like she was more adept at navigating a pole than a spreadsheet, made her way past the hotel and toward them. Even though she was dressed in the standard Napa Grand uniform of a black skirt and fitted blazer, in the sunlight, seeing her through Lexi’s eyes, suddenly there was nothing standard about the way it fit.
“Hey, Chrissi,” Marc said. “Have you met Pricilla’s granddaughter? Lexi, this is Chrissi.”
“Ohmigod,” Chrissi squealed. “I love her chocolate croissants. The ones with the tiny pieces of sea salt sprinkled on the top. Yummy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Christie,” Lexi said.
“Chrissi, with an i,” she corrected, and Marc felt his left eyelid twitch.
“My apologies,” Lexi said, sliding him an amused glance.
Chrissi blinked up at Marc with her big eyes, and her even bigger breasts strained against her blazer. “I’ve been trying to find you. Gabe called, something about a missing case of wine. And I ordered lunch. Your favorite. It’s getting cold.”
“Well, then, I won’t keep you,” Lexi said, giving his arm a little pat. “It was nice to meet you, Chrissi.”
Marc watched her walk off, knowing what she was thinking, knowing that she was wrong, and hating that he cared.
Thanking Chrissi for lunch and apologizing that he would be out of the office the rest of the day, he took off after Lexi.
“I still have your kumquats,” he shouted.
Lexi stopped under the red-and-white-striped awning of the patisserie. When he caught up, he said, “And you stole my lunch.”
“Actually, I left so that you could get to your lunch.”
Marc looked up at the sky and counted to ten, letting her words settle. Surprised by how much they rubbed him the wrong way, he actually had to go up to fifteen. “It’s not what you think.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” Marc kicked at the ground, irritated that he was irritated.
“I get it, remember?” she said softly. “I’m the one who breaks up with girls for you. As long as she’s a consenting adult, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
Exactly. So why did he want to so badly?
“For the record, Chrissi is my assistant. She holds a double degree in marketing and hospitality management. And although she’s a little flighty and way too perky—”
He stopped when Lexi snorted at his word choice.
“Sorry, go on.” She placed a hand over her mouth, but he could still see her eyes glistening with humor.
“She’s bilingual, great with customers, and was hired by my sister-in-law.”
With that, Marc spun on his heel, took two steps, and stopped. Yeah, it looked bad; he got it. And it sucked. So he stalked back. “And I don’t sleep with my staff. Ever.”
And he stormed off for the second time. Only this time he didn’t make it more than a step when he felt her hand on his arm—again. And this time he couldn’t ignore that some serious sparks of lust shot straight down to his groin at the simple contact. “I never thought you would.”
Then why did he feel like he was lacking?
He released a breath and faced her. “People change, Lexi.”
“Okay,” she said, her expression soft and genuine, which pissed him off even more.
Because it wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. He’d never felt the need to give an explanation before. Not even to his brothers. So why was he chasing her through town to give one? Now that Lexi was back in St. Helena, something had changed, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Hell, he wasn’t sure how he felt about anything.
With a soft smile, she held out her hand. “You still have my kumquats.”
He handed them over. “You’re not going to come with me, are you?”
“I promised the grannies. And even though it would be fun to ride around like old times, the longer I avoid…” She stared at him a moment. A long moment, before finally shaking her head. “Maybe another time.”
“What if I told you that there is no lunch with the grannies? That this is a setup for your Mr. Tuesday Lunch?”
“What?” Lexi made her way to the window and cautiously peeked in. He knew what she would see. Jay Sanders, a decent-enough-looking middle-school history teacher. He would be nice and charming and laugh at her jokes. He’d stick to bland crap like kids and travel and his favorite movies. And he’d be a safe bet.
“There was no Mr. Tuesday Lunch. How did you know?”
Marc came up beside her. “Pricilla runs a blog with everyone’s days on it. Bios. Everything but their