“Fine. But listen, it’s not just me who is unhappy with the truce. The families in Italy are livid. You have to get this right, Candi, or there will be consequences.”
My pulse quickens. It’s not a threat against me, personally, but I feel like it is.
“I’ll work harder,” I insist. “I promise. I’m pulling up to the house now. Talk soon.”
There’s no time for me to gather myself as I pull into the parking area by the winery offices, but I take a deep breath and try to shake off the sense of foreboding as best I can. Something is off, and I can’t pinpoint what it is.
Not that I’m going to let it slow me down. I have a job to do.
Quickly, I check my makeup in the flip-down mirror on the sun visor and make sure that my lipstick isn’t smudged and that every last eyelash is perfectly in place. I didn’t get as far with the Bellantis as I have by acting casual. I was taught exactly how to put myself together to blend into their world. Professional enough to be trusted. Warm and personable enough to be invited back. Efficient and successful enough to be kept on staff as one of their top regional sales reps.
I’ve busted my ass to secure a position for myself here, and I intend to keep it.
After I graduated with my business degree, I initially worked in acquisitions for national wine and spirits distributors like Wine Garden and MoBev—big chain wholesalers looking to stock the best Napa-area wines. It gave me the perfect in to all the wineries in Nor Cal, and I made a lot of great relationships in the beverage alcohol industry.
But then, Armani Bellanti made me an offer I couldn’t refuse: to switch teams and become a sales rep for Bellanti Vineyards (aka wine pimp). The bonuses and commissions that he offered were much more generous than what I’d been making at my day job; I said yes in a heartbeat. Now I work full time for the Bellantis and part time for a few other wineries, with very few days off in between. I probably sound like a workaholic, but the truth is, I’m good at my job and I like it.
It wasn’t just the money that lured me here, though. Bellanti Vineyards is run by Armani and his brothers, Dante and Marco…but there’s only one of them that I’m interested in. And he just so happens to like this shade of lipstick on me the best. Armani stands closer to me when I wear it. Talks a little longer. Drops his gaze to my mouth. I own three tubes of this color, just for him. A little insurance that I don’t run out.
Speak of the devil.
I flip my mirror back up and my chest squeezes as I spy Armani exit the building and stroll under the trees. He’s checking his phone and doesn’t see me duck out of my car and head toward the winery offices. He’s right in my way, so I’ll have to pass him to get inside. Lucky me.
I toss my head a little as I walk, lifting my chin and straightening my back. I can’t help peacocking whenever he’s around.
The man could be a Roman god, a classically sculpted statue of male perfection. He’s icily gorgeous, always taking in everything around him with sharp eyes, his face revealing nothing about what’s going on inside his head.
Which is probably a good thing. Armani might be incredible to look at, but he’s a dangerous man. Far more ruthless than his brothers, and yet…he intrigues me. Turns me on so hard, I have a difficult time being in his company sometimes. I want him in a way I’ve never wanted anyone, and it kills me that I can’t let him know.
Our relationship is strictly professional with a sprinkle of harmless, superficial flirting tossed in to keep things interesting. At least, I think it’s superficial. He’s so difficult to read, I can never quite tell. Not that I’ve ever come out and admitted my attraction to him, either.
Drinking him in as I clip down the paving stones toward the offices, I look away at exactly the moment he notices me. Glancing at the phone in my hand, I pretend not to realize that he’s there, but then I look up and act surprised.
“Oh! Armani. Good morning,” I say brightly.
His gaze sweeps me up and down as he puts his phone away. I don’t miss how he looks hungrily at my lips before he meets my eyes.
Boom.
If I weren’t so good at this game, I might smile in self-satisfaction that my lipstick choice paid off, but I’m a professional girl. Still, his obvious appreciation is good for my ego.
We’ve been doing this little dance since the first time I set foot on Bellanti property, when he strolled up to introduce himself at the front desk when I was checking in for my meeting with Dante. Armani is interested. Has been since day one. And it’s mutual.
But he’s never made a real move, and I’m not sure why. Not that I have, either. At first because I didn’t want to mix business with pleasure, and now…I guess it’s a combination of both force of habit and the fact that I have to maintain a certain level of distance from all of the Bellantis. I can’t jeopardize my cover.
Armani moves toward me now, walking in step with me so we’re elbow to elbow. It throws me off. He’s never done this before.
Trying to appear unfazed, I flash him a grin and don’t miss a beat as I reach for the wrought iron door pull. But he intercepts me, tugging the heavy door open and holding it for me.
“After you,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, purposely brushing against him as I step into the lobby.
“Are you here to see me?” he asks, at my side once again.
Yes and no. I have distribution agreement paperwork for one of the Bellantis to sign. Any of the brothers can do it. But I’m not here just for that. I need information, too, and since Armani is the only Bellanti around at the moment, he’ll have to do.
“I might be,” I say coyly. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Napa’s newest event venue, Winston Hills? It’s the refurbished stone barn that’s been all over social media and in the local news for the past few months.”
