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That wasn’t too big of a stretch. If what she’d heard was true, their stock was going to soar in value. So she might be interested in making a personal investment.
The Houston society papers had pegged her as a ditzy trust fund baby, no matter how many charities she spearheaded. But they were wrong. And she had an impressive financial portfolio to prove it.
Either way, she hadn’t set herself up for a difficult role. She was a people person, and she’d also taken several improv classes at the local junior college. So how hard could it be to win over the Mendozas and then move on to the Fortunes?
* * *
Despite the cool afternoon breeze, Carlo Mendoza had worked up a pretty good sweat as he unloaded the company truck and lugged cases of wine into the family’s distribution center at Austin Commons.
Six months ago, his cousin Alejandro had asked him if he’d be willing to relocate to Austin, become the Mendoza Winery vice president and take charge of refurbishing the small, on-site restaurant.
Most of Carlo’s friends had expected him to decline the offer and stay put. At thirty-five, he’d made a name for himself in Miami, working in the food-and-beverage industry. He’d managed several floundering restaurants and, in a short period, had turned them all around. He’d done the same thing with a run-down nightclub, which was now one of the most popular beachfront nightspots in Florida. But he’d jumped at the chance to become a part of the growing family organization in Texas.
Within hours of entering city limits, he’d gone right to work, planning the expansion and remodel of the eatery, overseeing the demolition and reconstruction, creating the perfect ambience and then hiring a talented chef who came up with an impressive menu.
Carlo usually preferred to stick close to the winery, as well as La Viña, the name they’d chosen for the new restaurant. But Alejandro was in the process of expanding the family business by opening a retail shop in Austin Commons. Plans were also under way for a new wine bar and a nightclub, both of which would be located on a popular downtown street. So that meant they all had to pull together.
Carlo had no more than stacked another case of wine on the cart he would wheel inside when Esteban, his father, stepped out of the distribution center. “Is that the last of it?”
“Not quite. I still need to unload the chardonnay.”
After that, he would head for The Gardens at the nearby Monarch Hotel, where he’d scheduled an important tasting this evening for a group of chefs and restaurant owners attending a big culinary conference. This was the Mendoza Winery’s chance to get its best vintages in the right hands, and Carlo had gone all out when setting it up. There’d be tiny white lights adorning the trees, exotic flowers on linen-draped tables and an impressive variety of gourmet cheese, crackers and hors d’oeuvres.
When Carlo had first come up with the idea of hosting carefully planned tastings, his cousin had given his hearty approval and said, “That’s your baby. Run with it.”
So Carlo had done just that. And up until an hour ago, things had gone exceptionally well. Then the model they’d hired to pour wine for the tasting called and said she was sick. As soon as the line disconnected, he’d immediately contacted the agency and asked them to send over a replacement. There was a lot riding on tonight’s event. If things went as planned, it would launch the winery into the big leagues.
Carlo could, of course, serve the wine himself, but he’d rather be free to schmooze with attendees and lock down the sales he expected.
He glanced at his wristwatch, a TAG Heuer Carrera he’d purchased last summer, and swore under his breath. It was getting late, and the agency had yet to call back or to send another hostess. They’d told him they’d try their best to find someone. Hopefully, they wouldn’t let him down.
When a car engine sounded, he glanced over his shoulder to see a red late-model BMW approaching. After parking in front of the office, next to the truck Carlo was unloading, the driver, a petite blonde, climbed out, shut the door and locked the car. When she spotted him watching her, she flashed a pretty smile.
The sight of her face alone was enough to set a bachelor’s blood on fire. Add that to a pair of black skinny jeans that hugged her feminine curves and a colorful, gypsy-style top that suggested she had a playful side, and it took all Carlo’s restraint not to let out a tacky wolf whistle.
She gave a little wave, as if they’d met before, then closed the distance between them with the grace and assurance of a woman who knew she had the power to knock a man off his feet. She also bore a remarkable resemblance to singer Carrie Underwood, which was merely an observation on Carlo’s part. He didn’t give a damn if she could carry a tune in a bucket. As long as she could pour wine, she’d work out just fine.
He’d run in the upper circles of Miami society long enough to recognize the black Chanel purse and the snazzy red Beamer, both of which announced that she lived the good life. Or that she hoped to one of these days and was trying her best to fake it until she did. He supposed that also meant she wouldn’t come cheap, but at this point, he didn’t care. He was desperate.
“Thank God you’re here,” he said. “I’m Carlo Mendoza, the one who placed the call to the temp agency. You’re just in time. Let me show you what we need you to do.”
She pulled up short, her expression sobered and her brow creased ever so slightly. Then her pretty smile returned and she reached out to shake his hand. “Schuyler Fortunado, at your service.”
* * *
Not much took Schuyler by surprise, but when the handsome Latin hottie set aside the box he’d been carrying and swept toward her, she didn’t much care what project he had in mind for her to do. She was up to the task, especially since he bore the correct last name—Mendoza.
He also had the perfect looks. He was tall, with dark hair that curled at the collar and expressive brown eyes. A killer smile revealed white teeth against a tanned complexion. He was definitely what she’d call eye candy. If she were a casting director, she’d sign him in a New York minute to star as the romantic lead in a major production.
She had only one question. How did he fit into the family hierarchy?
Black slacks and a white button-down shirt—crisply pressed, rolled up at the sleeves and open at the collar—announced that he was in upper management. Yet a light sheen of sweat from his labor suggested he wasn’t afraid of hard work.
He reached out to shake her hand. The moment his fingers touched hers, an electrical current shimmied up her arm, giving her heart a jolt that made her pulse go wacky. She wasn’t sure if he’d felt it, but she was having one heck of a time keeping her mind on the reason she was here and on the cover story she’d concocted.
“I’m glad the temp agency was able to get ahold of you,” he said. “And that you were available to help out this evening. You’re a lifesaver.”
Okay, so he clearly thought she was someone else. Did she dare correct him? Or should she let the mix-up play out?
“Have you ever poured wine at a tasting before?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t.” How hard could it be? “But don’t worry about my lack of experience. I’m a fast learner.”
“Consider this more of a cocktail party, only the drink options are various vintages from the Mendoza Winery. We have a lot of important and influential people attending, and your job will be to make our wines look good.”
Schuyler was no stranger to parties or the nightlife. Why not play along and assume the temporary gig? It would be a fun way to get her foot in the door with the Mendozas.
“This particular tasting will be held at the Monarch Hotel,” Carlo added. “It rained for the last several days, but the weather is on our side today, so we’re going to have it outdoors in the garden.”
“Sounds like a perfect venue.” Schuyler wasn’t the least bit familiar with Austin, so she didn’t have a clue where that might be or what to expect from the outdoor setting, but she pasted on a big no-worries, I’ve-got-this smile.
He scanned the length of her from the top of her head to her strappy black heels and back again. “You look great, but I’ll have to get you something else to wear.”
“What’d you have in mind?” She slapped her hands on her hips, shifted slightly to the right and taunted him with a playful grin. “A French maid’s costume?”
His brow furrowed, which only lent a serious but more gorgeous air about him. “No, I meant something classy. There’s a women’s clothing shop just down the street. I’m sure they’re still open, so we can stop there.”
A smile tugged at her lips. Who would have guessed that it might come in handy to have those clothes from the dry cleaners still hanging in the back seat of her car?
“Actually,” she said, “you’re in luck. I happen to have an outfit with me. That is, if a black cocktail dress will work.”
“That’s great. Now just one last question. Do you have any experience with wine?”
“Other than drinking my share of it?” She laughed.
When he frowned, clearly not finding any humor in her response, she added, “I’m no connoisseur, but I’m not a novice, either. I know the difference between a cabernet sauvignon and a merlot. And while I don’t have a wine cellar, I do keep several nice bottles at home. Also, my old college roommate’s family owns an Italian villa that’s surrounded by vineyards, and I spent a couple of summers there.”
Finally, his expression softened, and he smiled. “You’re going to work out perfectly.”
Schuyler thought so, too. That is, as long as the temp agency didn’t get in the way by sending someone else and blowing her chance to prove herself as the lifesaver he’d claimed she was.
Feeling a bit heroic, she strode to her BMW with a spring in her step. After unlocking the passenger door, she reached for the cocktail dress protected in plastic and hanging from the hook above the rear passenger window. She’d no more than clicked the lock button on the remote when she heard someone clear his throat.
She turned to see who it was, only to spot a silver fox and four dark-haired men, all handsome as heck and standing in an office doorway. She assumed they were related to Carlo, since they all clearly bore a family resemblance.
The older man standing front and center grinned and asked, “Aren’t you going to introduce us to the lady, mijo?”
“Sorry,” Carlo said. “Dad, this is Schuyler Fortunado, the model the temp agency sent as a replacement. She’s going to be our hostess this evening.”
The dashing older man offered a flirtatious grin. “I’m Esteban Mendoza, Ms. Fortunado, the father of this tribe.” Then he introduced the younger men as Mark, Rodrigo, Chaz and Stefan.
Each of the Mendoza brothers was attractive in his own right. That is, if you liked the tall, dark and handsome type. Even Esteban had a debonair, heart-strumming appeal.
The DNA gods had been good to this family, and Schuyler was in her glory. Just look at the collection of hunks she’d stumbled upon. If she had to choose, she’d say that Carlo was the pick of the bunch. Either way, she’d never met a male—young or old—she couldn’t charm. She was definitely going to enjoy her investigative work.
“Now that you’ve met my family,” Carlo said, “let’s check out the setting for tonight’s event. It’s a short walk to the Monarch Hotel, where we’ve set up the tasting. Come with me.”
That wasn’t going to be a problem. Schuyler would gladly follow the Latin hottie anywhere.
Chapter Two (#ue1861221-de40-5bf0-88dc-9198355241e0)
Just twenty minutes ago, the sun had disappeared into a kaleidoscope of color on the western horizon. All the while, Carlo stood next to a magnolia tree adorned with white lights and watched this evening’s tasting unfold the way he’d planned it.
Several waiters, supplied by the hotel, carried trays of appetizers and moved about the garden, offering the smiling chefs and restaurant owners a variety of crackers, gourmet cheeses and hors d’oeuvres specially prepared to enhance the taste of the vintages being served. But it was the lovely blonde hostess pouring wine and entertaining the culinary experts with both her charm and wit who’d captured Carlo’s full attention.
He must have caught hers, too, because every now and again, Schuyler looked across the garden, her blue eyes sparkling, and offered him a confident smile. Then she returned to her work.
She was a born hostess, it seemed, and he thanked his lucky stars the other woman had had to cancel tonight.
Just look at her. She rocked that curve-hugging dress she’d had hanging in her car. It was sexy, but not overly revealing. Classy, but still within the right man’s reach.
But it was more than her outfit and pretty face that he found appealing. She had a natural effervescence, a confident demeanor, as well as an uptown style. And as a result, she’d done a good job of convincing the attendees that they should stock up on the best wines they’d ever tasted.
Schuyler flashed the label of a bottle of Mendoza zinfandel at the people gathered at her table, then poured them each a generous taste. Soft jazz played in the background, but it didn’t drown out the sound of approaching footsteps.
Carlo glanced over his shoulder and spotted his father moving toward him.
“Looks like another successful tasting,” the older man said.
“You’re right. We’ve had several significant orders already. And once this group goes back to their fine-dining establishments, word about our wines will spread.”
“And what about Schuyler? How’s our temporary hostess working out?”
“A lot better than the last woman the temp agency sent us.” She was prettier, too, which was why Carlo had been studying her with more than just business on his mind. He liked a woman with a playful side, especially since that usually meant she wouldn’t expect a long-term commitment.
Carlo had already experienced a failed marriage and wasn’t about to make that mistake again. He was too much like his father, he supposed.
“I’m proud of you, mijo. You put a lot of work into this evening, and it shows.”
“Thanks.” Carlo had never lacked confidence, at least not in the business world. Still, his father’s praise meant a lot. “I’ve always gone above and beyond to pull off a successful event, but it’s even sweeter when that success benefits the family.”
“Sounds like you’re settling in here.”
Carlo stole a quick glance at his father, but he didn’t see a need to respond.
“Are you happy you came to Austin?” Esteban asked.
“So far, so good. Why?”
“Don’t get me wrong, mijo. But you have to admit, in the past, you sometimes got bored with a job after a while and moved on to what you’d called bigger and better things.”
Carlo would like to object, to tell his father that he’d always had good reason to make a job change from one restaurant or nightclub to another, but some of what he said was true. Sometimes boredom had played a role. “Don’t worry, Dad. That’s not going to happen this time.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
The two men continued to watch the tasting, as well as the pretty blonde hostess.
“You had a lot of friends in Miami,” his father said. “And a busy social life. I worried that you’d miss all of that.”
“Not really, although I’ll admit it’s been a bit of an adjustment.” It had been six months since Carlo had turned over the keys to his ocean-view apartment and drove to Austin. Yet his enthusiasm for both La Viña and Mendoza Winery was stronger than ever. “I’m still in contact with some of my friends and making new ones. Besides, this position is a good fit, especially since I’m working with family.”
“It’s been a good change for me, too. So was reuniting with my brother. That took a huge weight from my heart.”
“I know.” Carlo, as well as his brothers, had noticed the positive changes in their father ever since he and Orlando had buried the hatchet. After a decades-old riff, everyone had been shocked to learn that Esteban had actually fathered Orlando’s son, Joaquin Mendoza. The man Carlo thought was his cousin was actually his half brother. Recently, Orlando and Esteban had forgiven one another for the past, and Esteban was now getting to know Joaquin as his son.
“You’re watching Schuyler with a keen eye,” his father said. “Are you waiting to see if our temporary hostess makes a mistake? Or are you planning to follow up this tasting with a romantic evening?”
“She’s not going to screw up. Look at her. She’s in her element.”
Esteban chuckled and slapped a hand on Carlo’s shoulder. “Apparently, she’s caught your eye, mijo. And something tells me you don’t plan to thank her for a job well done and then send her on her way.”
“Let’s see how the rest of the night unfolds.” Carlo glanced at his watch. Things would be winding down soon. The chefs and restaurant owners would be heading to dinner, and that left him and Schuyler to debrief following the tasting.
He knew better than to mention that plan. Of all Esteban’s sons, Carlo was the most like their father, a dynamic, charismatic guy who had an eye for pretty women—and a bit of trouble with commitment. Yet none of that seemed to matter. Neither of them had ever had a shortage of dates.
“Schuyler keeps glancing this way,” his father said. “So I’d venture to say that she’s got her eye on you, too.”
It seemed that way. And she wasn’t looking at him like an insecure employee hoping to get her boss’s reassurance. No, Carlo could spot sexual interest in her eyes.
In a few minutes, he’d ask her to celebrate the successful tasting by joining him at dinner. And something about that playful gleam in her pretty blue eyes told him she wouldn’t turn him down.
* * *
Schuyler was having the time of her life. The garden setting was perfect, the evening festive. She’d never sold wine before, but she knew how to talk to people. And she’d soon found those in attendance, all men and women in the culinary industry, to be worldly and interesting. By the end of the tasting, she’d snagged several large-scale orders for the winery, and she’d had a fabulous time in the process.
As the chefs and restaurant owners filed out of the garden and the hotel cleanup crew moved in, Carlo made his way to the linen-draped table where she’d been stationed for the past hour or so.
“You were amazing,” he said. “I couldn’t have asked for a better hostess.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I never realized that work could be as fun as a cocktail party.”
“I suspect you’ve attended your share of those.”
She answered with a flirtatious grin, which he lobbed right back at her. From what she’d seen so far, all of the Mendoza brothers were gorgeous, but she had to admit that Carlo was by far the most attractive—and appealing. She couldn’t pinpoint one single reason for making that conclusion. Actually, there were several—his drop-dead good looks, the playful intensity in his gaze, his confident air. On top of that, she also respected the way he’d orchestrated tonight’s event then stood back and watched it all unfold the way he’d planned.
There was clearly more to him than met the eye. There was something under the surface that also sparked her interest, a sexy yet teasing style that gave her reason to believe he might be as interested in having fun as she was.
Some people shouldn’t expect a romance to last forever, Glammy had said, and I’m one of them. Why compromise my dreams and values just to be accepted? Doing that will only lead to failure, disappointment or heartbreak.
