Champagne Kisses (8 page)

“Marissa,” Donovan said to her retreating back as she started to follow Chad out.

She stopped in the doorway, and the way the sun from the window framed her face it was as though she wore a halo.

Angel or devil, Ms. Hayes,
Donovan thought.
Which are you?
“I appreciated your input just now. It was obvious that we hit upon your niche.”

“At one time I thought about getting my degree in computer programming,” she admitted. “But at the end of my sophomore year Ste—uh, a friend convinced me that a degree in business administration would be more versatile.”

“I see. So armed with your degree and obvious intelligence, why are you a secretary?”

Marissa wasn’t offended by the question, although, on the part of working assistants everywhere, she could have been. But she more than understood. It was one her parents had repeatedly asked when she left—translated, fled—the job where she’d held a junior management position. “Timing. Jackson needed an assistant. I needed a job. I’m very happy working with Boss.”

The astute brain that made Donovan an excellent businessman immediately sensed more to the story. “He’s a good man. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re in a position that some would consider beneath your education and skill set.”

Marissa looked beyond Donovan’s shoulder and took in the picture-perfect day as she pondered his question. “It’s a long story,” she finally said.

“Well, I’d like to hear it if you don’t mind,” Donovan easily countered. “Over dinner, tonight, seven o’clock.”

“It’s not something that I feel comfortable sharing,” Marissa said. “So thanks for the dinner invite, but I think I’ll just do room service.”

“I’m sorry if that sounded like a question,” Donovan said, his mannerism all business as he walked to his desk, sat and began shuffling papers. “What you choose to share with me is your option. Dinner is not. I’ll meet you at Grapevine at seven.” Ignoring her frown, he continued, “Right now, I need help with some handouts for an important meeting tomorrow. I have a lot of information to cover, but I’d like to have it organized succinctly in no more than a one- to two-page handout. Do you think you can handle something like that?”

Marissa crossed her arms and hid a smirk. “I believe I can.”

“Good.” He went through the papers on his desk, pulled out various facts and figures and told her the results he hoped to achieve. “Any questions?”

“No, it sounds pretty straightforward. I’ll draft a couple different layouts and have you approve the one that suits your needs before proceeding.”

“Perfect. That’s it for now. Remember dinner, tonight, Grapevine, seven sharp.” He looked up from the papers in an authoritative manner that Marissa found quite annoying. “Don’t be late.”

Donovan hit a computer key and began scrolling through his calendar for the rest of the day’s activities, a clear (if rude) indicator that their meeting and conversation was over. Marissa stood there for several long seconds, debating on what if anything she should say in parting. Finally, because she couldn’t resist saying something, she pulled up her utmost Southern drawl and replied, “Yessah, massa.” Then, still in a huff, she turned on her heel and walked out.

Donovan continued scrolling through his calendar, but a wisp of a smile turned his lips up a little bit.

* * *

That evening, Marissa arrived at the vineyard’s premiere restaurant shortly before seven. In characteristically passive-aggressive fashion, she’d ignored Donovan’s suggestion for casualness in the workplace and donned the one suit she’d packed. It was her favorite: a very professional yet form-enhancing St. John number. The one-button jacket accented her plentiful breasts and small waist while the skirt stopped a few inches from the knee, showing off legs surprisingly long for someone of her stature. She paired the perfectly cut yet simple black suit with an equally understated white shell with thin black stripes, simple silver jewelry and minimal makeup. Her hair was in a loose chignon, wisps of curls framing her face and caressing her neck. Spiky black pumps and a splash of perfume completed the look. If she couldn’t feel good, which was becoming an increasing possibility where being around Donovan was concerned, then she was going to look good.

She walked to the restaurant’s entrance and stood near the hostess station. Thinking of his love of wine, she glanced toward the bar but didn’t see him.

“Hello,” said the hostess, who’d just returned to her station. “Will someone be joining you this evening?”

“Yes,” Marissa replied still looking around. “They’ll be one more.”

“May I have your name?”

“Marissa Hayes.”

“Ah, Ms. Hayes. Mr. Drake is already here. If you’ll follow me, please.”

Marissa followed the hostess farther into the restaurant. For a week night it was fairly crowded and Marissa was glad she didn’t have to search out Donovan on her own. They continued through the main dining area and around a corner.
Can we be any farther in the back? Because of my parting statement, did he think I’d show up with a kerchief on my head?
Before Marissa’s indignation could get any more righteous, they turned yet another corner and crossed the hall to another door. After a slight tap, the hostess opened the door to a private dining room, smaller than the one where Diamond’s rehearsal dinner had been held, yet equal in its tasteful appointment. “Mr. Drake, your guest,” she said before stepping back to let Marissa enter. Donovan stood and thanked the hostess, almost stopping Marissa in her tracks. He too had dressed for whatever occasion was about to happen and looked perfectly dapper in a chocolate-brown suit, a black shirt open at the collar and those deep chocolate orbs relentlessly trained on her.

It was going to be an interesting evening.

Chapter 12

E
ntering the private dining room Marissa became coy, almost shy. “You’re looking quite—”
what was the word?
“—dapper, Mr. Drake,” she said, as he pulled out her chair to be seated. “What’s the occasion?”

Donovan sat back down, stroked his goatee. “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

“A chance to wear one of the dressier outfits I packed,” she said with a shrug. She took a sip of her water, looked around the room. “What about you? Special night?” Marissa giggled, part nervousness, part flirt. The evening was not at all turning out as she’d envisioned, something that with Donovan Drake was becoming routine.

“I don’t know why I chose to dress up,” Donovan said truthfully. “But I’m glad I did.” He nodded toward an open bottle of bubbly chilling in a silver bucket. “Would you like a drink?”

“I guess one glass in the middle of the week will be okay.”

Donovan arched a brow. “Only one?”

“Wouldn’t want to get hungover,” Marissa countered. “My boss is a slave driver.”

“Ha!” His countenance turned serious. “Marissa, you and I seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. I want to change that.”

Nodding slowly, Marissa answered, “Me, too.”

From seemingly out of nowhere two waiters appeared. One placed down two salad plates while the other set down a basket of rolls and topped off their lemon waters. The first then poured two flutes of champagne and, after an almost imperceptive nod from Donovan, soundlessly retreated through a side door.

Donovan didn’t reach for the bubbly right away. Instead he looked at Marissa, his intense and thoughtful gaze causing her heartbeat to quicken and her thighs to clench. “I want to apologize for my sometimes boorish behavior,” he said at last. “I take the business quite seriously and when I’m focused, I know I can be a bit short. I’m sorry.”

Marissa smiled. Donovan held his breath and captured what was for him an angelic image on the camera in his mind. “Thank you, Donovan. I too apologize for…everything.”

Donovan was tempted to bring it up again, that night so many months ago that started the conflict. He still wondered about the man at the bar, the one Marissa said she knew. The reason that she didn’t come in. Who was he? An ex-boyfriend most likely, though she’d denied it. But why else would it matter to the guy who Marissa dated? The thought of her being with someone else didn’t sit well with Donovan at all. He didn’t like imagining another man enjoying her subdued charm, didn’t like picturing anyone’s hands on her but his. And following these thoughts, Dexter’s words floated to the fore.
We’ve got to live each day to the fullest and let the chips fall where they may. I say you should go after her.
Dexter was absolutely right. Life was short, and this window of uninterrupted opportunity was shorter. Eight days, now. That’s how long he had to wear down the armor Marissa had seemingly built up around her heart. Whatever had happened in her past, Donovan knew he had his work cut out for him.

He reached for the champagne flute and lifted the glass. “To new beginnings.”

Marissa followed suit. “To new beginnings and great working relationships.”

“Hear, hear.”

They drank, and the sparkle in Marissa’s eyes rivaled that in the glass of fruity ambrosia with a hint of a kick.

“I’m not much of a champagne drinker, but this is really nice,” she said after a couple sips.

Donovan nodded. “It’s still a work in progress, part of the exclusive line that we’re developing for the Asian market and a few other select clientele. This top-shelf product will only be available in the most exclusive of establishments. It’s been aging for five years and will be uncorked and publicly unveiled for the first time during the holidays. That’s what this is…one of our latest creations.”

“What is it called?”

“We don’t know yet. Dexter’s department has been tossing several names around. Boss suggested that we call it Diamond.”

“I like that!”

“So does his wife,” was Donovan’s dry reply.

“I can see calling it Diamond rather than Dexter or Donovan.”

“Ha! You have a point.”

Marissa smiled and took a sip of the champagne before placing the flute on the table. The champagne was not only delicious, but potent. She could already feel a buzz. “So, Dexter is the winemaker?”

“Among other things. Our parents raised us to know all aspects of the business and juggle multiple responsibilities. Along with being the head winemaker, he’s also director of Business Development. I’m CFO, but also spend quite a bit of time in sales, my initial position after graduate school. Thus, my heading up the international expansion, working very closely with my dad.”

“And Diamond is the director of PR and Marketing, right?”

“Right. But as you know she also headed up the last phase of our renovation.”

“And did an excellent job,” Marissa said, again looking around the room. “And while doing so she met Boss, and the rest is history.”

“At least that part of it,” Donovan agreed, taking another sip of his drink. “But considering tonight, I’d say that history is still being made.”

“How so?”

Donovan shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.” He motioned to Marissa’s plate. “After you.”

“Of course.” Marissa placed the stark white linen napkin in her lap and took a bite of the salad filled with herbs and greens from the vineyard’s large, organic garden.

“How’s your room?”

“Absolutely gorgeous! I love how all of the rooms are themed by colors and wines.”

“Which one are you in?” Donovan took a generous bite of salad and reached for one of the freshly baked rolls still warm and waiting beneath a heavy napkin.

“The Chardonnay Suite, which, again, is very generous of you. Considering the hours I’ll be working, a regular room would have been more than enough.”

“We wanted to take care of you.”

“The layers of cream and champagne paired with the platinum fixtures and accessories give the room a very rich yet light feel.”

“You’ll have to let Diamond know how much you like it. She’ll appreciate it.”

“You guys seem like a really close-knit family.”

“We are.”

“I read a little about the history of Drake Wines. But what about your family history? Do you mind sharing?”

“Not at all.” His countenance became as relaxed as Marissa had seen it as he chatted easily, initially forgoing her question about the family to describe the evening’s wines. Waiters returned and removed their salad plates before setting down bowls of chilled avocado soup along with glasses of a light chardonnay. He watched in rapt fascination as Marissa enjoyed a spoonful of the soup, the way her eyes closed in pleasure and her tongue darted out to catch the bit on her lip. He was immediately envious of her tongue, wishing it was his that was taking the drop away, before using that same tongue to part her lips and plunder her mouth, drowning in her sweetness.

“What? Is there something on my lip?” Marissa asked. She gently patted the area Donovan was staring at with her napkin.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Donovan forced his eyes away from her lips by taking a deliberate spoonful of soup. The moment, filled with unspoken this and unnamed that, came with a type of energy that seemed to settle in the room. For the first time Marissa was aware of light jazz playing in the background. Had it always been there or was this music inside her head, played from heartstrings being pulled in various directions?

“The land has been in the family for generations,” Donovan offered after a couple sips of soup. “It’s a long story, but the short of it is that during the gold rush, my adventurous ancestor, Nicodemus, came west with the Drakes of Louisiana. During the trip his master, who was more like a brother since the two had grown up together, almost died. Nicodemus saved his life and the family was so grateful that they willed him this portion of land.”

“Wow, that’s amazing. And he had the foresight to start a vineyard?”

“No, that was my great-grandfather’s vision.”

“Ah, yes, I remember now. Papa Dee. His story is in the room’s welcome brochure. He was born in the house on the hill as I recall, what has become the honeymoon suite.”

“You recall correctly.”

“You must be proud to have such a rich family history.”

“I am.” Donovan nodded. “My family has worked hard to do right by this land. That’s probably one of the reasons that I take the work so seriously. Maybe it’s just my personality, maybe it’s because I’m the oldest in this generation, but I feel the weight of the Drake legacy on my shoulders.”