A Taste of Merlot (17 page)

Meri pondered every nuance of that billboard
except
for the jewelry it was meant to highlight. She already knew what
that
looked like . . . even where the black obsidian was buried underneath. Though she hated to admit it, technically the ad exemplified the principles of good graphic art: movement, balance, proportion, and harmony . . . all of the elements needed to seduce buyers.

If only the lovers it depicted weren't her boyfriend and her worst enemy. How had it slipped Mark's mind—
for the past month
—to mention that not only was Rainn starring in her ads, but he was, too?

M
ark had had a dull, working holiday without Meri. Christmas sales were predictably flat. Even worse, Gloria had called him in to her office this morning to tell him that the new Día de los Muertos ads were up and running, including the billboard they continually leased at the intersection of Highways 29 and 37.

He was glad his next brainstorming meeting with DeVon was scheduled for that very afternoon.

From the moment Meri walked into Our Little Italian Place, Mark could tell from the visible pallor beneath her suntan that she hadn't somehow miraculously missed the glaring Harrington's spread on her drive down from Napa. No such luck. He knew he'd have to tell her about it sooner or later. He just hadn't planned on it being their first face-to-face conversation following their Christmas apart.

Both eager and wary, he rose to greet her.

“Hi, baby.” He kissed her hair. “Sorry I was running late. Thanks for meeting me here instead of your studio.”

When he released her, he was harpooned by the hurt in her eyes.

“It's not what it looks like. I can explain everything,” he said, pulling out her chair.

“I'm sure you can. You're really good at explaining things. Or should I say, explaining things
away
?”

“Honest, Meri, I was blown away when Gloria told me they were going to use that random shot in the actual ad. It was the final day of the shoot, and I had had it. I thought the stylist and our ad exec were never going to be satisfied. Messing around with an earring, a bracelet, and on and on . . . it was taking forever. Getting late. All I wanted was for the week to be over so I could go home. From my perspective yards away, I could see what was needed, so I jogged over and suggested the necklace. Next thing I knew, the cameraman was shooting away at us, the director shouting orders at me like he was David O. Russell and I was Bradley Cooper.

“Did you notice that all that was visible of me was my head and hands? I wasn't in costume like the real actors. Pure coincidence that my jeans and T-shirt weren't showing. If my clothes had been in the picture, it never would've worked. Gloria said when she and the ad guy sat down together with the proofs, he was determined to use that image based purely on its artistic value. I pushed back, but I was outnumbered.”

“But, Mark, don't you see?” she leaned into him, exasperated. “Your ad man is right—aesthetically, it's awesome. It's going to be one of those timeless ads that sticks around forever. Everyone's going to be talking about it. People are going to wonder who the cute guy is with the designer. Your name's going to get out. And with it the message, ‘Harrington's new jewelry star is with its hot young store owner.' Once the big fashion magazines catch wind of that, it'll spread, and pretty soon I'll be reading in the tabloids about Rainn Gonzales having Mark Newman's love child.”

Mark chuckled in spite of himself. “Meri, don't you think you're getting a little carried away? Even if it is a deliberate marketing ploy, it's all a sham.”

“Perception is reality. Besides, I thought you said Gloria advised you to hide your family connections from gold diggers. Once this ad breaks, that'll be impossible.”

“It's a moot point now.” He took her hand across the table and gave her a look filled with meaning.

Now that he'd found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, he'd never have to hide again. He'd planned to have “the talk” with Meri's father weeks ago, but Xavier St. Pierre had skewered things with his prolonged disappearing act.

Sal, their waiter, set down their drinks. One glance at their faces locked in a stare-down apparently told him they weren't in the mood for light banter today. “I'll come back in a minute, unless you want the usual . . .” He raised a questioning brow.

Mark gave Sal a curt nod, and the man tactfully disappeared to get her salad and his pizza.

Mark reached over to lift Meri's chin gently. “There's nothing going on with me and Rainn.”

She looked at the ceiling and sighed. “I know that. I just don't want other people thinking it. Like I said, perception is reality.”

He leaned in to give her a quick kiss. “This is just another of those work things that is out of my control. It won't always be this way. Trust me.”

“I want to.”

“Then do it. I won't let you down. How are the designs coming?”

That brought back a hint of a smile, to his relief. “I'm really pleased with the way the vine necklace came out. Can you stop by after lunch to take a look?”

He'd just talked her down off the roof and now he had to thwart her again. He grimaced as he checked his watch. “I wish I could, but there's somewhere I have to be. Can you send me a photo?”

Disappointment flashed in her eyes. He wished he could tell her he was working with DeVon concerning plans for the future of the company, but it was still too soon.

“Sure. There's only one piece remaining—the last bracelet—and the Entwined Collection is
fini.
By the middle of the month I'll be ready to start showing it to potential buyers.”

Mark's heart began to thrum with panic.

Meri prattled on. “I've learned so much from you. Before, I had no clue what I was doing. Now I'm already dreaming up my next collection. I'm thinking of calling it Olive Branch. Napa is also big into olive oil production, you know.” She gave him a playful swat. “Of course you do. You know everything there is to know about food.”

He laughed self-deprecatingly. “Ah, no, I really don't.”

“But you like my idea, right?”

Oh, yes, he did.

She pulled her phone from her bag. “I made a list of shows. It looks like this one in New York in early March is the best, but I wanted to get your opinion.” She tilted her phone his way. “There's also one in Miami that looks promising. Or how about this one, in Basel?”

She'd been a good student.
Too
good. Mark pretended to examine the list while he searched for the appropriate response. He would personally cut off the hand of any other retailer who dared touch her work.

“Well, they're all good, but I like this one in April the best.” He had to hold her off as long as possible while he figured out his takeover plan.

She frowned. “Really? That one is the furthest away. . . .”

Mark slid her phone back to her.

“When is your father coming back from Europe?”

“Next week.”

 

As soon as Mark had seen Meri's film in that L.A. hotel room, all of the pieces had fallen into place. No wonder she was scared to death to put her name on her work, he thought as he drove to his rendezvous with St. Pierre and his two oldest daughters. He knew how close Meri was to her big sisters. He thought she would want them there in lieu of her late mother when he told her Papa of his intentions.

A few minutes north of Napa city was where the vineyards began in earnest. If this were fall, there'd be giant mechanical pickers straddling the vines, crawling along the ridges. From past winery tours, Mark had learned that most of the grapes were picked mechanically nowadays, rather than by hand. Much cheaper, though it had drawbacks. The machines were indiscriminate, picking debris, leaves, and even the occasional bird's nest along with the grapes themselves.

But this was late January, and today the fields were brown, the motel parking lots he passed virtually empty. Not until next month would the wild mustard flowers come into bloom, starting the whole planting cycle over again. It was a great place to be a grape.

He took the Oakville Grade to Dry Creek Road, tapping nervously on the steering wheel as he drew nearer to Domaine St. Pierre. The sky was threatening rain when he pulled up to the estate. Soon, Tchaikovsky waltzes would be rousing the sleeping vines. And when fall came around again, there would be no mechanized picking here. Though he had to pay eighty pickers to do the work of one machine harvester, leave it to Xavier St. Pierre to stand by ancient French tradition—plus some cutting-edge drones to keep abreast of any plant disease, ripeness, and various other conditions.

Within minutes, Mark would be asking the so-called king of NorCal for his daughter's hand in marriage. He should probably be more nervous, but he'd barely had time to breathe since Thanksgiving, what with staying on top of holiday sales while already working a season ahead and, at the same time, cooking up his covert business plan with DeVon.

Ironically, assuring a secure future for himself and Meri had left him with way too little time to spend actually loving her.

 

On February 14, rain fell in sheets from the Sonoma Valley, across Napa and on down to the North Bay. That would put a damper on sales at the flagship. But those were but a small percentage of the total. Mark and Gloria and Dick had spent the past week with their eyes glued to the real-time numbers pouring in from across the nation.

At five o'clock, the results were in, give or take. By that time, anyone intending to purchase fine jewelry for his or her Valentine had done so. Particularly in the Eastern time zone, where it was already eight, and the restaurants were now gearing up for their own heyday. Rubbing the back of his neck, he picked up his iPad and strode down the hall to Gloria's office.

“You were right,” she said, the moment he walked in. “The numbers aren't pretty. Apparently, no one wants skulls for Valentine's Day.”

He'd gone into her office prepared for a showdown. But her humble admission of defeat threw water on Mark's fire. Suddenly his all-powerful aunt seemed almost frail behind her grand mahogany desk. An air of resignation now mingled with her worldliness. “Sorry things didn't work out according to your plan.”

“I'm in no mood to dissect things tonight. We can discuss it tomorrow morning, once Dick breaks down the data.”

Thank you, Gloria.
Now he might actually be on time to meet Meri, for once. There was just one more thing he needed to do.

“Before I leave, I need to get in the vault.”

She looked up with surprise. The safe was located in her office. Though Mark was entrusted with the combination, it wasn't every day that it was opened. It would seem strange to do it without commenting.

“May I ask why?”

“I'm going to propose to Merlot St. Pierre.”

The rare South African stone that his granddad had bought in Belgium two generations ago was now his to do with as he pleased. When he'd gotten engaged to Brandi, she'd insisted on a pre-set ring—she was clueless when it came to jewelry. But now Mark was flying high, grateful that the first person to wear the diamond since his grandmother would be Meri.

Gloria raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure she's the right one?”

It was a not-so-subtle reminder of one of his past errors.

“I'm sure
.
”

“You've been wrong before.”

“He certainly has.” Dick, holding a ream of documents, had entered the office. He walked over to Gloria's desk, where he let them drop with a theatrical
swat
.

“Have you seen these numbers?” He gave Mark a snide look. “So much for discarding our old, faithful vendors for rank beginners.”

Mark paused only for a second on his way to the vault.
No.
He wouldn't take the bait, no matter how much it rankled. This was one night when he refused to let business take priority over what was really important.

M
eri dashed through the cold raindrops to the restaurant where Mark was meeting her. She managed to dodge the biggest puddles, though her feet were already soaked through her strappy sandals. But she hardly noticed. All that mattered tonight was how she appeared in Mark's eyes.

The restaurant he'd picked out was in one of San Francisco's best boutique hotels. No pizza tonight.

Meri had gone all out, herself. She'd even colored over the hot-pink streak in her hair. It occurred to her that she'd been dressing differently lately. More grown-up. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn the tattered old jeans that used to be her favorites.

She breezed in the door and lowered her umbrella, only to be informed Mark hadn't yet arrived. Still working, no doubt. The man was driven. She used to worry that he was slaving away just for the paycheck and a chance at promotion. Now that she knew all his efforts were out of devotion to the company his grandfather had founded, she fretted that Gloria would destroy it before Mark had a chance to take the helm.

Ducking into the ladies' room to touch up her lip gloss, she counted the weeks since Mark had made love to her. Maybe he wasn't attracted to her anymore.
Don't be silly
. She was letting her imagination run away with her again. He was just preoccupied.

She looked in the mirror and smoothed her new Roland Mouret over her shape. Meri had never had the kind of curves Rainn Gonzales did. But she had skills. And tonight she was bound and determined to use them. To beguile Mark the best way she knew how.

She ordered some wine while she waited in the tiny, private dining room Mark had reserved. When he and her drink arrived at the same time, she stood to reciprocate his hug.

“I'm sorry, babe. The 101 was a nightmare, what with everyone going out to eat tonight, and I couldn't leave work until I checked in with the boss.”

“No need to apologize. I just got here, myself. You're all wet,” she said, returning his brief kiss, lovingly brushing off his excuses along with the raindrops on his suit jacket.

“Didn't have time to grab my trench coat. You look incredible in red.”

“You noticed.” His words warmed her, but too soon, he released her and pulled out her chair.

“How
were
today's sales?” she asked as he walked around the table to his own seat.

Through pursed lips, he blew out a deep breath. “Later. I need a drink—and a break from thinking about work. It's Valentine's Day.”

“I have a surprise. I finished the last piece in my collection.” She fairly trembled with pride as she drew the bracelet from the felt bag where it lay buried and presented it to him. In the flame of the candle in the center of the table, Mark turned it over and over.

“I switched it up at the last minute. Decided to incorporate the blue agates to complement the pink ones. I think it adds variety, don't you?” She held her breath while she awaited his professional opinion.

Seconds ticked by.

“Meri, this is epic. I don't know how you do it, changing things around once the line is already half fabricated, but it works. The repeated colors keep your attention moving around the piece.

“That reminds me. I've been so busy I haven't had the chance to ask you if you've decided on a wholesale market.”

She hesitated, not sure how he would take the news. “I registered for the New York show in early March.” A month earlier than the show Mark had recommended.

In a flash, his eyes, now strangely dark, jetted to hers. She waited, discomfited, as he formulated a response. “It's your call. I'm sure your work will be well-received, wherever you go.” He handed her back her bracelet. Apparently, the subject was closed.

The server appeared with Mark's beer, and he shifted all his attention to minimizing the head on it as he poured it down the side of his pilsner glass.

Meri's confidence withered. Mark's words didn't mesh with his actions. She studied her bracelet again. Was there something the matter with this piece? Some flaw in the design, the execution?

Deflated without quite knowing why, she slipped the gold circlet back into its bag and pulled tight the drawstring. Sometimes he seemed so distant. So much had happened since those few, fleeting days when they had talked for hours about retail strategy and design philosophy.

With the same deliberate consideration he'd given her bracelet and the pouring of the beer, Mark opened his leather-bound menu. “I researched this place. Thought it would appeal to you because it's all about Franco-American cuisine. Their roasted chicken stuffed with black truffles was written up in
Food & Wine
.”

Mark never did anything on impulse, she realized. Everything was carefully considered. Rigorously thought out. The man didn't even choose a hamburger joint without first looking up its reviews. And sometimes, when she thought he was remote, he was actually planning things out for her benefit. For the first time, it became clear to her how different they were. How profoundly her decision not to use her own name on her work must have affected him.

Even in their most heated moments, he never acted without considering the consequences. When she'd thrown herself at his feet the first time they'd made love, he'd called a time-out to make sure what he was about to do was okay. The memory of how he'd finally ripped off her panties in her atelier still made her heart flutter. Once Mark made a decision, he was fierce.

“Hmmm?” Meri hadn't yet bothered to pick up her menu. Dreamy eyes fixated on his hands that still held the menu, she lowered her nose to the rim of her glass of Bordeaux. She rolled a sip around on her palate, looking for the characteristic soft mouthfeel, the puckery tang of black cherry, raspberry, and plum tempered with graphite and cedar, while beneath the tablecloth, she slipped off a sandal and slid her foot languidly along the inside of his leg.

Mark cleared his throat and turned a page. “Then again, the Atlantic cod with corn and quinoa hash looks good, too.”

With a sigh, she withdrew her foot and cracked open her own menu, though her appetite was only for him.

Despite claiming to be happy with his grass-fed beef, he never did seem to fully unwind. More than once, she caught him patting the breast pocket of his suit jacket . . . fidgeting with his shirtsleeves.

And then a lightbulb went off. They were dining in a
hotel.
Why hadn't she thought of it before?

She excused herself, leaving her napkin to the side of her plate and picking up her bag from the floor by her chair.

But instead of the ladies' room, she went to the lobby to utter a discreet request to the host. “I know it's not likely, given that it's Valentine's Day, but would you happen to have any rooms available?”

“Yes, ma'am. One.”

“I'd like to book it. Please send Mr. Newman up in a few minutes.”

The host didn't even blink. “Of course, Ms. St. Pierre.” He pretended not to notice when she did a double take.

Oh, who cared if he recognized her?

 

At first, Mark didn't understand. Meri had gone upstairs? She wasn't coming back?

“That's correct, sir,” said the sober host who'd appeared at the table. “Robert, here, will be glad to show you the way.”

Wowza
.
Happy Valentine's Day to me.
He downed the remaining beer in his glass and rose. “Just tell me the room number. I'll find it.”

“Sir?”

The server had returned with his strawberry coeur de la creme.

“Your dessert.”

He only paused a second. “My dessert is waiting for me upstairs.” The waiter allowed himself the merest of smiles with his nod as he deftly turned on his heel.

Mark took the stairs two at a time. He knocked and poked his head in the door.

It was like stepping back in time. The room was small but opulent, with layers of heavy fabrics and Art Deco touches. Like something out of the flapper era, all red satin and fringes. And in the center of the brass bed, atop a brown fur throw, lay Meri.

Mesmerized, he quietly closed the door, locked it, and leaned against it. Where'd her dress go? Now all she had on were her bracelets and a set of red lace underwear.

“Do I have your attention now?” she asked, with a soft smile.

Poor Meri.
He'd gotten so caught up with work and planning that he'd failed to see what was right in front of him, these past weeks.

He peeled off his jacket, unable to take his eyes off her.

“Did you plan this?”

She didn't bother answering. Just rose, slinky and sinuous as a mountain cat, to glide to him. He let himself be led by his tie to the foot of the bed, where she unknotted it, leaving it hang. Then she sat down and proceeded to unzip his pants.

He got it.
He was such a moron, letting business blind him to her needs for so long. Hurriedly, he fumbled with his shirt buttons. Already his breath was ragged in anticipation.

“Lose these,” she ordered, with a nod toward his undone pants. Obediently, he hopped on one foot, then the other, kicking them off, leaving him standing in front of her in only his black socks and his starched, white shirt, opened to reveal his chest.

Meri reached for him from her perch on the edge of the bed. She spread her legs wide, bringing her hands around to press him in closer. Gave his stomach a sensual version of an Eskimo kiss that tickled and aroused, all at the same time. While she ran her cool hands down the backs of his thighs, he ducked his chin to stare at her crown, combing his hands through her long tangle of hair.

“Oh, Meri.”

She gazed straight up at him with a look that was school-girl innocent and call-girl dirty, all at the same time.

She dipped her head again, and at the touch of her hot mouth, his head fell back and his eyes screwed shut. “Oh,
Meri.
”

 

Deliciously satisfied, Meri stretched along the sliver of mattress not taken up by Mark.

He was sprawled out on his back, arms fallen out to his sides. He lolled his head to look at her. “You're amazing.”

She snuggled up to him. “Stick with me, kid. I'll teach you everything I know.”

They laughed. Inches from hers, his face grew serious.

“Interesting choice of words, because that's just what I intend to do.” He gathered her work-worn fingers into a gentle grasp.

“Marry me.”

She couldn't have been more surprised if he'd suggested they go BASE jumping in the dark.

He leapt from the bed and went to where he'd carefully laid his jacket across a chair. She raised herself up on an elbow and watched as he fumbled until he found its breast pocket.

Springing back to the mattress, he opened her palm and pressed into it something hard on the inside but soft on the outside.

He enfolded both his hands around hers, trapping the object inside.

“Do you still have the ingot I got you for Christmas?”

Puzzled, she nodded. “I was saving it for something special.”

“Here's something that pairs well with gold.”

Their fingers unfurled like the petals of a flower, revealing a purple velvet bag.

“Open it.”

She pulled loose the drawstring and onto the satin sheet tumbled a pear-cut diamond, the likes of which she'd never seen except in pictures.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Where did you find such a fabulous stone?”

“I'll tell you all about it. First say yes.”

With a spurt of energy, she bounced to her knees and flung her arms wide, in all her naked glory.

“Yes!” she shouted to the room. “Yes, I'll marry you!”

She threw herself on top of him and the lovemaking started all over again.

Later, when the lights were finally out, with the soft sound of Mark's breathing in her ear, the warmth of his body next to her, she marveled at her deep sense of peace. At last, she had someone to share all of life's joys and sorrows with. Someone she could trust without reservation.

But just when she was nodding off, her old misgiving wormed its way between them again. Her eyes flew open in the dark.

What about the film?
Panic made her pulse race. She couldn't ignore it any longer, just hoping it would never come out. It wouldn't be fair to Mark to learn of it after he'd already married her, when it was too late.

 

Just before they left their hotel room the next morning, Mark, in his rumpled suit, enfolded Meri, who was wearing the pants and sweater she'd tucked into her bag, in his arms.

“You never did tell me about Valentine's Day sales. What's the buzz?”

“We didn't make plan.”

She frowned. “What exactly does that mean?”

“We didn't reach our sales goal. Rainn Gonzales's line bombed, like I knew it would. We would've done much better if we had gone with Gilty Artisanal Jewelry instead of those bones and fossils.”

Meri didn't know what to say. She wasn't sorry that Rainn's line hadn't lived up to Gloria's expectations, but she felt bad about her role in Harrington's overall performance. She'd never intended to let Mark down.

“So, now what?”

“There's a nine-thirty board meeting to dissect Valentine's sales. That'll tell me what I need to do to tweak Rainn's line going forward. She's stopping by the flagship store this afternoon.”

As always, Meri all but broke out in a nervous tic every time Mark was going to be with Rainn. But she couldn't let on. “Okay. I'm going to the studio from here to start preliminary sketches for the Olive Branch line. Don't forget our celebratory dinner with my family.”