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Michael laughed. He felt a bit like a teenager asking a girl’s father for permission to take her out. “Thursdays. Good to know. Unfortunately, I have plans tomorrow. A family dinner,” he added quickly so she didn’t think it was a date. “It’s my brother’s birthday. Next Thursday would be good, though.” He hoped he was free that night, but if there was something on his calendar, it would be easy enough to change.
Jess stepped forward, planted both hands flat on the bartop and leaned toward him. “Hello? I said no.”
Ah, but did she mean it? He put his own hand down so it was almost touching hers. “I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on running a bar in this part of the city. It would just be a business dinner.”
“A free business dinner,” Larry said.
Bill, who’d been slowly nursing his beer, set his glass down. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Jess rolled her eyes and glared at them.
Michael was sure she was having second thoughts.
“Do you have a pen?” he asked.
She plucked one from a jar beside the cash register and handed it to him.
“Thanks.” He took a fresh coaster from a stack on the bar, flipped it over and wrote his number on the back. “This is my cell phone. I’ll pick you up here at six next Thursday, but if something comes up you can call me.” He could give her a business card but decided against it. Too much information. For a second he had even debated whether or not to write his last name on the coaster, but he left it at Michael. Until he got to know her, the less she knew about him, the better.
He slid the coaster across the bar. She didn’t pick it up, but he knew she’d keep it, and although she still hadn’t said yes, she had stopped saying no.
He swiveled a little to the right on the wobbly seat of the bar stool. “You gentlemen must be regulars,” he said to Larry and Bill.
As he had surmised, both were mechanics who worked nearby. They’d been dropping in for a beer every day after work for years, had been longtime friends of Jess’s grandfather and had more or less watched her grow up, which accounted for their avuncular affection. They talked about cars and he told them about the old Morgan he and his brother were restoring while he drank his Guinness and subtly—at least he hoped he was being subtle—watched the woman behind the bar.
Likewise, Jess kept herself busy, but he could tell she didn’t miss a beat. She perked up when their talk drifted to the old sports car he was restoring. He thought she might even join their conversation, but she didn’t. Larry said he knew of a reliable supplier for rebuilt auto parts. Michael pocketed the man’s card and said he’d be sure to give him a call when he needed something.
Twenty minutes later, after he finished his beer, he pulled out his wallet and opened it. Before he withdrew a bill, he finally made eye contact with Jess. “Walk me out?” he asked.
He half expected her to tell him to get lost, but she skirted the bar and joined him. He tossed a bill onto the counter and walked with her to the door. He wanted to touch her, but he knew she wouldn’t want that, not with Larry and Bill watching.
“I enjoyed meeting your friends at the wedding,” he said instead. “You and Rory and the other bridesmaids seem pretty tight.”
“We are. They’re like my family. Now that my granddad’s gone, they’re really the only family I have.”
Interesting. He couldn’t imagine life without a close-knit family—a biological one—and was tempted to ask about her parents. No, that could wait. She gave the impression she would open up only when she was ready and not a moment sooner.
“Having friends who have your back is always a good thing.” He pushed the door open and she followed him outside. “So I’ll see you next Thursday.”
She drew the front of her shirt closed and folded her arms over it. “No offence, but why do you want to go out with me? The woman you met at the wedding the other night isn’t the real me. This—” she uncrossed her arms and made a sweeping gesture “—this is the real me.”
“Relax. It’s business, and it’s just dinner. I’m interested to hear what you think of my plan for the new wine bar.” Which wasn’t the case at all. Once he made up his mind about something—and he already knew what he wanted in this neighborhood—he wasn’t interested in what anyone else had to say about it. He had good instincts about these things and so far following them had paid off.
“So long as we’re clear about one thing. Dinner is strictly business, and the Whiskey Sour is not for sale.”
Or so she thought. Everything and everybody had a price. He could be very persuasive, and he was accustomed to getting what he wanted. And right now he wanted the Whiskey Sour. “Understood. I’d like to hear what you have planned for this place, too.” He had the impression that she didn’t actually have a plan, though, and that was going to work to his advantage. “See you next week.”
“Sure. But really—” She was back to looking like a deer in the headlights.
“No buts.” He opened his car door, and there was no missing the upward arch of her eyebrows. “See you next week.”
Chapter Three
Jess stood by the door, watching Michael slide behind the wheel of his Boxster and drive away. Wow. That was some car. Jet-black with tan upholstery. Wine bars must be more lucrative than seedy little taverns. All she could afford was a secondhand Vespa.
After he disappeared around the corner, she went back inside. Larry and Bill were just finishing their second round, which meant they’d be leaving soon. Both were sporting ear-to-ear grins. “Do not start with me,” she warned them.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Larry said. He leaned sideways and slid the money Michael had left toward her.
Twenty bucks for a $5.95 glass of beer. Was he always this generous or did he feel sorry for her?
“Big tipper,” he said.
Jess rang in the sale, grabbed the bill off the counter and stuffed it into the cash drawer.
Larry reached for a coaster—the one with Michael’s phone number—and slid that toward her. “Better put this away for safekeeping, too.”
“I said don’t start.”
Bill laughed, a big booming laugh in keeping with his size. “He forgot his sunglasses, too. Maybe you ought to call that number and let him know.”
Sure enough, Michael’s glasses sat on the bar next to his empty glass. Had he left them behind on purpose? Maybe an excuse to come back or, as Bill was suggesting, a way to get her to call him. No, that didn’t seem like his style. He sure hadn’t needed a reason to show up this afternoon. It was obvious that he’d come here looking for a piece of SoMa real estate, and he could damn well think again. She loved this place. It was the only thing in her life that had any real significance, and she no intention of selling.
To her annoyance, though, she had thought about Michael a lot since Saturday night. She had even debated whether or not to ask Rory for the scoop on him when she got back from her honeymoon. Or she could ask Nic to find out what kind of legal work Jonathan did for him. But what would be the point? Sure, she was curious, but she hadn’t actually expected to see him again. Besides, if either of them told him that she was fishing for information, he might get the wrong idea.
She picked up the sunglasses and pulled the lost-and-found box from under the counter. The box contained two gloves that didn’t match, a cigarette lighter with an ornate letter P engraved on it, a tube of red lipstick, a couple of stray keys, several unpaired earrings and a tacky little gold vinyl change purse that contained eighty-seven cents. A bunch of crap no one would ever claim but that she couldn’t bring herself to throw out. The gold logo on the arm of Michael’s glasses indicated that they were neither cheap nor trashy. She slid the box back into place and set the sunglasses on the counter at the back of the bar. No way would she use them as an excuse to call him. If he didn’t come back for them, and she had a pretty good hunch he wouldn’t, she could give them to him when he picked her up next week.
Larry drained his glass and set it on the bar. “I’d best be getting home to the missus. She’ll have dinner on the table pretty soon.”
“Or you could take the missus out for dinner,” Bill said. “I hear the ladies like that sort of thing.”
Bill had been a confirmed bachelor for as long as she’d known him, which was pretty much forever. She also knew neither of them would let this go unless she played along with them, so she leaned on the counter and struck the phoniest dreamy-eyed schoolgirl pose she could muster. “Us gals are totally into being wined and dined.” She tipped her head to one side and batted her lashes. “Totally.”
They laughed and she joined in while they paid for their drinks. She was not the wine-me, dine-me type at all, and her friends knew it.
“Wish I could afford to give you a big tip,” Larry said.
“I don’t expect tips from you guys,” she said. “I just appreciate your business.” She appreciated their loyalty even more.
Both glanced surreptitiously at the room full of empty tables.
“No worries. Things will pick up a little later,” she said. “They always do.”
They knew as well as she did that was often not the case, but they were too polite to say it. She had tried all kinds of things to bring in new patrons—everything from putting leaflets on the windshields of parked cars in the area to a speed-dating night. The leaflets had ended up littering the sidewalk and the speed-dating thing had been an unmitigated disaster. The place needed a serious facelift and she could swing that only if her application for a bank loan was approved. The guy at the bank had done some serious eyebrows hikes when he’d assessed her financial situation, then said he’d get back to her in a few weeks. All she could do now was wait and see.
Bill pushed the door open and slid a ball cap onto his head. “’Night, Jess.”
Larry waved. “You take care, girl.”
“For sure. Good night, guys. I guess I’ll see you Friday.” She usually dropped in on Thursday even though it was her night off, but Paige was moving into a new apartment and Jess had promised to help her pack.
After they left she picked up the coaster that had Michael’s number on it, and it dawned on her that she didn’t even know his last name. She put the coaster under the tray in the cash drawer and reached for his sunglasses. The next thing she knew, she had them on. She looked at herself in the mirror behind the rows of bottles.
“What the hell are you doing?” She whipped them off again. “Mooning around over some guy who’ll probably turn out to be a total jerk.”
When it came to men, she had lousy luck, and she blamed that on her mother. Roxanne Bennett was a slut, no two ways about it. She had a habit of hooking up with losers who didn’t give a damn about her or her daughter, and Jess’s father had been one of them. There’d been countless nights when Jess heard her mother stumble in after the bars closed, laughing and shushing some loudmouthed guy, telling him not to wake up her kid. And the morning after, how many times had a strange man caught her off guard in the kitchen and scared the crap out of her while she was making peanut butter sandwiches—one for breakfast and another for lunch—and hoping to sneak out to school before her mother and the creep du jour woke up?
“Stop it,” she said to her reflection. The past was the past. With her granddad’s help she’d put it behind her a long time ago, and the best way to keep it in the past was to not let herself think about it.
Michael was nothing like the men her mother had dragged into their lives, but he was very sure of himself, cocky even, and clearly successful. He was the kind of man who liked getting what he wanted, and she had a feeling he wanted her bar.
Still, she was going out for dinner with one of the sexiest men she had ever met. One of? He could be a contender for the sexiest man alive. A man who was going to pick her up next week in that flashy car of his and take her out to dinner to discuss business, and she had absolutely nothing to wear. For the first time in her life she wished she had a clue about what kind of clothes a woman wore to a business dinner with a man who drove a Porsche and wore designer shades.
Rory had enough fashion sense for both of them, but she was on her honeymoon, and Nicola’s expensive tastes would put her in the poorhouse. Jess reached for the phone and punched in Paige’s number. She was up to her eyeballs in packing boxes but this was a fashion nine-one-one call, after all, and there was a first time for everything. Paige would understand.
TO BEAT THE MORNING rush hour, Michael got up at dawn and drove through the still-slumbering city and north across the Golden Gate. That morning the bridge and the bay were frosted with a thick layer of fog, but a quick glance over his shoulder showed the lights of the city still sparkled against the lightening sky. He’d made this hour-and-a-half commute more times than he could count, but he never tired of the scenery, especially at sunrise. Now with the city behind him, he looked forward to going home.
For the past few years, business had drawn him into the city more and more frequently and he had finally rented an apartment in Nob Hill so he had a home base. Or at least a place to stay and a place to entertain business colleagues as often as required. The plan had been to buy a condo or a town house, but he hadn’t found the time or the need to get that settled. Living in the city had taken some getting used to, but now he appreciated the noise and chaotic confusion as much as he cherished the order and symmetry of the countryside and vineyards that had been his backyard since childhood.
In a couple of hours the roads would be busy with the tour buses that were the bread and butter for many of the smaller wineries and still a welcome addition to the bigger enterprises like Morgan Estate. As his car made quick work of the miles, he took in the sprawling, linear vineyards and tried to run through a mental inventory of everything he needed to cover at his meetings that morning, but his mind kept drifting to dinner with Jess next week.
Where should he take her? Most of the women he’d dated preferred someplace elegant and expensive, but he could tell that wasn’t her style. They could drive up here to the valley—he knew of several out-of-the-way places—but it was too soon for that, he decided. Besides, this was a business dinner, not a date.
He could take her to his wine bar at Fisherman’s Wharf, or they could stay in SoMa. Come to think of it…maybe they should do both. He smiled and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He had an idea that just might work, in more ways than one.
The sun was well up by the time he arrived at the house and he looked forward to joining his family for breakfast. Instead of driving into his space in the garage, he pulled up on the cobblestone roundabout by the front entrance and popped the trunk. He slung the leather strap of his briefcase over his shoulder, took out the big, bright, professionally wrapped package and slammed the trunk shut.
Right on cue, the front door flew open.
“Mikey! Mikey!” His brother had given him the childish nickname years ago and continued to use it because he’d never been able to wrap his tongue around the L in Michael.
“Hey, Ben. What are you up to this morning?” This adult-sized child’s soft, round features and ear-to-ear grin never failed to bring out Michael’s protective instincts.
“Fix my car today?” Ben asked.
“We’re not going to work on the car today, sport,” he said, more than happy to let his brother take ownership of a car he would someday be able to ride in but would never be able to drive. “It’s your birthday, remember?”
Ben reached for the gift, the pudgy fingers of both hands splayed. “My present?”
“It sure is, but you have to wait till your party to open it.”
“Open it now!”
Too late, Michael realized he should have left the gift in the trunk until Ben was otherwise occupied. “Where’s Poppy?” he asked.
The diversion tactic worked. Ben spun around and ran into the house as fast as his stocky legs would carry him, yelling, “Pop! Pop! Poppy!”
“Honey, why are you shouting?” Their mother’s calm, melodic voice drifted through the house.
“Mikey’s home! Where’s Poppy?”
“Michael? Are you here already?”
“Yes, I am,” he called to her. “I’ll be right there.” He nudged open the door to his father’s den off the foyer, stashed Ben’s gift in a cabinet and set his briefcase on the floor next to the desk. He didn’t think of this room as his office, although it’s where he worked when he was here. He could still picture his father sitting in one of the big, coffee-colored leather armchairs by the gas fireplace, reading, and he could even detect the faint smell of pipe tobacco. It had been the only room in the house where his father smoked. After eight years, Michael wasn’t sure if the scent still lingered in the room or just in his memory.
He left the den and followed his nose to the kitchen.
“You’re earlier than usual.” His mother reached up and gave him a hug, then presented one lightly powdered cheek for a kiss. She was one of those rare women who appeared in the kitchen first thing in the morning fully dressed, hair done and makeup applied, long before anyone else in the family was awake.
“I’m meeting with Ginny this morning, then I have a working lunch with Drew Attwell at the winery. That should wrap up by two at the latest, and then I’ll come back and spend the rest of the afternoon with Ben.”
“Thank you. He’s been asking about you every five minutes. I haven’t seen Drew in a while. How’s he doing these days?”
“Working as hard as ever. He’s the best winemaker in the valley, in my opinion, and I don’t think you’ll find many people who’ll disagree.” He picked up a fresh scone, still warm from the oven, broke it in half and inhaled the scent of finely grated orange peel. “Smells delicious. I was counting on being here in time for breakfast.”
She smiled up at him. “I thought you might be. That’s why I baked them.”
His mother’s scones were the best in the world, bar none. “Thanks. These are delicious, as always.”
“Vanessa didn’t come up with you?”
This was bound to come up sooner or later, so he might as well get it over with. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”
Sophia had started to load the dishwasher, but she stopped and gave him one of her intense stares. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“She’s looking for greener pastures.” As in the color-of-money green.
“Hard to imagine her finding a better catch than you.”
And Vanessa had seen him as exactly that—a good catch. It hadn’t taken him long to realize their relationship was going nowhere, and if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with business he would have broken things off himself. Better that she’d been the one to end it, though. Fewer hard feelings on her part and none on his.
“She was looking for an engagement ring,” he said. The bigger and more expensive, the better. Problem was, he was not in the market for a trophy wife. “I didn’t give her one.”
“Michael, you’re thirty-seven. I know you have a good life, but I would like to see you settled with a wife and family.”
With an emphasis on family. Sophia Morgan was extremely proud of her children’s accomplishments and at the same time intensely disappointed that so far not one of them had produced a grandchild. She reminded them of that shortcoming every chance she got.
“It’ll happen when it happens, Mom.” Just not with a gold digger like Vanessa.
Jess, by comparison, struck him as a woman with a mind of her own and an unwillingness to settle for being anybody’s trophy wife, although she was certainly stunning enough to pass for one, even in a well-worn pair of blue jeans and a baggy man’s shirt. There’d never been a shortage of women for him to take to dinner, but it had been ages since he’d been in such a hurry to invite one to join him. He was looking forward to next Thursday, and he had a hunch Jess was, too, if for no other reason than to satisfy her curiosity about him and check out the latest competition for the Whiskey Sour.
“So, any prospects?” his mother asked.
“Not so far.” There was no point in telling her about Jess, because the tiny, insignificant detail of them not yet having had a first date would not stop from her from daydreaming about bridal registries and grandbabies.
“Poppy!” Ben had flung open the French doors off the breakfast room and an energetic little ball of white fluff tore through the kitchen and tackled Michael’s shoe.
Michael scooped the little dog into his arms. “How is she?” he asked Ben.
