Читать книгу The Wedding Bargain - Lee Mckenzie - Страница 11

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.

“She poops on the lawn.”

Sophia ignored her youngest child’s lack of discretion and poured a cup of coffee for Michael. “The lawn is a vast improvement over the carpet in the family room,” she said in a droll voice.

He picked up the coffee cup, laughing. “Thanks, Mom.”

The little bichon frise had been Ben’s birthday gift from the family last year. He called her Poppy because she had looked like an oversize kernel of popcorn, which happened to be his favorite food, and it was an easy word for him to say. He had gone through a worrisome period of leth argy that had puzzled the doctors and troubled the family. They’d tried everything to coax him out of it, but nothing worked. Nothing, until Poppy had come into his life. His mother had reluctantly agreed to the dog, in part because she’d been so worried about Ben and also because Ginny and her husband had promised to take it if it didn’t work out with Ben. They had hoped that having a dog would help to keep him active, and it had paid off.

“Have you been taking her for a walk every day?” he asked his brother.

Ben’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “Two times.” He held up one hand and displayed all five digits, then tried to cover several of them with the other hand.

“We walk her through the vineyard twice a day,” their mother said. “Every morning and again before dinner.”

Michael tousled his brother’s hair. “Good job, Ben.”

Ben beamed.

“Lexi called last night. She said she has to work today.” His mother gave him an admonishing look. “She said she’ll drive up in time for Ben’s birthday dinner tonight.”

Michael set a squirming Poppy on the floor. “It’s not my fault she’s working all day. I asked her to take a look at a property I’m interested in, but she didn’t have to do it today.”

“You knew very well she wouldn’t postpone something like that.”

True. Neither would he. He appreciated Lexi’s prompt attention to this, since this latest prospect was the best he’d seen so far. Tonight he would find time to have a private talk with her about checking out the Whiskey Sour—surreptitiously, of course—because he was becoming convinced that he should hold off making an offer on the other location until he’d had dinner with Jess. Her place needed a lot less work and could be open for business much sooner than the dump he’d seen yesterday. That meant he could even sweeten the deal for Jess and it would be a win-win situation for both of them. She’d been pretty adamant about not selling, but money had a way of changing people’s minds.

“You and Lexi are both cursed with the Morgan workaholic gene.”

As far as he was concerned, not putting off till tomorrow what could be done today hardly made him a workaholic, and it sure didn’t seem like a curse. In the eight years since his father had passed away, he had taken Morgan Estate Winery from a small family-owned-and-operated cottage industry to a large, successful company with numerous vineyards throughout the Napa Valley, and now an expanding chain of wine bars in San Francisco.

“What are you and Ginny up to this morning?”

“She’s wrapping up the marketing campaign for the new pinot noir we’re releasing this fall and wants me to take a look at it.”

“Ginny shouldn’t be working at all. It’s only been two months since she was—” His mother paused and glanced at Ben, who was watching television in the family room. “Since she was in the hospital.”

Michael sighed. His sister wasn’t sick, she’d had a miscarriage a month ago and she seemed to be doing fine. “Ginny’s the most conscientious person I know. She wouldn’t be working if her doctor hadn’t green-lighted her.”

“She might be fine physically, but she’s still emotionally vulnerable.”

“Then keeping busy is probably good for her.” He covered one of his mother’s hands with both of his. “It’s what you would do.”

He could tell from her reaction that he was right and she knew it.

“I know you want to protect us and make everything perfect, but we’re all capable, responsible adults.”

She cast another look at Ben, but this time her eyes were filled with love and just a hint of longing for something that would never be.

He knew what she was thinking. All of you except Ben.

He knew she worried about his future, about what would happen to him when the day came that she couldn’t look after him. Michael and his sisters had made a commitment to continue contributing to the trust fund their father had set up for Ben, but that’s not what concerned Sophia Morgan. Since no one knew Ben the way she did, no one could possibly love him as much as she did. Which wasn’t true—Michael and his sisters doted on their little brother, even though they’d never talked about who would look after him if their mother couldn’t. Partly because no one was ready to accept the reality that their mother wasn’t getting any younger and partly because each secretly hoped one of the others would step up and take on the responsibility.

Ben abandoned the television and wandered back to the kitchen.

“Would you like a scone?” Sophia asked.

“Juice.”

“Juice, please.”

Ben gave her an eager nod.

“Can you say it?”

“Yup. Juice puh-leeeeez.”

“Good boy. Sit with Michael and I’ll get it for you.”

Ben settled into the next chair. “Mikey wants juice?”

“No, thanks. I’ll stick with coffee.”

“Don’t like coffee,” Ben said. “Like juice.” As soon as his mother set the glass of orange juice in front of him, he grabbed it and took a gulp. “See? Mustache!” he said, pointing to his upper lip.

Sophia handed him a napkin.

Michael laughed. “I see that.”

“We’ll fix the car?”

“Not today,” Michael reminded him. “I’m going to see Aunt Ginny this morning.”

“Ginny’s baby got lost. Me ’n’ Poppy are looking for it.”

“Are you? Ginny must be happy about that.”

“Yup. Dogs are good at finding people.”

“They sure are.”

“What time did you say you’d be back?” his mother asked. She looked more tired than usual and he wondered if she was feeling all right.

“I should be back here by two o’clock.”

Ben drained his glass and set it on the table with a loud thunk. “Then we’ll fix the car?”

“Not today. But I met a mechanic in the city yesterday, and he’s going to help me find some of the parts we need. As soon as we get those, we’ll fix it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“How about we take Poppy for a walk this afternoon?” He had thought that would free up some of Sophia’s time to work on the birthday dinner preparations, and her look of gratitude told him he was right. He was happy to do that for her, just as he was happy to spend the time with Ben, and it had been months since he’d walked through the vineyard here at the house.

“Go for a walk an’ look for the baby.”

“Good idea.” He could see that his mother was losing patience with Ben’s repeated references to the missing baby, but it was his way of processing information. Sophia had decided it best not to try to explain the miscarriage to him and that had probably been a good idea, but he had overheard her say that Ginny had lost the baby, and he had taken it literally. Ben’s preoccupation with the missing infant would last until something else out of the ordinary captured his attention.

Sophia Morgan’s impatience was uncharacteristic, though, which caused him another little niggle of concern. He and his sisters tended to take her for granted, but she wasn’t getting any younger. If looking after the house and Ben and the dog were becoming too much for her, then they needed to find a solution. Since none of them were in a position to take on the responsibility of caring for Ben, it was time they looked into hiring someone who could. He watched the way his mother efficiently organized baking pans and utensils and the ingredients for Ben’s birthday cake, and dreaded the day he’d have to break that news to her.