have asked for a better hostess.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I never realized that work could be as fun as a cocktail party.”
“I suspect you’ve attended your share of those.”
She answered with a flirtatious grin, which he lobbed right back at her. From what she’d seen so far, all of the Mendoza brothers were gorgeous, but she had to admit that Carlo was by far the most attractive—and appealing. She couldn’t pinpoint one single reason for making that conclusion. Actually, there were several—his drop-dead good looks, the playful intensity in his gaze, his confident air. On top of that, she also respected the way he’d orchestrated tonight’s event then stood back and watched it all unfold the way he’d planned.
There was clearly more to him than met the eye. There was something under the surface that also sparked her interest, a sexy yet teasing style that gave her reason to believe he might be as interested in having fun as she was.
Some people shouldn’t expect a romance to last forever, Glammy had said, and I’m one of them. Why compromise my dreams and values just to be accepted? Doing that will only lead to failure, disappointment or heartbreak.
Schuyler had to agree with her grandmother’s philosophy. As the middle Fortunado daughter, she was used to coming up short in her parents’ eyes more often than not.
Admittedly, she wished her father would be proud of her—just the way she was. Not that she’d suffered any lack of confidence because of his disappointment over the years. After all, she’d honed an innate ability to change direction whenever she needed to, something she considered a valuable asset, especially when there were a lot of miserable people in this world who’d do better if they followed their hearts.
“I can’t begin to thank you for stepping up at a moment’s notice,” Carlo said. “You really knocked it out of the park tonight. Would you be interested in pouring wine at our future tastings?”
“Sure. Why not?” Talk about getting her foot in the door with the Mendoza family. Now she wouldn’t have to mention anything about a possible investment, although the idea intrigued her.
Carlo tossed her a heart-strumming smile. “That’s great. Let’s celebrate a job well done.”
“Good idea.” Schuyler didn’t always experience the joy of accomplishment, but she did tonight. Was this how her sister Maddie felt whenever she closed a big deal? She shook off the thought and asked, “Would it be okay if I tried some of the Red River merlot? I told everyone it was my favorite Mendoza wine, even though I’d never had your label. I wouldn’t want my nose to grow and sprout leaves.”
“Like Pinocchio, huh?” Carlo chuckled as he reached for two clean glasses and set them on the table.
“Exactly. I loved that story, especially the cartoon. Besides, I have a thing about being honest.” While that was basically true, a niggle of guilt rose up inside, reminding her that she’d neglected to admit that she wasn’t the woman he thought she was.
Had he been impressed enough with the job she’d done that she could tell him about the mix-up? Would he get angry? Or would he laugh and let her hang around him and his family for a while?
She’d called Nathan Fortune yesterday as a follow-up to a letter she’d sent him last week. But before making a five-hour drive to visit him in person, she wanted to get a better feel for the renowned Fortune family. Who knew what the Mendozas might reveal or what questions she might have after talking to them.
Carlo pulled the loosened cork from one of the half-full bottles and made a generous pour. Then he handed a glass to Schuyler.
She thanked him and took a sip, savoring the hint of black cherry. No wonder some of the chefs had raved about it. “This is very good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He held up his glass to the outdoor light overhead, flicked his wrist ever so slightly and watched the wine swirl. Then he returned his attention to her. “So how’d you like working this event tonight?”
“I had more fun than any of the attendees.” And standing outside under a canopy of twinkly lights adorning tree branches with a handsome Latino made it all the better.
It was, however, getting a little chilly. She took another sip of merlot, hoping it would warm her from the inside out. Yet she still gave a little shiver.
“You’re cold,” he said.
“Just a little. It’s not bad enough to run back to my car for a sweater.”
“I’m not sure if I told you that’s a pretty dress. It was perfect for the tasting tonight.”
“I have plenty more like this one at home.”
“I’d be disappointed to learn that you didn’t. I assume that means you like to go out on the town.”
“Every chance I get.” She offered him another spunky grin, noting his playful expression. Apparently, he was enjoying her company as much as she enjoyed his.
“You’ve got to be hungry,” he said. “I certainly am. Why don’t you join me for dinner?”
“I’d like that. Just give me a chance to freshen up. I’ll use the hotel restroom.” Ten minutes later, after running a brush through her hair and reapplying her lipstick, Schuyler stopped by the registration desk in the front lobby. She needed a place to stay while she was in Austin, and the Monarch was certainly convenient.
After checking in for the night and getting a key, she returned to the garden, which was now empty—thanks to the efficiency of the hotel cleanup crew.
“Ready to go?” Carlo asked.
“Yes. Are we walking or driving?”
“If you’re okay with Italian food, we can walk. There’s a great little restaurant a few blocks from here.”
“I love all things Italian.” And Latin, it seemed.
“Then let’s go. It’s close to the office, so you can get a sweater or jacket from your car, if you want to. Either way, it’s a short walk.”
When he offered her his arm, she took it, hoping to absorb some of his body heat. “Lead the way.”
Carlo blessed her with a dazzling grin that could turn a girl’s knees to mush. Then he guided her along the sidewalk to the street.
Her heels and the soles of his loafers tapped a steady beat, and while she should probably remove her hand from his forearm, she enjoyed his warmth, as well as the taunting scent of a masculine soap that complemented his sea-breezy cologne.
“How long have you worked for the temp agency?” he asked.
Uh-oh. She hadn’t minded playing along with the identity mix-up at first, but she wasn’t ready to reveal her hand quite yet. What if he had some kind of commitment with the agency that he thought had sent Schuyler as a substitute hostess this evening? What if he reneged on the job offer to hostess future tastings?
She’d have to face that possibility, but maybe it would be best to tell him over dinner—or even dessert.
“Would
