be a problem. Schuyler would gladly follow the Latin hottie anywhere.
Just twenty minutes ago, the sun had disappeared into a kaleidoscope of color on the western horizon. All the while, Carlo stood next to a magnolia tree adorned with white lights and watched this evening’s tasting unfold the way he’d planned it.
Several waiters, supplied by the hotel, carried trays of appetizers and moved about the garden, offering the smiling chefs and restaurant owners a variety of crackers, gourmet cheeses and hors d’oeuvres specially prepared to enhance the taste of the vintages being served. But it was the lovely blonde hostess pouring wine and entertaining the culinary experts with both her charm and wit who’d captured Carlo’s full attention.
He must have caught hers, too, because every now and again, Schuyler looked across the garden, her blue eyes sparkling, and offered him a confident smile. Then she returned to her work.
She was a born hostess, it seemed, and he thanked his lucky stars the other woman had had to cancel tonight.
Just look at her. She rocked that curve-hugging dress she’d had hanging in her car. It was sexy, but not overly revealing. Classy, but still within the right man’s reach.
But it was more than her outfit and pretty face that he found appealing. She had a natural effervescence, a confident demeanor, as well as an uptown style. And as a result, she’d done a good job of convincing the attendees that they should stock up on the best wines they’d ever tasted.
Schuyler flashed the label of a bottle of Mendoza zinfandel at the people gathered at her table, then poured them each a generous taste. Soft jazz played in the background, but it didn’t drown out the sound of approaching footsteps.
Carlo glanced over his shoulder and spotted his father moving toward him.
“Looks like another successful tasting,” the older man said.
“You’re right. We’ve had several significant orders already. And once this group goes back to their fine-dining establishments, word about our wines will spread.”
“And what about Schuyler? How’s our temporary hostess working out?”
“A lot better than the last woman the temp agency sent us.” She was prettier, too, which was why Carlo had been studying her with more than just business on his mind. He liked a woman with a playful side, especially since that usually meant she wouldn’t expect a long-term commitment.
Carlo had already experienced a failed marriage and wasn’t about to make that mistake again. He was too much like his father, he supposed.
“I’m proud of you, mijo. You put a lot of work into this evening, and it shows.”
“Thanks.” Carlo had never lacked confidence, at least not in the business world. Still, his father’s praise meant a lot. “I’ve always gone above and beyond to pull off a successful event, but it’s even sweeter when that success benefits the family.”
“Sounds like you’re settling in here.”
Carlo stole a quick glance at his father, but he didn’t see a need to respond.
“Are you happy you came to Austin?” Esteban asked.
“So far, so good. Why?”
“Don’t get me wrong, mijo. But you have to admit, in the past, you sometimes got bored with a job after a while and moved on to what you’d called bigger and better things.”
Carlo would like to object, to tell his father that he’d always had good reason to make a job change from one restaurant or nightclub to another, but some of what he said was true. Sometimes boredom had played a role. “Don’t worry, Dad. That’s not going to happen this time.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
The two men continued to watch the tasting, as well as the pretty blonde hostess.
“You had a lot of friends in Miami,” his father said. “And a busy social life. I worried that you’d miss all of that.”
“Not really, although I’ll admit it’s been a bit of an adjustment.” It had been six months since Carlo had turned over the keys to his ocean-view apartment and drove to Austin. Yet his enthusiasm for both La Viña and Mendoza Winery was stronger than ever. “I’m still in contact with some of my friends and making new ones. Besides, this position is a good fit, especially since I’m working with family.”
“It’s been a good change for me, too. So was reuniting with my brother. That took a huge weight from my heart.”
“I know.” Carlo, as well as his brothers, had noticed the positive changes in their father ever since he and Orlando had buried the hatchet. After a decades-old riff, everyone had been shocked to learn that Esteban had actually fathered Orlando’s son, Joaquin Mendoza. The man Carlo thought was his cousin was actually his half brother. Recently, Orlando and Esteban had forgiven one another for the past, and Esteban was now getting to know Joaquin as his son.
“You’re watching Schuyler with a keen eye,” his father said. “Are you waiting to see if our temporary hostess makes a mistake? Or are you planning to follow up this tasting with a romantic evening?”
“She’s not going to screw up. Look at her. She’s in her element.”
Esteban chuckled and slapped a hand on Carlo’s shoulder. “Apparently, she’s caught your eye, mijo. And something tells me you don’t plan to thank her for a job well done and then send her on her way.”
“Let’s see how the rest of the night unfolds.” Carlo glanced at his watch. Things would be winding down soon. The chefs and restaurant owners would be heading to dinner, and that left him and Schuyler to debrief following the tasting.
He knew better than to mention that plan. Of all Esteban’s sons, Carlo was the most like their father, a dynamic, charismatic guy who had an eye for pretty women—and a bit of trouble with commitment. Yet none of that seemed to matter. Neither of them had ever had a shortage of dates.
“Schuyler keeps glancing this way,” his father said. “So I’d venture to say that she’s got her eye on you, too.”
It seemed that way. And she wasn’t looking at him like an insecure employee hoping to get her boss’s reassurance. No, Carlo could spot sexual interest in her eyes.
In a few minutes, he’d ask her to celebrate the successful tasting by joining him at dinner. And something about that playful gleam in her pretty blue eyes told him she wouldn’t turn him down.
* * *
Schuyler was having the time of her life. The garden setting was perfect, the evening festive. She’d never sold wine before, but she knew how to talk to people. And she’d soon found those in attendance, all men and women in the culinary industry, to be worldly and interesting. By the end of the tasting, she’d snagged several large-scale orders for the winery, and she’d had a fabulous time in the process.
As the chefs and restaurant owners filed out of the garden and the hotel
