Читать книгу No Ordinary Fortune - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 9
ОглавлениеSchuyler Fortunado had always been a family rebel, and she felt more like one today, as she drove her sporty red BMW down the highway, the back seat loaded down as if she planned to live out of her car for the next several weeks.
Granted, she hadn’t actually packed the dry cleaning that hung from the rear passenger window or the bag of groceries she’d left on the back seat. She’d planned to drop them off at her condo back in Houston before starting out on her latest adventure earlier today. But she’d been so intent upon solving a family mystery that she’d hit the freeway and hadn’t looked back until she’d stopped in the Texas community of Columbus for gas. The clothing would stay in the back seat, but she’d tossed out the almond milk and smoked Gouda that would go bad without refrigeration. Then, armed with a Venti coffee, she’d taken off again.
She glanced at the clock on the dash. It was late afternoon, and the traffic had slowed to an annoying rate. When her cell phone rang, she again looked at the dash, where her father’s name was displayed on the screen. Kenneth Fortunado didn’t take time out of his busy day for small talk, so she assumed he’d gotten wind of her latest escapade and wanted to voice his disapproval.
She was tempted to turn up the volume on the radio and let the call roll over to voice mail, but she answered instead. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“I didn’t call to chat, Schuyler. What in the hell are you up to this time?”
“Not much. Just taking a little road trip and listening to some oldies.”
He paused for several beats, no doubt reminded that she favored the same music her grandmother used to listen to, along with everything else they’d had in common.
“Where are you?” he asked, and not very nicely.
“I’m on a Fortune hunt.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. I told you to let that go.”
“Yes, I know. But I can’t ignore the fact that our family is related to the Fortunes.”
“That’s not a fact, Schuyler. You have no idea who my biological father was, and quite frankly, I could not care less.”
He’d already made that clear, but Schuyler was determined to uncover the truth. And, contrary to what her father might think, she was nearly 99 percent certain that his mother’s married lover had been Julius Fortune. It had been an easy conclusion to reach. The dear, eccentric woman Schuyler had called Glammy, thanks to a childhood speech impediment, had all but spelled it out during the many chats they’d had before her death.
“Daddy,” Schuyler said, “I can’t believe you’re not the least bit interested in meeting your birth father. Or at least getting to know some of your biological relatives.”
“Forget killing the damned cat, your curiosity is going to be the death of me—and before I get a chance to retire and enjoy life. Can’t you focus on something else? Like going back to that art school or taking another acting class? You could even write that style and fashion blog you told me about.”
“It’s a vlog, Daddy. Besides, I can hardly concentrate on any of that when I’m so close to solving the family mystery once and for all. And don’t blame this on mere curiosity. This isn’t a personal quest. I’m doing it as a tribute to Glammy.”
He blew out a ragged sigh that mimicked a grumble. “I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising that one of my six children would turn out to be so much like my mother.”
He said that as if it was a bad thing, although Schuyler wouldn’t take offense. Glammy had been a little too flamboyant and over the top for the successful, straitlaced real estate mogul, but Kenneth had loved his mom. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Daddy.”
Out came yet another sigh over the line, this one softer and more controlled than the last. “I didn’t mean that badly, Schuyler. It’s just that I’m not a free spirit like my mother was. Or like you are. So I can’t relate.”
Both Glammy and Schuyler had embarrassed the poor man on several occasions, although never intentionally. But life wasn’t meant to be boring. Nor were people supposed to be left in the dark about their past. “I’d think you’d be interested in meeting your blood kin.”
“Even if your assumptions are correct, and I’m not saying they are, you do realize there was a confidentiality agreement in effect.”
“I didn’t sign anything.”
“Dammit, Schuyler. Your grandmother did, and that’s good enough for me. You need to let sleeping dogs lie—or you just might end up getting bit in the butt when you least expect it.”
“Aha,” she said triumphantly. “Sounds like an admission to me.”
“I’m not going to admit or confirm squat.”
“Maybe not, but I’d bet my trust fund that your father was Julius Fortune.”
“Speaking of that trust fund, you’re welcome to get a real job and join us at Fortunado Real Estate.”
Schuyler could almost see him wince while making that offer, although she knew it was sincere and that he’d do whatever it took to make room for her in the family business. But they both knew that she’d never be a good fit, so she would make it easy on him, as well as herself. “I’m really not into office or corporate jobs, so that would never work.”
Her father didn’t immediately respond, which was just as well. They’d gone round and round on just what it was that Schuyler might actually be “into.” As a result, he’d created a healthy trust account for her, just as he’d done for Glammy. He’d also threatened to cut Schuyler off on occasion, like the time she’d told him she wanted to move to Italy. He’d assumed she’d wanted to find herself, but it was more than that. She’d gravitated toward her college roommate’s parents, who’d owned a villa there.
There was good reason for that. Calista’s family not only welcomed her as a guest in their home, they accepted her and appreciated her uniqueness.
Schuyler wished she could say the same for her own parents. It grated on her to be the only Fortunado who was never taken seriously—and just because she danced to the beat of a different satellite radio network.
She might pretend as if it didn’t bother her, but at times, disappointment rose up and smacked her in the face, taunting her with the fact that she wasn’t like the others in her family. Yet how could she even try to compete with any of them? One of her brothers was a doctor, for goodness’ sake. And her older sister was so determined to move up the company ladder that she’d become a workaholic.
None of that mattered, though. Schuyler wanted more out of life than that. Only trouble was, she wasn’t quite sure just what “more” was. But she’d figure it out one of these days. It was just a matter of time.
A heavy silence strained the line. Finally, Daddy said, “Please don’t embarrass me or the family.”
Schuyler rolled her eyes. It seemed that her family shouldn’t be so quick to be embarrassed. “Believe it or not, I’ve never set out to do that on purpose. And I’ll be extra careful this time.”
“I know, Schuyler. But...”
Again with the silence. Then his intercom beeped in the background.
“Listen, honey. I’ve been waiting for this call, so I have to go.” As usual, Schuyler was saved by the corporate world in which her brilliant, business-minded father had made millions, all without the help of the Fortune family coffers he might have tapped into—had he been born on the right side of the blanket. “Just remember what I said.”
“Got it, Dad. Don’t embarrass myself or the family.”
The call ended without a goodbye.
Schuyler turned up the volume on the radio dial, just in time to catch the beginning of the Beatles song “Can’t Buy Me Love.” She belted out the lyrics she knew by heart and continued her drive, wishing there was some way she could convince her well-meaning father that he didn’t need to use money to keep her in step—or to buy her affection. He already had it free and clear.
She didn’t particularly like being so different from everyone else in the family. Deep inside she feared that she’d never live up to their expectations, so as a teenager, she learned to embrace her inner maverick.
And that’s what she was doing now. As she peered out the bug-splattered windshield, she hoped she didn’t hit any more traffic in Austin. If she continued at this pace, she’d reach the Mendoza Winery offices before they closed.
If truth be told, she was nearly as eager to meet the Mendozas as she was the Fortunes. There’d been quite a few marriages between the two clans. And from what she’d learned, Alejandro Mendoza, the owner of the winery, had a lot of handsome, single cousins. If Schuyler played her cards right, she’d be able to charm one of them into providing her with the info and the intros she needed.
Besides, it wasn’t a total fact-finding mission. She’d heard their business was expanding, and she’d like to get a closer look at the inner workings of their company. At least, that’s the excuse she’d give them for showing up today.
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.
