Cupcakes & Chardonnay (2 page)

"Ugh," she said out loud, thinking of the hassle of canceling on Daryle. Daryle came from a wealthy family and he was used to getting his own way. His grandfather had made the family fortune manufacturing some obscure
piece of machinery. His mother had invested her inheritance in a failing Napa vineyard back in the early seventies and turned the enterprise around. Suzanne couldn't imagine what that might be worth now. The real estate alone must represent a bloody fortune.

She was still pondering Daryle's immense trust fund when a sleek charcoal grey sports car pulled up next to the curb. She ignored it. Expensive luxury cars were a dime a dozen in San Francisco, especially since the dot-com boom. You couldn't throw a rock without hitting a Yahoo millionaire ... or a Google gazillionaire.

"You should nab yourself one of those guys," Brent liked to tease her, only half in jest. Suzanne wasn't interested. Daryle had been her little experiment in the lifestyles of the rich and famous. It had been fun, sure ... for awhile, anyway. Spur-of-the-moment trips to Paris and Hawaii with no thought to the expense? Meals in the newest, trendiest restaurants before mere mortals could even think about getting a reservation? What woman wouldn't enjoy that?

But she'd also found it incredibly frustrating. Daryle was the most unfocused person she'd ever met. He slept in until noon, stayed out late partying, spent his days doing whatever. He didn't have to work and so he didn't. Sometimes he simply bought new clothes instead of doing laundry! Face it, the guy was plain lazy. And Suzanne just hadn't been able to live with that. She preferred people with direction.

The passenger-side window on the grey car rolled down and the door opened outward. "Suzie Q?"

Suzanne's heart dropped into the pit of her stomach when the car pulled up to a gracious old stone mansion. She had never been to this restaurant but she had heard plenty about it. Brent talked about it all the time. Tucked away in a quiet residential neighborhood near the ocean, it was called simply "The House" and was very small and very private. Every party, whether one diner or twenty, got their own room in the mansion.

Suzanne was furious. In a city like San Francisco, there was no shortage of truly excellent casual places to eat. They could have walked to a dozen of them from The Cupcakery, places where no one would even notice her jeans and sweater. But no. Daryle had to choose one of the least casual restaurants in the entire city.

A tall young man dressed in a sharply pressed suit l
eaned down and opened the car door. He extended his hand to help her to her feet. At the same time, another young man opened the door on Daryle's side. She fumed as she followed Daryle up the wide stone steps to the entrance, a heavy dark wooden door. This was just like Daryle, she thought, no regard for anyone else. No thought to how she might feel having to walk into a fancy restaurant dressed like a college student.

The heavy wooden door opened just as they reached the top step. "Mr. Catterton, a pleasure to see you again," the maitre'd said and ushered them inside. He looked over Suzanne with a straight, neutral face but she could see in his eyes that
he had registered her outfit.

As she followed the maitre'd down a long hallway, she discreetly glanced into the other dining rooms. The men were all in suits. The women wore either suits or dresses.  In her jeans and sweater, she was underdressed by at least a factor of ten. Maybe twenty. It was a wonder they even let her in. Daryle, of course, was still wearing the grey suit he'd had on earlier. If she'd been dressed for it, she would have loved to eat here. Her fingers were itching to text Brent and tell him where she was. But then, of course, she'd have to explain why she was there. And at the moment, she wasn't entirely sure what she
was
doing there. The only thing she was certain of was that she was dreading the evening and wishing she could turn around and run right back out the door. She'd have given it a try, too, if Daryle hadn't been right behind her.

 
The maitre'd led them to a small, private dining room in which there was only one small round table and two plush, velvet-covered chairs. Oil paintings hung on the walls and the sconces were dimmed to a rosy glow. With the right person, it would have been very romantic. Suzanne rolled her eyes.

The maitre'd pulled out a chair for her. Daryle removed hi
s jacket, then seated himself.

"The fumé blanc, sir?" the maitre'd asked Daryle.

Daryle nodded. "Thank you, Christopher."

When the maitre'd left, Suzanne said, "This is your idea of casual?"

Daryle took a deep breath. "Okay, so it's not casual. But we are seated in a private room. No one can see you. Did you see anyone you know out there?"

Suzanne shook her head.

"Then why do you care? This restaurant is a good customer of the winery. I like to eat at our customers' restaurants so I can keep track of any menu changes. It allows me to suggest new wines for them."

"It almost sounds like you're ... working."

"Yes, I am, thank you very much. Two and a half years ago, my mother expanded Iris Vineyards. We are now a full winery. We make our own wines instead of just selling the vineyard's grapes to other winemakers."

As if on cue, a waiter with stiff, ramrod straight posture returned with the bottle of wine Daryle had requested. Daryle waved off the waiter, saying, "I'll pour." He held it up so Suzanne could see the purple and blue Iris Vineyards label.

She watched his long, slender fingers deftly uncork the bottle and pour the golden liquid into her glass. "Taste it," he commanded. "What do you think?"

She took a sip, letting the wine's changing flavors wash over her tongue. "It's good," she said. "Very good." She felt a twinge of guilt at her snideness of a moment ago. If Daryle was working—finally—that was a good thing. Not that he needed to work, financially, but Suzanne was of the mind that work was good for people. It was good to be a productive, contributing member of society. She took another sip of wine and smiled at Daryle. "You l
ook nice in that suit, by the way. Respectable."

He smiled back. Actually, he was looking much more than respectable, she had to admit. There was a subtle pinstripe in the wool of his suit, a detail she hadn't noticed earlier in her shop, and his red tie had been loosened slightly around the collar of his crisp white shirt. She couldn't think of an occasion when she'd seen Daryle dressed in a suit and tie. He cleaned up nicely, she thought. He looked older than when she had last seen him, but not in a bad way. His father had passed away some years ago, but Suzanne had seen photographs of him. He'd been a handsome man all the way into his sixties. At 35, it looked as though Daryle would age similarly well.

By the second glass of wine, Suzanne was feeling relaxed and warm. The stress of her day began to feel like a distant memory. She let Daryle do all the talking, which he was apparently happy to do. He went on and on about Iris Vineyards and the changes they'd been making. A crusher, steel tanks, a laboratory, tasting room ... She watched him talk more than she listened, watched how animated his face was, how surprised he seemed at times by what he was telling her, as if he almost couldn't believe it himself.

Their entrees arrived. Monkfish and pearl risotto for him. Shrimp and angel hair pasta for her. The food countered the wine in her stomach and re-sharpened her mind. She began to remember why she was there in the first place. Coffee arrived and it took just one sip to clear the remaining wine fog from her brain.

"So ... this proposal you have for me. Are you looking for investors for Iris Vineyards? Because The Cupcakery is not quite that successful yet."

Well, I can't avoid this any longer. I hope I can talk her into this.

"My mother is ill," he began.

A look of concern creased her forehead. "I'm sorry to hear that, Daryle."

"Terminally ill. She's not expected to live more than another year or so. My sister is not interested in running Iris Vineyards. Her art career is going well, she wants to stay in New York and so on and so forth. I, on the other hand, do want to run the vineyard."

"You seem taken with it," she murmured neutrally
.

"But here's the rub. My mother has said she will not leave Iris Vineyards to me unless I marry. More specifically, she won't leave it to me unless I marry you."

He watched her cautiously, wary of her reaction. He saw a flurry of emotions he couldn't identify skitter around her face until, finally, the one she settled on was amusement. She laughed. "Why me?"

"Of all my girlfriends, you are the one she liked most."

"But she barely knows me. We only met once."

"I think she likes you because you dumped me. You obviously weren't dating me
because of the family money."

"Because I broke up with you she wants me to marry you? That has to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." She shook her head. "And what earthly reason would I have for agreeing to such a thing?" 

He was quiet for a moment. "There is something in it for you, as well."

She looked up at him, one eyebrow lifted in question.

"Two million dollars. Stay married to me until my mother passes away and you get two million. No strings attached. I pay for the divorce."

She gasped. The amusement in her eyes was gone now, he saw, and replaced with a look of shock.

"You have got to be kidding," she said through clenched teeth. She set her coffee cup down so hard, the coffee sloshed up and over the rim, spilling on the pristine white tablecloth. "Damn."

He reached over and dabbed at the spill with his napkin. "I'm not," he said. "Kidding, that is. I'm perfectly serious. I mean, think about it for a minute, Suzanne. What could you do with two million dollars?" He put down the soaked napkin and touched her wrist. "Expand your business? Hire more staff? Buy a home? I know you're still renting that same place."

She pulled her hand away from his, as if she'd been burned. The heat from his hand had gone straight up her arm and into her chest. The sensation unnerved her, as did his dark eyes staring right into hers. She and Daryle had always had chemistry to spare, but chemistry was not what the present situation called for, she thought ruefully.

"I am completely serious, darling," he said. "Don't tell me you couldn't find a use for that kind of money."

Her mind was flooded with all the things she could, in fact, do with that kind of money even as she tried to force those ideas from her head. She had started The Cupcakery with the small amount of money her mother had left her when she died. Fortunately, the business had been quickly profitable, but it was still a struggle. Corporate and party orders were stretching her staff thin and the shop's little kitchen wasn't really big enough to handle both the daily shop sales and catering. A larger kitchen just for catering orders would allow her to expand that side of the business. And customers were always asking when she was going to open a location in their neighborhood. She knew she would do well in Noe Valley, Berkeley, Marin, downtown ...

He could see her weighing the possibilities. That was a good sign. He didn't really know the state of her business but he was guessing she struggled like most small businesses did. And he knew she wasn't an extravagant person. She was careful and cautious when it came to money. She probably wasn't spending money she didn't already have in the bank.

Another thought pushed its way into his mind. God, she was beautiful. Even when she was serious and thinking hard, as she was at that moment, she had an easy, effortless beauty. Not like the women he usually dated, who worked hard on their looks, too hard sometimes. Suzanne was the most naturally beautiful woman he'd ever gone out with. She didn't need makeup. Or to inject chemicals into her face. Or tight dresses and four-inch heels. She woke up beautiful. He knew that from personal experience. And she would absolutely kill him if she ever learned this, but sometimes when he was in bed with another woman, he imagined himself with Suzanne instead. Especially when confronted with body parts that weren't, shall we say, entirely God-given.

Suzanne could afford to have high standards when it came to men, standards he had never been able to meet. But he needed to get her to lower those standards now, just for a year or so. She had to agree to marry him or he would lose Iris Vineyards forever. And that was not an outcome he was prepared to accept.

"You don't have to tell me yes tonight," he said. "You can take some time to think about it."

"Well, that's good. Hope you're not expecting me to tell you yes any other night either."

"I'm expecting you to give it some serious consideration and not walk away from a life-changing offer just because you're still mad at me."

"I wasn't aware my life needed changing," she said frostily. "And I have given it some serious consideration. It just didn't need very much consideration. Take me home, Daryle. Thank you for the lovely dinner, but I think we're done here."

Chapter 2

In the car, Suzanne fumed quietly. Marry him! It was just like Daryle to expect to get whatever he wanted with no effort whatsoever. Now he wanted to be some big shot winemaker. Well, he'd have to figure out how to do that without her help. As for The Cupcakery, she would figure out how to expand her business on her own, thank you very much. She'd gotten this far on her own and she would make it further on her own, as well.