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“Chateau Delatou Pinot Grigio,” she answered, tipping her head to the side to give me better access. “It’s my family’s.”
All the blood drained from my head—no, my body—in an instant, and I stilled.
I pulled away and scrutinized her face. “Your family’s?”
“Yeah,” she said, leaning in to press a kiss to the hollow of my throat. “Like…we own that winery.”
“Amara Delatou,” I said suddenly, the inkling I’d had earlier when she introduced herself fully forming in my mind, and she raised her head to look at me.
“That’s me,” she said, dipping to lave her tongue against my throat.
Before her mouth could land on my skin, before she could further distract me with her…everything, I gripped her upper arms and held her away from me.
“The job I just got,” I croaked. “I’m your new CFO.”
Amara’s eyes widened so much it would’ve been comical under other circumstances.
For a painfully long time, we simply stared at each other, considering next steps.
During my interview, I wasn’t only terrified of Leon Delatou because his classic Greek features made him sharp and intimidating, like a statue you shouldn’t get too close to, or because he was a shrewd businessman who had successfully been running Chateau Delatou since he was in his mid-twenties. No, the thing that terrified me the most were his parting words.
“And Mr. Ryder?” he said as my hand landed on the door knob, readying to leave.
“Yes, sir?”
“I only have one rule: stay the fuck away from my daughters.”
And here I was…getting ready to fuck one of his daughters.
“You have to go.”
“What?” Amara asked, wrenching free from my grasp and stepping back in a move so smooth I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she’d perfected it in some sort of self-defense class. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t do this,” I said, pushing away from the wall and past her into the open living room, giving myself some space to breathe, to quell the panic rising like high tide in my chest.
“Do what?” she asked. “Kiss me? Fuck me? I’m not a virgin if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“I’m not worried about that,” I said, not turning to her but not moving away when she settled a hand in the center of my back. “I’m worried about your dad.”
“My dad is harmless. Plus I’m twenty-three. I make my own decisions.”
Twenty-three. She’d said as much earlier, but it was only now sinking in. Five years and practically a lifetime of experience separated us. For all intents and purposes, she was still a child.
“To you, maybe,” I said, finally spinning to look at her. “But as of today, he signs my paychecks. And you’re so young.”
“I’m not that young.”
“Younger than me,” I countered. “And no offense, but I’m not about to risk my career for some fucking”—I mentally grasped at straws, searching for something to say that would send her running. If she hated me, it would make things so much easier, because I wasn’t sure I had the strength to push her away myself—“party princess one-night stand, no matter how hot you are.”
“Party princess?” she spat, and I had a feeling it wasn’t the first time she’d been referred to as such. “One night stand? Is that what this is now? Because earlier, I distinctly remember you telling me how unexpected I was, and how you wanted to spend hours talking to me.” She snorted a derisive laugh and turned away from me, taking heavy, angry steps toward the door. “You know what, Cal? Fuck you. If you see me at the offices—no you didn’t. Never speak to me again.”
I let her go, though I still stepped up to the window and watched her stalk down the street back in the direction of the bar. I knew I should go after her, should placate her, find some way to smooth this whole thing over before it became a bigger deal than it needed to be.
Instead, I locked my door, crawled into bed, and prayed I’d still have a job on Monday morning.
I’d done and seena lot I didn’t agree with in my nearly five years as the CFO at Delatou, Inc., but standing by while my boss handed over the company to his incredibly incompetent daughter was proving to be the most difficult to swallow.
Since the night I’d met Amara Delatou, I’d done my best to ignore the attraction between us. Thankfully, she made it easy. That first night, I’d called her a “party princess” as a joke, a way to show her how little she meant to me compared to my shiny new job. Since then, she’d managed to live up to the moniker in the most obnoxious of ways.
