Page 5 of Talk Vino To Me
“You flirt as easily as you breathe, don’t you?”
I don’t bother to answer. I simply open the door, inviting her in. She tips her head, giving me the barest nod before she goes inside. Did I think she was a princess before? Her gesture is pure queenliness.
“There’s a guitar under the bed, if you’re so inclined,” I say. “The bath is the second door over there, and should have everything you need. Let the housekeeper know if something’s missing. I’m gonna go write some music.”
“Thank you.” Her voice is tentative. Like she’s not sure how long my good mood will last.”
“Ms. Green —”
“Dez.”
“For the record, Dez,” I roll her name around in my mouth, tasting the single syllable like it’s one of my wines, “I do understand why you’re here.”
It’s true. Despite what I said to her outside, I know the Connor Group is taking a chance on me. I need them to help me get back in the game. If that means accepting the leash they want to put on me — and the trainer they’ve sent to tame me — then call me Lassie.
“Thank you. I hope we can make some good progress together.”
“Looking forward to it.” I hold up a finger. “I do have one stipulation, however.”
“Which is?”
“I’m going to need you not to fall in love with me. I’d like to keep things strictly professional between us.”
The range of emotion that crosses her face is a thing of beauty. Outrage, annoyance, amusement, and a host of other things flash by in milliseconds without so much as a word coming from her lips.
“I’m certain that won’t be a problem.”
“Are you?”
She stalks toward me, slowly, with intent. Before I know it, she’s got me backed up against a wall and is much, much too close to me for anything professional to happen. I find myself swallowing hard and staring down into the depths of her dark eyes.
“Let me be clear, Mr. Worthington-Jones,” she whispers in the vicinity of my ear. My cock leaps to attention at the brush of her words against my ear.
“Negging doesn’t work on me. I’ve played this game before, and I have never, ever lost. Now let’s get to work.”
Dez
THREE WEEKS LATER
When I was a kid, I was obsessed with horses. I wore out my copy of the horse care manual, I watched Black Beauty a million times, and I decorated every wall of my room with horse posters. My obsession was so intense, and I loved them so much, I told everyone I knew that I wanted to be a veterinarian, just so I could take care of them.
Then came the summer that my mom scrimped and saved, all so she could sign me up for horse riding camp. Two weeks of lessons and rides and mucking stalls and learning to shoe them... everything I’d been dreaming of for a year. I told all my friends about it for months. I couldn’t wait to go.
And then the day arrived, where all of my theoretical knowledge bumped up against the experience of real, live, terrifyingly massive horses.
I didn’t even make it through the first day.
Sitting here in Ian’s tasting room, practicing one of the scenarios in the Connor Group’s customer service training manual, feels a lot like that first day of camp. Nothing in their theory can stand up to the onslaught of intensity that is Ian Worthington-Jones.
“Let’s try it again, shall we?” I straighten my spine and force calm into my voice. He will not win this round. I won’t let him.
“I thought it went well that time, didn’t you?” Ian’s eyes are sparkling and the corner of his mouth quirks up despite his best attempt at hiding it. He’s messing with me. I know it. He knows I know it. But he’s determined to keep it up.
“Mr. Worthington-Jones, generally speaking, it is not advisable to refer to any of your customers as a charlatan or a wanker.” I give him a smile that shows all my teeth.
“Oh, come on. I gave him his money back, too. That must earn me some leeway.”
“Not even then, I’m afraid.”