Champagne Kisses
Steven laughed, the sound sinister and hollow. When he replied, his eyes were cold. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Then how did you find me, Steven?”
“I wasn’t looking for you. Antonio’s band has a gig out this way. Not that it’s any of your business.” They continued eyeing each other a moment. “I see you still believe that bull those strangers told you.”
“That’s right. I still believe it. And I still meant what I said when it happened. If I have another confrontation with you, if you harass me in any way, I will get a restraining order.”
Steven shrugged. “You do whatever you feel you need to do. Handle your business, because I’m definitely going to handle mine.”
Marissa took a deep breath and tried another approach. “You know what, Steven? Somewhere inside you is a nice person. I knew him once. In fact, we used to be friends.”
“That good man is still right here,” Steven said with that boyish smile Marissa remembered. “In fact, that good man still wants to take our relationship to the next level. I’ve already seen you,” he said cockily, with a long, lascivious visual sweep of her body. “Might as well let me tap that—”
“That’s enough,” Marissa hissed between gritted teeth. She found the nerve of this former best friend infuriating. She wanted to lash out, curse him out. Remembering the darker moments of their shared history, she chose to stay calm and keep her wits about her.
And just in time, as it turned out.
“Which one of those jerks are you screwing?” Steven demanded, his brow creased in anger as he pointed toward the glass. “Which one did you offer on a silver platter what I couldn’t beg you out of? I told you I’d deal with whoever came between us.”
That’s right. He had told her, that last night they were together, the night that changed everything. It was why she hadn’t gone on a date in a very long time. It wasn’t worth putting a potential new friend at risk. The Steven McCain she’d known since college had been smart, funny and trustworthy. Or so she’d thought. Until that fateful night he’d tried to take their friendship to another level. By any means necessary. That’s when she’d begun to believe he might not be as nice as he’d seemed. Or as sane.
She looked from him to the window, saw Donovan glance at his watch. Dang it, I don’t even have Donovan’s cell phone number. But she had common sense, and she knew that to go in now, to get anywhere near Donovan, would not only result in an altercation, but would tell the lunatic standing in front of her more than he needed to know. Reluctantly, she turned back to her car. “Stay away from me, Steven,” she threw over her shoulder.
“My phone number is the same, Marissa, and you need to use it. Let’s get together, just to talk, I promise.” She kept on walking. “Remember I can blow the cover on that goody-two-shoes image you’re boasting.”
Marissa ignored him, got into her car, started the engine and sped away.
* * *
Donovan was getting just a bit antsy. Not at the fact that he might have been stood up, no, he’d seen the look of interest in Marissa’s eyes. And more than that, for some reason he felt she was a woman of her word. He definitely knew what the other type of woman looked like, the one who would say one thing and do another, the one who wouldn’t know the meaning of such words as honor, truth or integrity unless looked up in a dictionary. It had been a half hour since they’d parted. Should he entertain the remote possibility that she’d gotten into an accident? It seemed unlikely considering the short distance she would have traveled. Or could it be something much more likely, such as her having been sidetracked by someone at the party, like his mother?
Donovan’s eyes shifted from the window to the door, and he noticed the cocky-looking dude who’d been flirting with—translated, harassing—the cute blonde at the end of the bar watching a pair of taillights speed out of the parking lot. The man watched the car, a silver sporty number, as it turned onto the street, all the way until it was out of sight. Then he confidently walked to his black sedan and sped off, as well.
Donovan turned back to the bar and finished his wine. Then he reached for his phone and called his soon-to-be brother-in-law. “Boss, it’s Donovan. I’m looking for Marissa.”
“She’s not with you?”
“No. I thought she might have gotten sidetracked and was talking to either my mother or Diamond.”
“No, man, she left about fifteen, twenty minutes ago. She mentioned meeting you and told me she’d see me in the morning.”
An uncomfortable feeling came over Donovan as he turned back toward the parking lot. The scene he’d just witnessed replayed in his mind. “What kind of car does she drive?”
“A little two-door Honda Civic.”
“What color?”
“Silver, why?”
“Because I…never mind.”
“Donovan, wait—”
But he didn’t. Donovan ended the call, paid the tab and left the establishment. He’d bet money that it was Marissa’s car he’d seen leave the parking lot and figured that she knew the cocky dude no doubt now hot on her trail. The identity of the man was not important, nor did Donovan care what business Marissa had with him. The only thing that was important was the fact that she’d left without coming in to see him.
There was one thought on Donovan’s mind as he thanked the bartender who’d waved away his attempt to pay him. One thought as he exited the establishment, tightened his collar against the cool air and walked to his car. How could I have so misjudged her? He would have bet money that Marissa Hayes was not fickle or shallow like so many of the women Dexter dated, and totally unlike the last woman he’d trusted with his heart. He would have bet money, big money.
Yes, and you would have lost.
Chapter 3
Four months later
The private room at Grapevine, the upscale restaurant at Drake Wines Resort and Spa, bustled with activity. The excitement in the air was almost tangible. Waiters went to and from the kitchen carrying trays of succulent appetizers: truffle-infused macaroni and cheese balls, lamb-stuffed mushroom caps, salmon satays, vegetable kebabs, pecan-crusted shrimp on a stick and breaded parmesan artichoke hearts. Conversation flowed as smoothly as the wine. A mixture of instrumental music—jazz, classical and R & B—provided a nonintrusive backdrop, and the four-dozen guests enjoying the evening were as beautiful as the freshly cut calla lilies that graced each table’s centerpiece.
“You know what’s so amazing?” Jackson walked up to his soon-to-be brother-in-law and stood beside him. “She’s as beautiful a person on the inside as she is on the outside.”
A crease of frustration crossed Donovan’s brow. “Who?”
Jackson chuckled.
Instead of responding to the obvious taunt, Donovan turned his head away from the vixen across the room. If only his lower head would follow suit and stop twitching like a snake after a shiny red apple. Even though said “apple” filled out the back of the navy slacks she wore to perfection. He’d tried once before with Jackson’s executive assistant, the lovely Marissa Hayes, and while she’d finally explained why she’d arrived at the Inland Empire tasting room but hadn’t come inside, he’d still taken it as a sign to back off. He need look no further than his younger brother to see the kind of drama that could accompany an attractive woman. Dexter thrived on that type of foolishness. Donovan, not so much.
Which is why when he needed a particular itch scratched, there was a nice, widowed woman in San Diego to do the job. Straightforward, uncomplicated, that had been their arrangement. Each had grown-up needs, and neither was looking for more than physical fulfillment and occasional company. Or at least that’s how it had been until five months ago when Ms. Widowed had joined a dating website, met a man and moved to Cleveland. Donovan had intended to find a replacement, but the company’s latest project, a major expansion that would introduce high-end Drake Wines to an upscale Asian market and then, if successful, to the rest of the world had thrown his schedule into a tizzy and put Donovan into a prolonged period of unintended abstinence.
When he’d seen Marissa, truth be told, he’d been more than ready to get back in the sexual game. He didn’t even want to think about why, since meeting one certain curvy cutie on that fateful night in February, he couldn’t seem to develop an interest in any other female. The international expansion had provided the positive jolt he needed. Not only was the company developing a line of high-end wines specifically for this market, but during the holidays they were finally going to unveil an exclusive champagne that Dexter, under the watchful eye and guidance of his mentor, Papa Dee, had been working on for many years. And finally, there was the partnership that the Drakes of California had entered into with their cousins, the Drakes of Louisiana. This family of six sons had made their name in the world of real estate and had broken into the Asian market five years ago. One of their latest successes was a line of trendy wine bars that, as of next year, would feature an exclusive line of Drake Wines, including the new champagne. As busy as the year had been so far, the next six months were going to be even busier. Donovan was glad there was no time for a relationship, but wasn’t too appreciative of the booty that kept reminding him it was past time for something else.
“Why don’t you take my advice and go talk to her?” Jackson stared straight ahead, too, a slight smile belying the seriousness of his tone. It wasn’t often that he saw The Don rattled.
“Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Donovan said, finally cutting his eyes in Jackson’s direction.
“You might not know what I’m talking about. But you definitely know who I’m talking about.”
“There are eight women in that circle on the other side of the room. Why do you think I’m looking at Marissa?”
Jackson laughed out loud. “That’s why!”
Donovan shook his head and forced his eyes away from one of his sister’s bridesmaids and Jackson’s assistant; he turned to face Jackson directly. “I know you and Diamond are set on matchmaking, but you know your girl stood me up, right?” Donovan hurried on when Jackson would have argued. “She didn’t meet me because something, or more specifically someone, came up. But the fact that she wouldn’t offer any explanation as to why his seeing her with me would have been a problem, after telling me that this guy wasn’t an ex-boyfriend but an ex-friend?” Donovan shook his head. “It’s just too strange and complicated for me, you know? Besides, I have enough on my plate right now.” He observed Jackson’s doubtful expression. “Really, I’m good.”
“Yeah, well, you should let your face know,” was Jackson’s dry retort. “Because when I see you look at Marissa…your face tells a different story.”
Donovan turned and walked away. Since Jackson was such an expert at interpreting body language, he figured that the “I’m done with this conversation” move would be an easy read. Through three courses he continued to brood. Deciding to skip dessert, he nodded at a couple of the groomsmen as he made his way from the private dining room where the rehearsal dinner was being held to the veranda beyond it. He opened the door, stepped out into the warm wrap of a June evening and inhaled his mother’s contribution to the resort’s design: gardenia, jasmine and honeysuckle flowers climbing up arbors, clinging to lattices and lining the planters that ran the length of the porch. The sky was clear, with brilliant stars shining like diamonds against an inky sky. One of the things he loved about the sky over Temecula was how the shades of blue played off of one another long into the night. Even now, at almost ten o’clock and with the sun long since having bid its adieu for the evening, earth’s ceiling did not strike a monochromatic chord. The sky was streaked with shades of blue, and wisps of nearly transparent clouds added a hazy, almost surreal quality to the night. Donovan peered at the sky, the deep, deep blue and thought of…navy slacks and plump behinds and how he’d like to—
Buzz.
Thankful for the interruption, Donovan quickly fished his cell phone from his slacks and checked the ID. “Hello, Sharon. This is a surprise. What are you doing up so late?” Donovan’s longtime assistant Sharon Brockman’s early bedtime ritual was a running joke between them. If she were up past ten o’clock, weekday or weekend, it was a late night.
“Donovan, I’m in the hospital.”
“Oh, no, Sharon. I’m so sorry to hear that.” And he was, for many reasons. Like Kathleen Fitzpatrick, Sharon had worked at the vineyard for years, almost from the beginning. She was less an employee and more a member of the family. “What happened?”
“The pain came back, but stronger this time. They just ran a battery of tests on me and, Donovan, I’m afraid that my coming back to work on Monday doesn’t look good. The doctors think I’ll likely have to have surgery. I know we were trying to avoid that, or at least put it off until sometime next month, but my body isn’t cooperating.”
As much as he needed his assistant right now, Donovan was immediately concerned more about Sharon’s welfare and less about how her absence would affect the company’s productivity. When she’d felt the sharp pain a couple days ago, Sharon had told him she thought it was an embarrassing case of internal hemorrhoids, something she’d dealt with off and on since having her now-grown children. She’d taken over-the-counter medicines and, with the help of prescription-strength aspirin, had come back to work the next day saying she was as good as new. Obviously, that was not the case.
Donovan’s voice was laced with concern. “Do they know what it is?”
“A colon tear, brought on by an infection that I didn’t know I had. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t even think about apologizing for something you can’t control. The main concern here is you getting better. I don’t want you to focus on anything but that.”
“But the project. I know how you feel about the confidential nature—”
“Don’t worry about it. Sharon, I’m serious. There’s nothing more important than your getting well. We’ll be okay here until you get back.”
“How does one’s colon’s tear anyway?”
An inquisitive mind, a love for research and attention to detail were just a few of the qualities that made Sharon a top-notch assistant. “I’m sure that before you leave that hospital, you’ll know at least as much about what’s going on as the doctor.”
“Donovan, my daughter is rushing me off the phone. Because of her, I’ll probably feel more pain in the you-know-what than if I had hemorrhoids!”
“Ha! Give Patrice my phone number so that during your surgery she can keep me updated. And I meant what I said, Sharon. Don’t worry about work—we’ll be fine. Focus on getting better.”
Donovan ended the call and then heaved a sigh. Talk about bad timing. A couple unplanned sales trips, not to mention his increased jaunts to Louisiana, plus the festivities surrounding Diamond’s wedding had put him way behind. They were all part of the reason the Herculean task of setting up the database and then inputting the more than ten thousand potential customers for this group of exclusive wines, plus marking out business partners and naming the product—all tasks requiring the utmost confidentiality—had been pushed back to the two-week period following the wedding when the resort had calmed back down. This delay, and another inevitable interruption, otherwise known as the upcoming Fourth of July holiday, and he was pushed right up against an unmovable timeline. Attorneys, accountants, consultants and other participating third parties were all lined up, waiting and ready to put their piece of this new financially rewarding puzzle in place.
Dammit!
“Wow, it’s beautiful out here.” Donovan closed his eyes against the sound of the woman that Sharon’s call had helped put out of his mind. Marissa stood beside him as he leaned across the railing. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“It’s public property,” Donovan replied huffily. He pushed off of the railing, stuffed his hands in his pocket and moved away a couple feet.
Marissa eyed his actions in slight amazement. Was he really still simmering over what happened months ago? That she hadn’t shown up for a lousy glass of wine? She’d told him that she’d arrived at the bar and she’d told him why she had left. What else did he want from her? An apology written in blood?
The rehearsal dinner was over so the logical thing for Marissa to do was to turn around without another word and head back to the peace and quiet of her San Diego apartment. But logic had obviously gone on vacation and its nemesis, crazy, was calling the shots. So Marissa pressed forward. “The rehearsal dinner went well, and the hill is such a perfect place for the ceremony. Diamond’s wedding is going to be lovely.”
His silence was deafening.
“I would wonder whether or not you’ve been taught manners, but since I’ve met your mother, I know that answer is yes. So I can only assume you’re being a jerk, still smarting over a slight that happened months ago.” Nothing moved on the veranda, not even the wind. “I can be ignored by you all night.” How well I’m dealing with it is another story altogether. There hadn’t been a moment all evening when Marissa hadn’t been aware of Donovan’s presence, how good he looked as Jackson’s best man and how much he was admired by the other women. “Your sister is marrying my boss, which means our paths may cross on occasion. I don’t think being civil is too much to ask.”
Donovan wheeled around in a manner so uncharacteristic that Marissa took a step back. “So I’m supposed to care about what you think?” The words came out in clipped fashion; his voice was low, almost too calm.
Later, Marissa would wonder at her uncharacteristically flippant response. “You can do what you want. But I’d think that someone of your intelligence would understand when a situation is untenable. As I stated before, given who I met in the parking lot, coming in to meet you in the restaurant would have been a problem.”
“You think you’re the only one who’s had a problem with the opposite sex? You don’t get to corner the market on bad situations, and I don’t have to engage you in friendly conversation.” The words hit their mark; evidenced by the frozen expression on Marissa’s face and the hurt look in her eyes. “Look, Marissa, I’m sorry to snap at you. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“And you obviously need a lot of room to think about all of what’s on there. I’ll leave you to it.” The click-clack of her heels sounded as she made quick work of the distance between the veranda’s edge and the door. Going after her was not an option. Not only would that capture every Drakes’ attention within a one-mile radius but he wouldn’t have a clue of what to say about his brutish behavior. Obviously, he’d said too much already.
Chapter 4
The female guests had been asked to wear designs in predominate shades of purple or blue, meant to complement the brilliant cobalt sky of a picture-perfect summer day. The men had been told to dress in casual suits, shades of tan, beige or ivory preferred. Wanting her wedding to be visually coordinated in these hues, the color black had been highly discouraged. Okay, banned. All two hundred guests had complied, causing the people bouquet to match the appropriately tinted flowers: tie-dyed dendrobium orchids, irises, anemones, hydrangea, roses and million star baby’s breath. The bridesmaids wore various shades of blue or tan while the maid of honor’s dress was a rich, deep navy, which matched the best man’s suit. The groomsmen carried on the tan/beige/ivory theme, a nod to the mounds surrounding the golf course and the stone pathways that could be seen from the hill. Kathleen Fitzpatrick’s granddaughter was the flower girl, a redheaded bundle of fluffy baby-blue organza. The maid of honor’s ivory-suited son bore the rings. Both Diamond and Jackson wore dazzling white, and they looked not only amazing, but ridiculously in love. The tearjerker had been when three generations of Drakes—Diamond’s father, Donald; her grandfather David, Jr.; and her great-grandfather, David, Sr.—walked her down the aisle. The comic relief had come when Papa Dee nudged Jackson, tilted his head toward Diamond and said, “That’s one feisty filly. Best watch yourself.” No matter that the loudly whispered suggestion was only heard by the first two rows. It became the most repeated statement of the day. Best watch yourself. The temperature had been a forgiving seventy-two degrees; the greenery of the vineyard and surrounding lawns had wrapped all of them in nature’s flawless tranquility.
It was, quite simply, the most beautiful wedding Marissa had ever witnessed. That she’d gotten to see it all from the position of bridesmaid, and given the fact that Diamond’s large wedding entourage had made her role one mostly of administrative support, Marissa should have been almost as happy as the bride. But she wasn’t. Even now, the smile she wore was as pasted on as the tail of the donkey at a six-year-old’s birthday party. The banter she’d kept up for Diamond’s sake as they rode in the pimped-out golf cart (white tulle, Swarovski-encrusted canopied top, spinning hubcaps—yes, on a golf cart) that whisked them from the gazebo-covered hilltop to the dress change awaiting in the main house, was more to stifle her own thoughts than to ensure Diamond’s continued good mood.
Bottom line? Marissa was masking an emotional odor that stank to high heavens. She was, simply stated, in a funk.
Anyone watching would have had to admit she was nothing if not a trouper, prattling on while working to not become engulfed in the endless yards of Diamond’s puffy chiffon, twenty-foot court train. It didn’t matter that Diamond and her brand-new husband, Jackson, were riding in the middle row of the six-seater golf cart, directly in front of her. The train’s presence was everywhere. “Your great-grandfather was so funny, and his more seriously delivered words of wisdom were amazing,” Marissa continued, maneuvering the train and talking as if her voice would disappear if the words stopped. “What he said about the long slow walk beating a fast sprint any day—” she chuckled “—everyone listening knew exactly what that meant! I can’t believe that he’s almost a hundred years old. He doesn’t look a day over eighty, seventy even.” Even in her frazzled state of mind she thought that saying someone looked eighty didn’t sound good, even though she’d just shaved twenty years off someone’s existence. “Well, what I meant to say was—”
“It’s all right, Marissa,” Diamond said, her hand in midair to ward off the oratorical flow. “And I don’t mean to be rude. I just need to gather my thoughts and…” The sentence died on Diamond’s lips as Jackson placed his arm around her shoulders.
“Of course.” Marissa looked between her boss and Diamond and for the first time noticed a strain on her face. Considering how flawless the ceremony had gone, and given the meticulous organization of the upcoming dinner and dance, what was there to be worried about? “I’m sorry, girl, going on and on like that.” Jackson gave an almost imperceptible nod, one that Marissa caught only because he’d been her employer for several years. His expression prompted her to ask the question that must have shown in her eyes. Her voice lowered to a near whisper as she looked at Diamond. “What’s wrong?” She noticed Diamond’s deep breath, and she could have sworn that tears also threatened. “What is it?” Marissa asked again with growing concern.
“We received some troubling news last night. One of our employees had emergency surgery and is in very critical condition.”
Marissa placed a hand on her friend’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Diamond. Was it someone who works in the PR department?”
Diamond shook her head. “It’s Donovan’s assistant. Sharon has been with the company for twenty years. She’s like family to us all.”
Donovan’s assistant. Like family. That’s what was wrong last night. The reason he’d been quiet after the rehearsal dinner, and so withdrawn… No wonder he’d lashed out at her. I’m sorry to snap at you. I’ve got a lot on my mind.