curves and a colorful, gypsy-style top that suggested she had a playful side, and it took all Carlo’s restraint not to let out a tacky wolf whistle.
She gave a little wave, as if they’d met before, then closed the distance between them with the grace and assurance of a woman who knew she had the power to knock a man off his feet. She also bore a remarkable resemblance to singer Carrie Underwood, which was merely an observation on Carlo’s part. He didn’t give a damn if she could carry a tune in a bucket. As long as she could pour wine, she’d work out just fine.
He’d run in the upper circles of Miami society long enough to recognize the black Chanel purse and the snazzy red Beamer, both of which announced that she lived the good life. Or that she hoped to one of these days and was trying her best to fake it until she did. He supposed that also meant she wouldn’t come cheap, but at this point, he didn’t care. He was desperate.
“Thank God you’re here,” he said. “I’m Carlo Mendoza, the one who placed the call to the temp agency. You’re just in time. Let me show you what we need you to do.”
She pulled up short, her expression sobered and her brow creased ever so slightly. Then her pretty smile returned and she reached out to shake his hand. “Schuyler Fortunado, at your service.”
* * *
Not much took Schuyler by surprise, but when the handsome Latin hottie set aside the box he’d been carrying and swept toward her, she didn’t much care what project he had in mind for her to do. She was up to the task, especially since he bore the correct last name—Mendoza.
He also had the perfect looks. He was tall, with dark hair that curled at the collar and expressive brown eyes. A killer smile revealed white teeth against a tanned complexion. He was definitely what she’d call eye candy. If she were a casting director, she’d sign him in a New York minute to star as the romantic lead in a major production.
She had only one question. How did he fit into the family hierarchy?
Black slacks and a white button-down shirt—crisply pressed, rolled up at the sleeves and open at the collar—announced that he was in upper management. Yet a light sheen of sweat from his labor suggested he wasn’t afraid of hard work.
He reached out to shake her hand. The moment his fingers touched hers, an electrical current shimmied up her arm, giving her heart a jolt that made her pulse go wacky. She wasn’t sure if he’d felt it, but she was having one heck of a time keeping her mind on the reason she was here and on the cover story she’d concocted.
“I’m glad the temp agency was able to get ahold of you,” he said. “And that you were available to help out this evening. You’re a lifesaver.”
Okay, so he clearly thought she was someone else. Did she dare correct him? Or should she let the mix-up play out?
“Have you ever poured wine at a tasting before?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t.” How hard could it be? “But don’t worry about my lack of experience. I’m a fast learner.”
“Consider this more of a cocktail party, only the drink options are various vintages from the Mendoza Winery. We have a lot of important and influential people attending, and your job will be to make our wines look good.”
Schuyler was no stranger to parties or the nightlife. Why not play along and assume the temporary gig? It would be a fun way to get her foot in the door with the Mendozas.
“This particular tasting will be held at the Monarch Hotel,” Carlo added. “It rained for the last several days, but the weather is on our side today, so we’re going to have it outdoors in the garden.”
“Sounds like a perfect venue.” Schuyler wasn’t the least bit familiar with Austin, so she didn’t have a clue where that might be or what to expect from the outdoor setting, but she pasted on a big no-worries, I’ve-got-this smile.
He scanned the length of her from the top of her head to her strappy black heels and back again. “You look great, but I’ll have to get you something else to wear.”
“What’d you have in mind?” She slapped her hands on her hips, shifted slightly to the right and taunted him with a playful grin. “A French maid’s costume?”
His brow furrowed, which only lent a serious but more gorgeous air about him. “No, I meant something classy. There’s a women’s clothing shop just down the street. I’m sure they’re still open, so we can stop there.”
A smile tugged at her lips. Who would have guessed that it might come in handy to have those clothes from the dry cleaners still hanging in the back seat of her car?
“Actually,” she said, “you’re in luck. I happen to have an outfit with me. That is, if a black cocktail dress will work.”
“That’s great. Now just one last question. Do you have any experience with wine?”
“Other than drinking my share of it?” She laughed.
When he frowned, clearly not finding any humor in her response, she added, “I’m no connoisseur, but I’m not a novice, either. I know the difference between a cabernet sauvignon and a merlot. And while I don’t have a wine cellar, I do keep several nice bottles at home. Also, my old college roommate’s family owns an Italian villa that’s surrounded by vineyards, and I spent a couple of summers there.”
Finally, his expression softened, and he smiled. “You’re going to work out perfectly.”
Schuyler thought so, too. That is, as long as the temp agency didn’t get in the way by sending someone else and blowing her chance to prove herself as the lifesaver he’d claimed she was.
Feeling a bit heroic, she strode to her BMW with a spring in her step. After unlocking the passenger door, she reached for the cocktail dress protected in plastic and hanging from the hook above the rear passenger window. She’d no more than clicked the lock button on the remote when she heard someone clear his throat.
She turned to see who it was, only to spot a silver fox and four dark-haired men, all handsome as heck and standing in an office doorway. She assumed they were related to Carlo, since they all clearly bore a family resemblance.
The older man standing front and center grinned and asked, “Aren’t you going to introduce us to the lady, mijo?”
“Sorry,” Carlo said. “Dad, this is Schuyler Fortunado, the model the temp agency sent as a replacement. She’s going to be our hostess this evening.”
The dashing older man offered a flirtatious grin. “I’m Esteban Mendoza, Ms. Fortunado, the father of this tribe.” Then he introduced the younger men as Mark, Rodrigo, Chaz and Stefan.
Each of the Mendoza brothers was attractive in his own right. That is, if you liked the tall, dark and handsome type. Even Esteban had a debonair, heart-strumming appeal.
The DNA gods had been good to this family, and Schuyler was in her glory. Just look at the collection of hunks she’d stumbled upon. If she had to choose, she’d say that Carlo was the pick of the bunch. Either way, she’d never met a male—young or old—she couldn’t charm. She was definitely going to enjoy her investigative work.
“Now that you’ve met my family,” Carlo said, “let’s check out
