive fish. I’ve hardly seen her since we arrived in New York City. We’ve been on separate schedules, meeting up in odd spots, like in the corridor of the event center earlier this afternoon. I’d been rushing by, but I called her name when I noticed her exiting a room.
She’d waved, looking adorable in dark-rinse jeans that fit her sexy legs perfectly, a secretive smile curling those sensual lips.
My c**k had literally twitched at seeing her, even for such a fleeting second.
“Hi. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
I turn at the first sound of her sultry voice, smiling when I see Bryn standing before me. She’d changed and is now wearing a sleek, simple long-sleeved black dress that covered pretty much every available inch of her save her face, hands, calves and feet. Yet somehow she still manages to be sensual as hell, what with the way the fabric clings lovingly to her body.
“Miss James. I must say you’re looking extra beautiful this evening.”
Her cheeks color, turning a beautiful shade of pink as she clutches her hands in front of her. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her gaze meeting mine for the briefest second before she lets it drop. “You look good too.”
I’m still in the black trousers I’ve worn all day but changed into a white button-down shirt right after I texted her, wanting to dress up a little bit since I figured the Blue Fin had something of a dress code. I’d planned on going to dinner alone. Well, I told myself that. “Thank you. Ready to be seated?”
When she nods, I lead her to the front desk, requesting a table for two. The hostess grabs two menus and leads us up the floating stainless steel staircase to a semi-private alcove, filled with quiet booths that line the wall and overlook the bright lights of Times Square. A small jazz quartet plays along the opposite wall—soothing, soft music that adds to the hushed atmosphere.
