Business. This is business. I have a plan and a backup plan. I’m determined to get something useful out of this meeting. I can’t afford to be distracted. Not by how much younger he is than I thought he’d be, considering his level of success.
Not by that body.
And certainly not by his huge, thick…that!
I follow my dad to our wine cellar to pick out two of our best vintage bottles—a pinot noir and a cabernet sauvignon—as a gift for my neighbor Prince. I mean Mr. Bozhidar. Neli says it’s important to use formal address because he appreciates old-school manners. No problem. If that’s all it takes to get in with him, I’ll consider myself lucky.
The cellar is dim and cramped with barrels and wine-making equipment. My parents use the outdoor patio for the wine tastings instead of the cellar. Unfortunately, there’s not enough of those tasting visitors to keep us in the black.
My dad takes the bottles out and hands them to me. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go to the meeting with you?”
“You and Mom said you’re hoping I’ll turn things around, so let me do my job.” My tone is a little snippy, but I can’t help it. I’m still so angry they kept the truth about the financial state of the winery from me, and I’d really appreciate it if they could show some trust. “Please,” I add belatedly.
His brow furrows over kindly hazel eyes. “My gut says something’s off about this Prince Bozhidar guy. What kind of name is that anyway? I couldn’t find anything about him online. And we’ve been neighbors for years, yet we’ve never seen him—only Neli.”
“You never visited him.” My parents only sent me the one time to drop off cookies at Christmas. “Today I stopped by, and he answered the door himself. All it took was a little neighborly friendliness to bridge the gap.” Or cross the moat. I keep that to myself. Dad doesn’t need any more ammunition against the one person who could help save our winery. I don’t expect Mr. Bozhidar to spill all his secrets on what makes his wine so good, but I’m hoping to get his opinion on ours and how to improve it. I mean, obviously if his secret is the source of their vines, that’s not going to help us. It takes several years to grow new ones that produce fruit. I can only hope he’s willing to share a few marketing ideas. We’ll talk shop, businessman to businesswoman. Under less dire financial circumstances, this kind of meeting would be fun for me.
Dad continues, his tone still suspicious. “And what kind of person builds a medieval-style castle in the middle of California wine country?”
Guess there’s no hiding the moat.
“A very rich person. He can build whatever he wants if he’s got the funds. And you know what? I think it’s great that he does what makes him happy.” Like wear top hats. I keep that to myself too. Really, our neighbor just walks to the tune of his own bagpipes (seems appropriate for a castle dweller).
I head upstairs, cradling the bottles in one arm. My dad follows behind me. I don’t care if our neighbor is a little eccentric. Maybe that’s what makes him so good at crafting award-winning wines. Maybe not following the crowd is the key to standing out in the competitive wine business.
“Stella, you don’t need to go over there,” my dad says once we get upstairs. “I mean, he can’t be doing anything that different from us. We’re growing grapes in the same soil conditions, the same rainfall. It’s probably just his connections that gave him a leg up.”
“He’s obviously doing something right. I’m going to find out what. As for your concern about me going over there, I’ll be fine. I’m a grown woman. I can handle a business meeting.”
He lifts a finger. “That’s another thing. Why does he want to meet you at night? I don’t like it.”
“He works late to deal with his overseas distributors. Really, it’s fine. I have my phone, and the manager, Neli, lives there too. What time is it?”
“You’ve got ten minutes.”
“Okay, I’m heading over there.”
“How long will you be?”
I barely hold back on rolling my eyes. I’ve only been home for a few days, and I’m already starting to feel like I’m back in high school. I know my parents see me as capable, they just need to let up on the overprotective stuff.
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “I’ll text when I’m on my way back. Bye!” I head out the door of the wine annex and take the shortcut through the side yard to the road.
Checking in with my dad feels like overkill, but the closer I get to the castle, the more my heart pounds to the tune of naked man, naked man, naked man. I have to get a hold of myself. So much rides on this meeting, and I can’t let anything throw me. I have to let any eccentricity or condition he may have sail right on by. Even if the image of his gorgeous muscular perfection is burned into my brain.
The sun is setting as I cross the drawbridge once more. I think cooling thoughts and lift the heavy metal knocker. A shiver courses through me. Wow, it wasn’t just my mind that made me cool off. The air definitely feels colder close to the castle. Probably something to do with the stone construction. I’m also wearing another of my long maxi dresses—plain white—and matching sandals, so the cool air goes right to my skin.
I wait in breathless anticipation, my heart drumming to its new favorite tune with a little fluttery add-on: naked sexy man, naked sexy man.
One of the large arched wooden doors slowly creaks open. Is it him? Is he naked?
Neli’s small frame appears in the doorway. She’s wearing a white blouse, jeans, and pink flip-flops. Her red hair is in a high ponytail.
“Hi, Neli.” I try not to show my disappointment that her boss didn’t open the door. Sans pants.
She smiles. “Hi, Stella, come on in.”
I step inside, and the door shuts behind me with an ominous thud, echoing through the large two-story foyer.
She takes a step back. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“I have arrived,” a deep voice announces, startling me. He must move fast. I didn’t even notice him approaching. He’s dressed, which is good, of course, but his clothes are rather unusual. Like a goth musician in a black top hat, white frilly shirt, black velvet cape, and snug black pants that outline his powerful, ahem, thighs.
I jerk my gaze up to his eyes. Silver glints sparkle back at me in black eyes. How exotic. I guess I didn’t notice them before. Maybe I was too distracted by his defined muscular chest with a smattering of dark chest hair, his washboard abs, and his thick penis with a throbbing vein pointing right at me.
I flush hot and try to focus on something else, like his black hair reaching down to his shoulders and his pale skin. Maybe he’s a musician in seclusion from his rabid fan base. It would explain so much.
Neli whirls and whispers something to him in a fierce low tone.
“Leave us,” he commands. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the soft edge of authority is unmistakable.
“I’m the manager here,” she says to him. “It’s important I’m in on business meetings.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he merely looks at her as though he expects to be obeyed. She turns back to me and then to him before throwing her hands up.