Monica Murphy - Savor

And he did.

Not only did he give us all the back pay that our former employer cheated us out of when the last few paychecks started bouncing, he gave all employees of the Chandler Winery, now under the name DeLuca, a raise and then asked if we wouldn’t mind working a bit of overtime the next few months in preparation for the winery’s reopening.

He didn’t have to ask any of us twice. We were more than willing to do whatever it took to make our new boss happy. And to put more money in our pockets.

Not only did Matt save my life, he was also a good boss. Fair, intelligent, generous, he pushed me hard to want to perform at the best of my ability. And he didn’t try and chase me around his desk so he could steal a kiss.

Though I wish sometimes he would.

“Miss James, could you prepare an updated list of who will be attending next week’s party?”

Matt’s crisp, business-like tone shakes me from my thoughts, and I glance up to find him standing in front of my desk, a concerned expression etched into his features. His brow is wrinkled, his head tilted to the side, as if he’s trying to figure out exactly what’s wrong with me.

Certainly can’t tell him that he’s what’s wrong with me, now can I?

“Yes sir.” I give him a close-lipped smile, my new standard since my old one was bright and toothy and caused way too many problems. Gave men the wrong impression.

“You have plans to attend, correct?” One dark brow rises as he waits for my answer.

My mouth goes dry, I lick my lips, and notice the way his gaze falls to my mouth for the briefest moment before he looks me in the eye once more. “Correct,” I say, mimicking him. I need to be there to make sure everything goes well. Even though I’m beyond intimidated to even show up.

What if . . . what if he brings a date? I’ll be devastated. I’ll have to pretend everything’s fine and carry on with my job, but inside, I’ll die a little.

Which is dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

“Good.” He nods once. “I need you there.”

“I’ll be there,” I say weakly, thankful I’m sitting down since my knees feel a little wobbly. Heaven help me, I like the fact that he said he needs me there.

That he needs me.

“Thank you.” Matt nods once and heads toward the doorway that leads outside. “I’ll be out in the orchard. Text me if you need me.”

“Will do. And have fun,” I call to him, my gaze dropping to his jean-clad backside. He’d dressed casually from the very start, considering he spent much of his time out in the vineyards, learning what it took to produce a quality grape that would, in turn, produce a quality wine. He wears jeans and button-down shirts that he often rolls up to the elbow, revealing those strong, tanned forearms that make my mouth water.

On occasion, he shows up in a suit. Usually when he has a meeting at the office with someone important. An investor, a wholesaler, and the like. Those days are the worst. My concentration is shot. The man can fill out a suit like no other. Those wide shoulders and broad chest, the dark hair that’s a little longish in the back—a throwback to his baseball playing days, I swear. His thick, brown hair waves at the ends in the most appealing way. As in, always making my fingers itch to comb through it.

I barely restrain myself. The man is like a drug, and I’m hopelessly addicted. Not only hopelessly, I’m happily addicted. It’s ridiculous, how much I think about him.

But he doesn’t seem to think about me whatsoever.

My cell phone rings, and I see that it’s Ivy, so I answer. I don’t like taking personal calls at work. Not that Matt’s ever said anything, but it doesn’t feel right.

And not that I get a bunch of personal calls. I don’t have a lot of friends since I’m still relatively new to the area. I don’t have a boyfriend because men are nothing but trouble, and my grandma certainly never calls me. She acts like I don’t even exist most of the time.

“You must come shopping with me this Saturday,” she declares when I answer.

Dread sinks my stomach to my toes. I wanted to. I let her talk me into it. But the more I’ve thought it over, the more I’ve realized I can’t afford the places she shops at. She’s loaded. I am definitely not. “Ivy, I appreciate you wanting to take me out, but I really can’t spend too much money on the dress,” I explain to her turning my chair, so I can stare out the window that faces the nearby vineyards.

I can see Matt out there, talking to the field manager, his hair gleaming in the sunlight, his white button-down stretched across his shoulders in the most appealing manner. “I’m going to hit up Ross or someplace,” I go on. “That’s more the price range I’m looking at for this.”

“You are so not going to Ross.” Ivy sighs, sounding completely bent out of shape. “I have a plan and you’re a part of it so you must come shopping with me. And I’m bringing a friend. You’ll adore her. She’s my brother’s girlfriend and she’s a total sweetheart.”

Great. I know Ivy’s brother Gage Emerson is a high-powered real estate hotshot who helped Matt find the winery in the first place. He’s rich and gorgeous. Just like Matt. Just like Ivy’s fiancé, Archer Bancroft.

And then there’s me, little ol’ Bryn James from Cactus, Texas who grew up in a doublewide and was dirt-poor my entire life. I shed my skin like the snakes that lived beneath our mobile home and started a new life. Here, in California, the Golden State.

Some of the gold’s become tarnished since I got here but it’s nothing a little polish can’t fix.

“Sounds—”

“Like your worst nightmare?” Ivy laughs while I sit there in shock. How did she know? “I like you, Bryn. A lot. And I think you like me too.”

“I do,” I say automatically, sounding like a robot.

Ivy laughs harder. “You just need to . . . loosen up. You’re too uptight. Do you have any friends? A boyfriend? Do you ever wear a color besides brown or tan?”

“Hey.” My feelings are hurt even though all Ivy’s saying is the truth. “I bought those bright tops at the Gap last month on your recommendation.”

“I know. And I’m proud of you for making the effort. But you need more color, Bryn. You’re so pretty—and don’t deny that you are because trust me, you so are. Let’s do your hair or take you for a makeover or something.” Ivy pauses. “Please? It’ll be my treat.”

“No way. Uh-uh. I don’t want your charity.” I turn away from the window and focus on my computer screen, my vision going blurry. Usually when someone wants to do something nice for you, they always expect something in return.

At least, that’s what always happens to me.

“It’s not charity, I promise. I just . . . I’ll explain everything to you on Saturday. We could all meet for lunch, I’ll tell you everything, and then we’ll shop around downtown. How does that sound?”

Like a nightmare. Like a handout. I should say no. I don’t want to feel beholden to anyone. Bad enough I feel that way toward my boss. I owe him so much and he hasn’t a clue.

I don’t want Ivy to feel like she has to take care of me either. So embarrassing.

“Just say yes, Bryn. Come on.” Ivy’s tone is cajoling, and I give in because I’m a weak suck, and I can’t help myself.

“Fine. I’ll do it. But I have final say on everything, okay? All the shopping options and whatnot,” I tell her, my voice firm.

“Yay! You won’t regret this, I swear.” I can literally hear the excitement in her voice. Maybe this shopping excursion means more to her than I originally thought. “Oh, and Bryn?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell Matt about this shopping trip okay?”

“Oookay.”

Well.

That was weird.

Bryn

WE MEET FOR lunch at Ivy’s friend’s place of business in downtown St. Helena. The Autumn Harvest Bakery and Café is super cute and super popular, if the crowds of people in line to purchase sandwiches, baked goods, and coffee drinks are any indication. The moment I walked in I wondered if we’d be able to find somewhere to sit.

Until I noticed a pregnant Ivy waving frantically from a table on the far side of the café and relief flooded me.

I wind my way through the crowded restaurant, my gaze going to the menu, which is written in chalk on a giant blackboard hanging above the counter. The soup and sandwich options sound amazing and my stomach growls in anticipation.

Yikes. Hope that doesn’t happen when I meet Ivy’s friend. Talk about making a tacky first impression.

“Bryn! So good to see you.” Ivy hops up from the table and envelops me in a hug like I’m her long-lost friend. I return the gesture, oddly touched by her affection since I never really get that sort of thing anymore.

I withdraw from Ivy first and smile at the woman who’s now standing next to her. She’s young, with long blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and cool, assessing blue eyes. “This is my friend Marina Knight,” Ivy says, gesturing at Marina with a wave of her hand. “She’s the owner of Autumn Harvest and my future sister-in-law.”

“Stop, please.” Marina rolls her eyes. “Your brother hasn’t made it official yet.”

“Trust me, he will.” Ivy laughs. “Marina, this is Bryn James. She’s Matt’s assistant.”

“Oooh.” That long, dragged out sound is telling. “I’ve heard lots about you.” I both dread and long to know what they’ve said.

“Nice to meet you,” I tell Marina as I shake her hand. All formal and business-like, I sound good. Calm and collected when usually this type of stressful situation tends to bring my Texan out.

It took me over a year to learn how to talk without all those twangs and y’alls but it sure doesn’t take much for me to slip right back into it if I don’t watch out.