Kissing Under the Mistletoe - By Marina Adair Page 0,6
handed it to Regan. “Here, drink this and everything won’t seem so overwhelming.”
“Really?” Regan took a gulp. She didn’t feel any different unless you counted the peppery zing, which woke up her taste buds and tickled her nose.
“No, not really, but it takes the edge off. A few of these and everyone will start to resemble famous people. Or past lovers.”
Regan felt eyes burn through the back of her dress, caress their way down the length of her, and settle on her hips. Twisting her body slightly, she looked over one shoulder.
She couldn’t tell the shape of his lips, the color of his eyes, or even who he was—the distance was too far and her last job hadn’t included eye care in the benefits package. But her nipples apparently had twenty-twenty, because they went into full party mode.
The man shifted slightly, as if he, too, was ready to party. That was a bad sign. Because men did not—repeat, did not—fit into her five-year plan. There was Holly, her career, and creating a home. Period. None of those included the penis-carrying members of society.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t add him to her dream bank, though.
“Quite a sight to behold, isn’t he, dear,” said a woman who looked so regal she could give Queen Elizabeth a run for her money. Her accentuation of the hard consonants and rolling of the vowels screamed Italian origins—as in Italy, not the local pizzeria. The nonchalant way she wore her vintage Armani advertised that she came from old money.
“Excuse me?” Regan asked, but it came out more an apology than a question.
“The gentleman that you are currently ogling,” the woman clarified, her eyes resting proudly on the man in question. “My grandson.”
Regan opened her mouth and stopped. Caught sizing up anyone, let alone someone’s grandson...talk about embarrassing. Should she apologize, deny, or perhaps qualify? Denying would cost her a quarter, qualifying would be even more embarrassing and cause her to say something that would no doubt cost her multiple quarters. Apology it was, then.
“Oh, stop gulping, dear. He’s quite a specimen—takes after my side of the family. With three brothers equally as stunning, I’ve gotten used to women gaping at them in front of me.” Her hands made a wide gesture, encompassing every woman in the room. “He’s a bit too stubborn and way too responsible for his own good, but he has potential. A lovely choice on your part.”
“What most people miss,” Jordan jumped in with a smile that came from speaking of someone you admired and loved, “is that behind that impressive portfolio is an honorable and generous man.” She leaned in and whispered, “With the most impressive package. I mean, look at him. Hands down, best ass in the Valley. If I hadn’t played ballerinas with him as a kid, I would toss him in the nearest stall.”
Regan turned for a better view of the man’s impressive package. But he was gone.
“When Steve left me, I was a wreck. No marketable skills other than managing a house and playing hostess. He took me on as his assistant and—” Jordan paused, collecting herself.
Assistant? As far as Regan knew, Jordan was managing director of Ryo, which, according to Regan’s research, was a female-owned-and-operated company.
Before she could question the information, or the identity of the mysterious man, Jordan spoke. “Let’s just say he made me and Ava feel like part of the family.”
“Well, since I don’t have his naked baby pictures on me to complete this touching moment, why don’t you tell me who this lovely child is?” the older woman said.
“Oh.” Jordan shrugged, totally unfazed by her lapse in etiquette. “This is Regan Martin, marketing guru and appointed savior for Ryo Wines. Regan, this is Chiara Amalia Giovanna Ryo, founder and president of Ryo.”
“You can call me ChiChi, dear.” The older woman extended her arm like royalty. Regan didn’t know whether to shake it or kiss it. She settled on a shake.
“As soon as I phase myself out of the day-to-day operations at Ryo, you will report directly to ChiChi,” Jordan explained.
During the phone interview, Jordan had explained that she’d been brought on to hire staff and set up operations for the winery. Once the company found its footing, she would take on a smaller role, leaving Regan with plenty of opportunity for lateral growth. It was another aspect that had attracted Regan to the position.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Regan said, still pumping the woman’s hand.