Brody - Ellie Masters Page 0,81
pairing them with small quantities of a most exclusive wine.
I secured an exclusivity contract with the organizers of this event. Only wines from Atwood Estates are being served with the food, showcased right beside the most well-known chefs. We approach the first table and Drake Demond smiles as I catch his eye.
“Brody La Rouge.” He steps out from behind the table and spreads his arms wide. There’s no shaking of hands with Drake. He pulls me into a massive bear hug and thumps my back.
I barely have enough time to let go of Grace, lest she get squashed in the jubilant greeting of one of my oldest friends.
“Hey, Drake, so nice to see you.”
“Always good to be seen.” He winks and his attention swivels to Grace, where he takes her in from head to toe. “You must be Grace, the heart and soul of Atwood Estates.” He releases me and takes her hand in his. With over the top flare, he turns her hand around and brushes his lips over the top of her knuckles. “Brody told me you were stunning, and I can see he doesn’t lie. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and your spectacular vintage is making a splash.” His voice lowers at the end as if he’s the caretaker of a great secret.
Grace’s breath catches, but she collects herself. “Thank you for hosting our wine. I’d love to taste your dish.”
That’s all the encouragement Drake needs to launch into his special dish. I lose her for what seems like forever, but really isn’t more than a few minutes. Nevertheless, it’s ten minutes too long. Sharing her with anyone is torture. But I make good use of my time admiring Grace. She’s beautiful, stunning even. The woman is oblivious to what a striking figure she cuts. Her graceful glide draws appreciative gazes from the men in the crowd and inquisitive stares from the ladies as they try to determine how much of a threat Grace may be to their man.
From the way I hover, protecting what’s mine, they get the message Grace isn’t on the prowl. For the first time, in a very long time, the same goes for me.
Grace listens to Drake, rapt with attention, as he describes his award-winning dish. He picks up a bottle of her family’s wine and they discuss how it’s the perfect pairing for his creations. Grace didn’t need all the prepping we did on the drive in. She’s a natural when it comes to her family’s product. Their excited conversation draws a crowd, and it’s not long before I wave over one of Sterling Enterprise's summer interns to cart in more wine.
The whole time, Grace remains alert. She takes in the grandeur of the event with wide-eyes and keeps pressing her hand to her belly. I can tell she’s overwhelmed, but I’m not about to put the brakes on what’s happening.
Drake introduces her to one of his longtime competitors, a friendly rival, at the adjacent table. After a bit of small talk, Drake transfers Grace down the line. A smile tugs at my cheeks as the same scene repeats over and over. I don’t know the chef speaking to her, but they hit it off, talking wine and food pairings. Grace slips in some of the keywords I prompted her to say, but otherwise, shines all on her own.
That chef introduces her to the next in line, and over the course of an hour, we slowly make our way around the entire ballroom.
“How are you doing?” I pull her back to me, checking in.
“This place—wow—it’s spectacular. And the chefs seem to really love our wine.”
“Did you have any doubt?”
“I always have doubts.” She lifts up and places a soft kiss to my cheek. “Thank you for this. I’m almost out of business cards.”
“I’m surprised you have any left. They seem to be flying like hotcakes.”
“The chefs seem excited to add it as a specialty pairing to their menu items. I already have meetings with four of them to discuss it more in-depth.” Her eyes glisten with tears. “This never would’ve happened without you.”
The soft orchestral background music changes as the evening wears on. Couples gravitate toward the front of the ballroom where the dance floor sits.
“Come.” I stretch out my hand and wait for Grace to take it. Without asking why, she takes my hand, displaying a level of trust which hits me on a gut level.
I draw her toward the dancers. The crowd tonight is a bit on the