Almost Lover Page 7

  I sigh and hold up my notebook. “Just wanted to take some notes. For Enzo’s file.”

  “Very well, have a seat.” She waves a graceful hand our way.

  Enzo walks up to Mom’s massive desk, neatly lined with stacks bills we likely can’t pay and reports and projections Mom is probably too scared to read. He extends his hand, and everything about him exudes charm. Mom raises her brows, and I see the beginnings of a smile.

  I read relief all over her face, and that makes my shoulders relax. Definitely a good sign.

  “I know we’ve met in passing, but I wanted to properly introduce myself, Mrs. Caletti. I’m Enzo Rodriguez. It’s a pleasure to meet with you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Enzo, but please take a seat.”

  Enzo does as he’s ordered and takes the armchair next to me.

  “Alright, then, we have a lot to go over this afternoon, so let’s get started,” Mom says, her voice crisp and efficient. “Let’s start with your experience with Crescent Coast.”

  I cringe watching Enzo stiffen next to me, closing my eyes tight and saying a short prayer that my mother doesn’t see it as well. When I open my eyes, Enzo appears relaxed enough, but I notice the stiff set of his strong jaw.

  It occurs to me that I spend an unreasonable amount of time worrying about what might upset my mother. It honestly never crossed my mind how much Enzo would hate lying.

  How much anyone would hate lying, but especially someone like Enzo. Someone who oozes integrity. Suddenly I feel itchy in my own skin over what I’ve asked him to do.

  He keeps his voice calm, full of respect. My mother will appreciate it, but I know he’s not doing it to score brownie points. He’s a stand-up guy. “Yes, ma’am, what would you like to know?”

  “Well, to be frank, I’m curious as to why you left. We can’t pay you what you were making for them, I’m certain, and Jordan says you’re the best and the brightest—I trust my daughter, but I don’t necessarily trust a stranger, especially a stranger from a competing company.” She leans back and literally looks down her Roman nose at him.

  My skin prickles. My mom can be so damn brusque.

  “Mom—” I start, properly appalled at everything Enzo’s going through in this awkward moment.

  Because I asked him to do it. Without thinking things out like I should have.

  “No, it’s fine.” Enzo’s voice is cool and confident, and I’m relieved to see my mother seems just as charmed by it as I am. Maybe it’s just some kind of effect Enzo has on everyone and not something specific to me. “I understand your concern, Mrs. Caletti, but money is not my main priority.”

  “Enzo, I may look gloriously young for my age, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Money is everyone’s primary concern. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar.” She tilts her chair back and gives him a frosty once over. “Are you a liar?”

  I inhale and choke. “Excuse me?” I sputter, embarrassed beyond all words.

  It’s not an interrogation, Mom. Tuck away the bad cop tactics.

  Enzo just grins as he leans forward in his chair, meeting my mother’s eyes. “I’ve probably told my fair share of white lies.” He rests a hand over his heart. “For the greater good of course.” He winks.

  Enzo Rodriguez winks at my mother.

  It’s ridiculous he thinks that was some smooth move. It’s double ridiculous how badly I want him to throw some winking action my way.

  “Enzo!” I groan, waiting for this all to go to hell in a hand basket right in front of my face.

  He glances at me, then shrugs. “I just mean, sometimes, the truth hurts more than a little fallacy, right?”

  Mom nods slowly. “The world is full of enough sorrow, that’s for sure. If we can spare those around us a little pain, I agree, sometimes a gentle lie is the better route.”

  It’s blowing my mind that Mom is agreeing with him.

  This little meeting has officially rolled into Invasion of the Body Snatchers territory.

  “Mrs. Caletti, all I’m trying to say is that I’m not from around here. I come from a pretty humble, laid-back world. Material things have never been what drive me. My main goal is to make something of myself and maybe make a difference in my own way, and I truly think I can do that here at Golden Leaf.” He’s been moving closer to the edge of his seat, but he stills himself and settles back. His body language lets Mom know the ball is back in her court. “If you give me the chance, that is.”

  Mom purses her lips and taps a pen on her desk. “I think we can make a place for you here, Enzo. On a trial basis, obviously.” She gives Enzo a straight stare, and he holds it, never pushing back, but never backing down either.

  He doesn’t answer until she offers him a smile. Well played, Rodriguez. Well played.

  “Of course.” He smiles back and reaches his hand out.

  I’m so giddy, I could spin around the room Sound of Music style.

  “I think this is wonderful,” I say, and if I sound a little bit like I’m surrounded by raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, so be it. The relief is incredible. “We have—I mean, Enzo has already given me so many great ideas to run with. This is going to be a great thing for Golden Leaf, Mom, I just know it.”

  I scribble nonsense on my notepad to calm my nerves and look busy and professional, but the hills are alive inside my head and heart. I can’t believe we pulled this off.

  The soundtrack of my happiness screeches to a halt when I remember this means dinner.

  With Enzo.

  The guy so damn smooth, he just winked his way into my mother’s heart.

  I don’t have a chance.

  It’s not blotch.

  It can’t be.

  Please God, don’t let it be blotch.

  Anyway, Enzo is going to handle it! I need to trust him to handle this. He said he’d call Jack and have him take a closer look. Jack’s been amazing about taking Enzo under his wing when I can’t be there.

  Like right now.

  Because I’m on my way to talk to a publicist who specializes in helping businesses get on their feet again. Mother would murder me if she had any idea what I have planned, meeting with this woman, putting Golden Leaf into the limelight in a way she’d never believe will actually help. And could actually run the risk of exposing our weaknesses. Which would be a fate worse than death, at least according to my insanely proud mother.

  Instead of focusing on what Mother would think¸ I focus on what Enzo said to me the day before.

  Nothing incredible happens unless you swallow your fear and take a leap of faith.

  He also said something very, very complimentary about the tight, chic dress I picked up to wear to my college interviews two years ago. Clearly, I never got to use it for that particular purpose, but I thought it looked professional and just a little sexy; the kind of effortless look that would give me a tiny push of courage. Exactly what I need for a day like today

  Enzo is already checking the irrigation systems when I’m walking to my car. I debate talking to him at all, since he seems so focused—and distractingly muscled. But his low whistle lets me know he isn’t as engrossed in the tensiometer reading as I thought.

  And, let’s be serious, I wasn’t going to be able to resist a few minutes up close and personal with the guy who will not stay out of my dreams. My sheets have been twisted like crazy, and I wind up having to take very long showers. Because I’m a dirty, dirty girl.

  Ugh! He has me making puns like I’m titling pornos!

  “How’s the soil?” I ask, smoothing my skirt down over my thighs. Nervous tic.

  “Jack’s gonna get back to me about the gypsum on the south end, but it’s looking good overall.”

  He wipe his forehead with his wrist, leaving a dark smear of dirt on his sweat-damp skin. I notice the way his skin is turning a darker bronze because of his hours in the sun. I try to tear my eyes away from his arm muscles as they strain against his thin, sweat-streaked t-shirt. He stands up, brushes dirt off his w
orn jeans, and gives me that cocky smile.

  “You look incredible, Jordan. Where you headed?” He does that thing hot guys do, looking up and down my body slowly, like it’s something he wants to take his time drinking in.

  If I was more uptight, I guess I might feel offended. If I was more unrealistic, I might be flattered. As it is, I just accept that it’s part of Enzo’s charm and smile at him.

  “Thank you. I’m on my way to meet with some PR woman who’s supposed to be amazing. I had to watch our advertising budget like a hawk for months to get enough for a deposit, so I want to make sure she’s someone we should definitely work with.”

  My words are smooth, all business, but my heart is salsa dancing around my ribcage. I’m remembering the elated way we felt when we walked out of my mom’s office victorious. Enzo was so completely confident and charming, and the meeting with Mom went so much better than I’d dared to hope, there were actually a couple moments where I almost forgot that this is all for show. I believed Enzo and hung on every word.

  I had to reign myself in. Believing in someone so wholly is incredibly dangerous.

  Enzo sticks his hands deep in his pockets, and I have this strange thought: he’s doing that so he doesn’t touch me.

  I want to tell him a little dirt on my fancy dress would be just fine if it meant having his strong, capable hands all over my body—but that’s the kind of stuff I needed to keep in my freaking journal.

  Bridget Jones-type lunacy is only adorable in fiction.

  “Well, you look great. Go on, get to that meeting and start shaking things up. Remember: nothing incredible happens unless you swallow your fear and take a leap of faith.” He crouches back down, collecting another soil sample. “Plus, it’s too distracting having you here, looking like that. I have too much work to get done. I can’t be drooling over your gorgeous ass all day.”

  My mouth goes dry, and I try to laugh along, like it’s a joke, but Enzo isn’t laughing, and I’m having a really hard time reading his expression.

  His unreadable face bugged me as I started the car and got driving. I couldn’t be sure if I was happy to have Enzo to distract me from worrying about my meeting, or if I would have just rather worried about the meeting itself.

  I find myself outside Florence Dahl’s offices trying to net the butterflies Enzo got fluttering in my stomach. I check my lipstick, flip through my portfolio one more time, and march in.

  Florence’s office staff is no joke. I’m barely through the door before there’s a latte in my hand and my butt is planted in the most comfortable, elegant chair I’ve ever had the pleasure to sit in. The whole place—decor, music, smiley happy people willing to bend over backwards to help—all make me feel like I made the right decision coming here.

  I guess that’s the point.

  “Ms. Caletti?” The assistant behind the shiny desk smiles warmly. “Ms. Dahl will see you now.”

  I walk into the office that feels straight out of some Hollywood chick flick about a go-getter, have-it-all woman, complete with a wall of squeaky clean windows that overlook downtown Napa.

  Florence Dahl is a compact woman with a great smile is serious, dark eyes. She clicks over to me in her designer heels, and I try not to weep over how perfect her charcoal suit is, but I feel my eyes welling up. She’s so damn put-together, and I don’t think she’s much older than I am.

  Is the kind of grace she possesses a genetic thing, like naturally glossy hair? Or did I miss some grace and elocution class every other girl my age somehow seemed to get an invitation to?

  “Ms. Caletti,” she says, putting her hand out.

  We shake and I say, “Please, just Jordan.” I wince after the words. Too informal? Should I keep things more professional?

  I have a flash of my mother, rolling her eyes and shaking her head, and I wish I’d just stayed at the vineyard, going over the neat list on my clipboard, checking off the boxes that keep everything operating smoothly.

  Except nothing is operating smoothly. I’ll only be able to check those boxes for so long before the vineyard starts to fall apart around our ears. If I want to save Golden Leaf, I have to do this, as uncomfortable as it is.

  “Jordan,” she says, and she smiles so wide, her eyes crinkle. “I love that name. My grandmother is from Jordan.”

  “It’s where my parents honeymooned,” I admit, making a mental note not to twist my hands like a nervous child. “My mother was on a mission to track down this vineyard that produces a very distinct arak. It’s very possible I may have been conceived after a night of taste testing.”

  She laughs and leads me to the pair of plush chairs across from her desk. “Funny, I’m told I was born after my father surprised my mother with a very expensive bottle of Chianti Riserva on a business trip to Florence.” She winks, and even that is this adorable gesture. When I wink, it definitely looks like I’m having a facial spasm, yet I’m surrounded by socially competent, smooth winkers. “You’ll have to call me Florence, of course.”

  “Florence,” I repeat, feeling glad that we’re doing this as Jordan and Florence. First names make me feel strangely brave. “I’m really glad to meet with you. It’s…you see, it’s kind of a delicate situation.”

  I force myself to stop cracking my knuckles, one by one. Yet another nervous tic. I’m lucky growing up in the wine business didn’t burn early onset ulcers into my guts.

  “Of course.” She leans in and her face loses any trace of humor. “Dahl Promotions is very discreet.”

  I blink hard and look up, because, damn it, I will not cry. I have no clue why the waterworks always seem to start the second I try to discuss something I care about like a rational adult.

  She puts a hand on my arm, and her skin is warm. Reassuring.

  “My parents own a real estate business. A very big one that my great-grandparents began when they emigrated from Norway. When the bubble burst a few years ago, there were a few very scary years. It wasn’t just some business…it was my family’s life, their name. Everything we had was in that business, and we didn’t want anyone to know it wasn’t doing well.”

  I’m not looking up anymore. I’m just letting the tears run down my face, my mascara be damned, and I nod away, repeating ‘yes, yes, yes’ like I’m under her spell.

  The relief is palpable. It feels like I’m shedding a cloak made of lead, like the worries of my family’s business and future no longer lie squarely on my shoulders. I’ve been a dinghy in the middle of a hurricane, and Florence Dahl is my own personal Coast Guard rescue team.

  “Florence, we’re in trouble,” I say, closing my eyes and gripping my portfolio tight to my chest like a shield. “God, it’s a relief to come out and say that to someone else.”

  She grabs a box of ridiculously soft tissues from her desk and hands them to me. “I’m here for you, Jordan. I’m here for Golden Leaf. I promise you, I will move mountains to make sure your family’s business is revitalized. I give you my word.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” I blow my nose and dab at my eyes. “Seriously, are these tissues made out of cashmere?”

  Florence laughs. A real laugh, not like the kind of laugh someone lets out when they think you’re a little weird and you’re freaking them out. And then she holds her hand out for my portfolio. She puts her thick-framed glasses on, takes a pen from her desk, and flips the folder open.

  “Let’s make Golden Leaf the most profitable vineyard in the County.”

  She says the words, and I feel this power well up inside me. It’s like I can believe whatever she says, can rely on Florence to help lead me. For the first time in so long, I feel hopeful.

  I toss the wadded-up tissues in the wastebasket, press the loose hair out of my eyes, and pull my chair closer to Florence’s.

  “I’m ready.”

  ***

  The amazing thing about working out an exciting marketing plan with a bold, brilliant PR guru is that when you head back to the vineyard that felt like an albatross aro
und your neck in the morning, it’s like you’re seeing it with all new eyes. Eyes that spy potential in every nook and cranny.

  The not-so-amazing thing is that you’re relegated to dinner with your sober, stubborn mother, and you know better than to share anything about the meeting with her.

  “How was your day?” she asks, a ledger at her elbow. She glances at it as she asks me the question.

  “Fine,” I say, taking a bite of farfalle.

  I wait to see if she’s looking for me to fill her in with more details. My mother is usually kind of anal retentive about having every single crumb of information about Golden Leaf made readily available to her.

  “Jack was happy with the gypsum readings. I love the idea Enzo had about rerouting the irrigations channels on the north side. I never would have thought about—”

  “The erosion leading to a runoff we’d have to compensate for,” I interrupt, gripping the handle of my fork so hard in my fist, I’m sure it’s going to make an imprint.

  She frowns at my tone, but nods. “So you already spoke to him? Good.”

  I grit my teeth together and take a long, slow breath, releasing it in a cleansing rush.

  Doesn’t help. I still want to scream.

  But I know saying, ‘Dammit, I mentioned it to you last spring! This could have been resolved before we worried unnecessarily about over-saturated soil and the possible loss of quality in a hefty percentage of our vines!’ will not accomplish a single thing. I hired Enzo knowing these kind of scenarios would pop up.

  That’s the point of this entire charade. To make things better at Golden Leaf, no matter the countless dings to my pride in the process.

  I guess I just naively thought they’d hurt less.

  It dawns on me in that instant that Enzo’s flirting with me may be more than just his trademark demeanor. He may be doing it to compensate for the fact that I’m taking a major blow to my ego every time I step into the room with my mother. Perfect. Now I can feel pathetic in multiple ways.

  The lack of trust my mother has in my abilities takes some of the bloom off an otherwise satisfying day.