Seduce Me Sweetly (Heron's Landing Book 1) (3 page)

Adam had a feeling a lot of chefs wouldn’t know what to do with a whole cow, but Jaime had exacting standards. He had to, given his background: people assumed that because he was Latino and his family had immigrated that he was lazy, riding the mythical system of welfare and whatever else non-white people had access to. Jaime was an extremely hard worker, and he’d transformed the restaurant the moment he’d arrived. Adam couldn’t fault him for riding his sous chefs as well.

“So are you here to tell me your newest sous chef is threatening to sue because you’re mean, or do you have something else to tell me?” Adam asked.

“Are you always this pleasant in the morning?”

“Maybe if you’d brought me some coffee before you decided to invade my office, I might be,” Adam replied wryly.

Jaime gave him the bird, but it was done with a smile. “I’m not your kitchen boy, asshole. And I wanted to talk to you about opening up the vineyard for events. Again. You said if the crop was as bad as last year you’d consider it. Or did you conveniently forget that?”

Turning away, Adam turned on his computer, gazing at his vague reflection in the glass of the monitor. Yes, he’d remembered; no, he didn’t want to consider it. It seemed straightforward, he knew—the vineyard needed the business, business meant money, ergo, they should do it—but Jaime didn’t understand that it would change the heartbeat of the vineyard as well. Not to mention, they’d tried doing events a few years ago, and it’d been a disaster all around. Adam shuddered, remembering how the bride had yelled at him, accusing him of ruining her special day.

River’s Bend had always prided itself on not becoming more of an event spot than a vineyard—no brides crying about it being too hot outside, no grooms too drunk to make it down the aisle—and Adam hadn’t seen a reason to change things then and didn’t see a reason to change things now. His granddad and dad hadn’t done weddings and such, so why should he?

Remembering how they’d tried to expand the vineyard into events last go-around made anxiety congeal in his stomach. Four years ago, River’s Bend had needed more revenue, and Adam’s father Carl had still been the de facto manager, with Adam handling much of the accounting and bookkeeping. Carl had decided to try out a few events one summer, telling Adam that the two of them together could more than handle brides getting down the aisle and keeping the grooms from falling into the river.

“You know how much money people spend on weddings these days?” Carl had said. “If we could just get a tiny slice of that, we’d get this place out of the red.”

Adam hadn’t been sure—what did they know about event planning beyond a few wine-tasting classes? Plus, they hardly had time to run the vineyard as it was, let alone weddings. But he’d agreed, hoping that he was just being a butthead—as Grace liked to call him—and that it would turn out to be a great revenue generator.

Unsurprisingly to most everyone except Carl, it had failed. Spectacularly.

Carl didn’t know how to deal with nervous, emotional brides, and his strong suit wasn’t organization or event planning. When the big day arrived, nothing was planned like how the bride had wanted: the chairs were wrong, the aisle runner was wrong, the gazebo was wrong. They’d even made a chocolate cake instead of a red velvet one. It’d had been so disastrous that the bride had burst into tears at her own reception, and had promptly told everyone she knew to never, ever get married at River’s Bend.

“Yeah, I remember,” Adam eventually replied. “You have some grand plan to make that work this time around, or are you just shooting the breeze again? You remember what happened last time. It was a complete disaster, and it lost us money at the end of the day.”

Sighing, Jaime set his feet down onto the floor. “Yeah, I remember. But, look, you know as well as I do that we aren’t going to recoup our losses from last year. We were hit hard by the drought last summer, and now with all of the rain from this spring, the crop is going to be poor. You know it, I know it, everyone and their mom down in town knows it. So we have to find a solution that brings in money. Just because we failed once, doesn’t mean we fail a second time. Make sense?”

“Sure it does. But who’s going to handle all of these events? You? Me?” He scoffed. “Last time it was me, and we know how well that worked. Do I really look like the type of person who wants to talk to demanding brides-to-be, or even worse, their mothers?”

“I’m not saying it would be easy. But there has always been interest in this place hosting events, and it would be a waste to continue to turn away that business just because it wouldn’t be your favorite thing. Plus, most people have forgotten about Becky Harris’s infamous Yelp review.”

Part of Adam had to agree, although he didn’t want to. But even if they started to do weddings here again, they didn’t have the money to hire someone, anyway. “It’s not just that it wouldn’t be my ‘favorite thing.’ I know nothing about event planning. Kerry is already beyond capacity handling restaurant reservations and the wine tastings all week long. Would you add wedding coordination on top of that?”

Jaime made a sound of frustration. “Will you at least consider it?”

“Sure. But that’s not going to change the fact that we have no money to do it.”

The truth was that they could probably finagle a way to hire a new person—at least part-time—but Adam wasn’t going to change River’s Bend like this without a fight. He hadn’t fought hard enough last time, and it’d been a disaster. And even if they did hire someone, who was to say it’d be successful? Then they’d really be in trouble.

Wanting to change the subject, Adam asked, “What’s on the menu for today?”

“Roasted catfish with sweet corn hash on a bed of arugula with the Sauvignon Blanc to accompany it.”

Smiling, Adam couldn’t help but comment, “To think when you started you thought catfish wasn’t worth feeding to a feral cat.”

“It isn’t. But apparently you Americans love it, so I’ve made it work.” Standing, Jaime eyed Adam for a second. “I know you won’t throw away a good opportunity without consideration. Right?”

Adam’s phone rang, and seeing that it was Kerry, he said, “I gotta take this. But I will consider what you’re saying, okay? You haven’t led me in the wrong direction yet.”

Jaime nodded and left Adam to pick up the phone.

“Kerry?”

“Mr. Danvers, we have a visitor who’d like a tour today, if you have time.”

Adam glanced at the clock, and then back at his computer. Technically, he didn’t have the time, but did he really want to be shut up in his office when he could be talking about River’s Bend to someone who was interested in the place?

He didn’t have to give tours—they had other staff who did—but if he could manage it, Adam preferred to be the one who did it. Mostly because he loved showing the place off to people. It was his family’s legacy, and pride filled him each time he explained how they grew the grapes, what was involved in harvesting them, and what types of wine they made. He wasn’t necessarily a chatty man by nature, but give him a subject he enjoyed, and he wouldn’t stop talking about it. Grace liked to tease him about it, but Adam didn’t really mind. He did love talking about River’s Bend, and why shouldn’t he? It was a true jewel here in the heart of Missouri.

Standing up, he snagged his phone and sunglasses as he headed to the front desk. His mom would probably frown at him for not putting on sunscreen, but he was tan enough that he wouldn’t get burned after a few hours in the sun. He wondered who had come to the vineyard today, and a person alone? That was interesting. Usually it was couples or families who wanted tours, but occasionally a lone man or woman would show up, too.

As he stepped into the area where the front desk was located, he heard a voice that seemed familiar. He stopped, listened, and then as he rounded the corner, he realized exactly who it was: Joy McGuire, journalist and newcomer who he’d…
spoken to
at Trudy’s.

Seeing her now, he couldn’t help but marvel at how colorful she was: purple hair with a top that showed a hint of midriff and tiny shorts hugging her ass and hips. She raised her eyebrows when she noticed him, and he had to bite back a groan. He really didn’t want to deal with this right now, and he especially didn’t want to deal with how he traced the lines of her body and wished her top edged higher so he could see more of her creamy skin.

“Oh, Mr. Danvers! Glad you’re here. Have you met Joy? She just moved here,” Kerry said.

Looking straight at Joy, Adam said without a hint of irony, “Yeah, we’ve met.”

Chapter Three

Joy had needed a project. She had a few clients she still wrote for long-distance, but she wanted to sink her teeth into something here in Heron’s Landing. That was why she’d come, wasn’t it? To get to know a new town and new people? The town wasn’t hustling and moving as quickly as Chicago. In fact, it moved about quickly as an elderly turtle swimming through mud. But that didn’t stop her from looking around for stories.

Drumming her fingers on the arm of her couch—the movers had finally arrived that morning—Joy brainstormed for a few hours. Perhaps she could interview the owner of Trudy’s? Or maybe Mike in the general store downstairs had something worth writing about? She pursed her lips, thinking.

Of course, there was always the vineyard, River’s Bend. It was the jewel of Heron’s Landing, but that seemed cliché. Plus, it was five miles from her apartment, and she really didn’t want to drive that gravel road to get out there. The day had already edged into 100-degree territory: thinking about tromping around the vineyard with the sun beating down did not sound remotely pleasant.

But after an hour or two, Joy realized she’d be remiss in ignoring the vineyard right off the bat. It would be a great introduction to Heron’s Landing. Nibbling on her pen, she reconsidered. Before she closed her laptop, she grabbed her handy notepad, and then made her way to her car to drive those five miles. What else did she have to do? Think about what she’d left behind in Chicago?

She shuddered at the thought. River’s Bend it was.

When she walked up to the front desk in the vineyard’s main building, Joy had to admit she was impressed: the room was decorated with modern furniture, with cream couches and chairs surrounding simple wooden coffee tables. Wildflowers in vases dotted the tables, and to her relief, no dead animals hung from the walls. River’s Bend may have been in the country, but it didn’t scream country, either.

“How can I help you?” the front desk clerk asked. She was young, perhaps mid-twenties, with a full face and startling white teeth. Pretty in a milkmaid kind of way. Joy could just imagine her cheeks flushed, carrying a pail from the barn in the early morning hours.

Thrusting out her hand, Joy said, “I’m Joy McGuire. I recently moved here from Chicago, and I thought I’d get a tour around this place. I’ve heard so much about it already.”

The girl shook her hand vigorously. “Miss McGuire! Yes, I heard we had a newcomer. I’m Kerry.” She pointed to her engraved name badge. “Let me see if Mr. Danvers is available for a tour. He likes to do them himself, as the owner.”

Alarm bells rung in Joy’s head at the name.
Danvers? Not
the
Mr. Adam Danvers, who’d so courteously welcomed her here? He was the owner of River’s Bend?

“I’m sure he’s much too busy,” Joy said with a wave. “Could you show me around instead?”

“Oh, you would much rather have Mr. Danvers. He knows
everything
about this place.” Kerry picked up her phone, expertly dialing an extension. She smiled up at Joy before saying into the phone, “Mr. Danvers, we have a visitor who’d like a tour today, if you have time. Yes, mmhmm. Okay. Thank you.” Hanging up, she said to Joy, “He’ll be right up. Would you like something to drink while you wait?”

Joy shook her head. Only in a small town like this would the owner himself take some random on a tour. And only in a small town like this would the owner be the guy who had insulted her only the day before. She sighed inwardly. That was just her luck, always. Couldn’t she catch a break? And how could she very well do a story on this place when Mr. Journalists-Are-Satan’s-Spawn was the owner?

He’d probably kick her out on her ass the second he saw her.

When he finally arrived, Joy’s heart sped up just at the sight of him, because she was an idiot who made poor decisions. God, he was handsome, in an asshole kind of way. Dark hair, dark eyes—which were her weakness, even though Jeremy had been the opposite in coloring—and his jeans slung low on his hips. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep the stem of laughter from bubbling out. She tended to giggle when she was uncomfortable, and by God, the thought of wandering around with Adam Danvers for an hour or two made her painfully uncomfortable. For more than one reason, too.