Temptation (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #4): A Second Chance Billionaire Romance Page 2

  “You don’t look stressed at all,” I comment. “In fact, you look amazing.”

  She hugs me again and kisses my cheek. “Aren’t you sweet. And no, I’m not stressed. I pay all these people to be stressed and get it done for me. They’ll make it on time. I know they will.” Looking over my shoulder, she spots Vanessa. “Hey. You just missed the reporter from Women’s Wear Daily.”

  “How did it go?”

  “I think pretty well. She didn’t ask too many tough questions. If you find out, can you let me know? If not, it’ll be in the Fashion Week Daily tomorrow. I can always read it then.”

  “Caroline, you’re the last one I worry about. You’ve been managing press your entire life.”

  She’s right. CeCe is from an old-money family, and her parents are the founders of Sandy Systems, a Fortune 10 company her brother currently runs. She’s been in the limelight since she was born.

  “What can I do to help?” I ask.

  “You can join me for a late lunch. Have you eaten?”

  I just look at her. She knows me well enough to know I start every morning with coffee. Some people think that’s why I’m so thin, but the reality is my taste buds are so acute that I struggle with how strong I taste things. For some reason, eating breakfast out seems to bother me. “I’ll go wherever you want to go.” I look around the room, taking it all in. “Everything looks fantastic. You’ve been here a week. How are things going?”

  “We’ve hit a few snags, but nothing earth-shattering.” She reaches for my hand and gives me a tour of the suite. There are so many things going on at once, and it’s impressive. CeCe’s amazing assistant, Ginger, is like a traffic cop as she jumps from call to call, directing people both on the phone and in the suite. “I’m so excited you’re here. Do you want to get together tonight?”

  Vanessa cuts in. “My husband, Angus, and I are entertaining two investment bankers from his firm. Would you both care to join us at Musso’s for steaks tonight? We have reservations at eight.”

  CeCe looks at me expectantly. “If you want to eat that late, I can do it.” She turns to Vanessa. “Are you sure you can add two people to a reservation this late?”

  “Without a doubt. You’ll enjoy Todd and Steffen. They both run different funds for Angus, and are incredibly handsome and very eligible.”

  I look over at CeCe. “That means they’re players, so look out. We’d be fresh meat.”

  Vanessa laughs. “Well yes, they might date a lot of women, but I do know they wouldn’t mind settling down if they met the right one.”

  CeCe holds up her hands and says, “I think we should go. You need to meet someone who doesn’t have political aspirations or is a giant social climbing creep.”

  Vanessa nods. “See? What was I just saying? Mark needs to be an afterthought.”

  We sit in the hotel restaurant, and while CeCe orders herself a big sandwich, I choose a salad and another cup of coffee to get warm. After this much coffee, I may never sleep again. It’s overrated anyway.

  CeCe catches me up on some of the drama Vanessa alluded to about her gift bags. She’s glowing and having a great time.

  “I’m so happy for you, Ce. You deserve all of this and more.”

  CeCe’s parents started the largest computer networking company in the world, Sandy Systems. When her mother decided she wanted to make a change in women’s lives, she started Metro Composition Cosmetics. Her parents retired a few years ago, and her brother took over Sandy Systems while she took over Metro Composition, having worked for the company during the summers and after school since it was founded. They donate 10 percent of their profits back to women’s issues, and the family motto is to remain an independent. This is very challenging in the cosmetics industry, because the big companies keep eating up the small ones and it becomes more challenging to get cosmetic counter space in the big department stores.

  When we’re done with our meals, CeCe heads back to the suite to continue her preparation for Fashion Week, and I go back to my hotel.

  Turning the television on to a mindless rerun of a police drama for a bit of background noise, I set the alarm on my phone to help me manage the time, then set myself up at the dining room table to check on my work e-mails. I have an out-of-office message auto-replying to everyone, but I like to keep my finger on the pulse of what the wires are saying.

  As I read through the mountains of articles on our competitors and clients, my eyes get heavy. I’m jet-lagged, and despite all the coffee I’ve drunk, I’m tired. There’s a large overstuffed couch, and I decide to lie down to just rest my eyes for a moment.

  As I listen to the show on TV, I must drift off because suddenly the alarm on my phone is ringing. I’m disoriented when I wake, forgetting where I am or what I’m doing here. I can’t believe I actually slept—I just don’t sleep well anymore. Now I have just enough time to get ready before CeCe arrives to pick me up.

  At 7:00 p.m. exactly, the doorbell to my suite rings. CeCe is always on time.

  Opening the door, I ask, “How’s it possible that you look even better than this afternoon and you worked all day?”

  She giggles as she walks past me. “I left at four and took a power nap.”

  I don’t believe her, but I learned a long time ago that it isn’t worth arguing. CeCe is one of those people who can sustain herself on four to five hours of sleep, and I hate her for it. I could get so much more done if I could do that. I may not sleep well, but I can keep going with only a short burst of it now and then.

  She hands me a bouquet of flowers and a beautiful box of my favorite hard candies from Europe.

  “These are lovely. What are they for?”

  “For all the mental support you bring with you, and really for recommending Vanessa. She’s been amazing through all of this. We’ll give her a nice bonus when we pay her bill.”

  “I know she’s thrilled with the work.”

  “You have no idea how much she’s done. Honestly, I never thought I would see anyone as talented as you are in public relations, but she comes a pretty close second.”

  I laugh. “She wipes the floor with me. Who are you trying to kid?”

  “No way. You deal with the unknown. She knows all the players and works them well.”

  I’m here to support my friend just as she’s supported me time and time again. It doesn’t require any kind of thank-you gift, and particularly one so generous, but I know it’s useless to refuse. “I’ll enjoy the candies. Thank you.”

  She links her arm in mine and conspiratorially asks, “Now, what do you know about these two guys she’s playing matchmaker with?”

  “Well, Todd is Angus’s number two and runs the biggest fund for Angus’s company. Steffen is a German guy who’s some kind of numbers wunderkind. I still think they’re players and only looking to get laid.”

  “You’re probably right. I still can’t believe she tamed Angus.”

  “I don’t know if he’s tame, but she keeps him on a tight leash. No funny business for him. I don’t think he cares though. He only has eyes for Vanessa.”

  We gather our coats and head downstairs. I’m excited to have my two best friends together—Vanessa and CeCe. The added mix of the fix-up will either make dinner something to laugh about later or be a fun way to pass the time.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Andy

  Looking out my window, I see twelve years of hard work. And it has been hard—California droughts, cold summers, flooding rains, hail damage, California fires, parasites and everything else that’s hit us. It’s been worth it though. We finally started to get out bottles of the red last year, and it’s like a light switched. We’re firmly in the black these days, and it’s really a relief.

  Moving to Napa Valley from Italy, I oversee our US operations. I knew as a young boy that I’d be sent abroad to build the family brand and prepared for this my entire life. I’ve never minded the hard work and push for success. My family is very supportive, and together we run vineyards acro
ss the world. I’ve built a great wine that represents the family vineyard, but also a bit of my personality—serious yet unpretentious.

  Looking over the day’s receipts, I’m excited by the numbers. Each month, our revenues climb. They haven’t gone up the same as months before though, so I need to prepare for our eventual plateau. We’re making just enough to keep our creditors at bay, but we’ve gone from a well-known winemaker in Europe to expanding across the world over the last twenty years. We’re small by many of the big brand's standards, but having a presence on almost every continent brings many different flavors and standing within the high-end wine community.

  Taking a deep breath before I enter the tasting room, I close my eyes and calm myself. I try to avoid the tasting room these days. It seems I’ve become the man du jour for the wealthy women of Napa Valley. When I was younger, I loved all the superficial attention, but if I’m being honest with myself, even then I probably still hated it. I know the only reason I’m so popular with the ladies these days is because some women see me as a conquest that no one’s had. Ever since my divorce became final a few years ago, I haven’t felt the need to date, or even get laid, honestly. I’m tired of the game I thought I would never play again.

  I see her across the room. She’s beautiful by most standards. I can’t remember her name, even though she told me just last week when she was here. If I remember correctly, her husband left for a younger version of her, and Napa is her Tuscan getaway.

  She sees me and lights up, waving me over. She’s sitting with a group of women of similar age—late fifties and all chasing the younger versions of themselves.

  “Andrew! Please meet my friends Jennifer, Eve, and Lisa Marie.”

  I bend slightly and without trying to be obvious that she doesn’t know my name—Andreas, not Andrew. I pull out my heavy Italian accent and say, “Nice to meet you, ladies. Please call me Andy. I hope you’re enjoying your wine.”

  They all nod enthusiastically as she continues, “Andrew, can you sit down and join us?” She pats the seat next to her.

  I try hard not to correct her. I don’t have any interest in spending time with her and her friends. This is my job, not a social hour for me. Instead, I paint a smile on my face and pretend that her calling me by the wrong name doesn’t bug me. “That’s so kind of you lovely ladies for the invitation. Unfortunately, duty calls. Enjoy your drinks.”

  Excusing myself, I work my way over to Sophia. “How’s it going?”

  “Well, the ladies who flagged you down have been sitting here for over an hour waiting for you.”

  I roll my eyes, making a mental note to watch myself. I know if I spurn one of these women, it could affect the business. Wine and their fans can be fickle.

  “Thanks for the heads-up.” Despite all the opportunity that comes my way, I’m a one-woman man who prizes genuineness and thoughtful conversation above lipstick and high heels.

  I hear my name being called, coming from the table of women. I paint a smile on my face before I turn around. “Yes, ladies? What can I do for you?”

  Eve speaks up. “Marnie thought you might be interested in joining us for dinner tonight.” She raises her brows and puffs her large breasts out at me.

  “I certainly wish I could. Unfortunately, I have—"

  She holds her hand up to stop me. “Before you say no, hear us out. We have a table at French Laundry.” She runs her fingers along the neck of her very low-cut sweater and licks her lips in a seductive way. “And we all promise to entertain you fully.”

  Trying to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head, I try to grasp that she could be inviting me to a sex party with all four of them. “Wow. That’s very kind of you to think I could keep up with you minks, really, but I already have plans I can’t break.” It may be a microwave meal and a soccer game, but it’s still plans.

  The woman named Lisa Marie looks like she may cry. She runs her hand up the inseam of my pants and I step back, both startled and surprised by her audacity.

  “You ladies have a fantastic time. I’ve never had a bad meal there.” I quickly walk away, making an escape before I have to be more direct in my refusal.

  Sophie gives me “the look” and a nod at the four young women who just walked in and are sitting at a corner table. She doesn’t want to be the bad guy and is going to let me kick them out for being underage. “Welcome, ladies.”

  They giggle, and the leader of the pack says, “We’d each like a flight of the red.” She looks me up and down before breathlessly adding, “Please.”

  “Of course. But first I need to check everyone’s IDs.”

  All of a sudden, they’re nervous. The leader winks at me, “We’re all over the drinking age.”

  “I have no doubt you’re over the drinking age in some countries, but I need to be sure you’re of age in this country.”

  They all guffaw and murmur excuses.

  The leader whines, “It really doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “Unfortunately it does. Because we’re in the wine business and we have a liquor license we don’t want to lose, I need to check.” I lean in close and point to a strange man sitting at the bar. “See that man over there? He’s with the California Alcoholic Beverage Control, and if I serve minors, I’ll lose both my liquor license and my vineyard.”

  A shared look of panic crosses their faces, and the leader says, “Well, I guess we should be heading out, then.”

  I nod. “Enjoy your night, girls.”

  I watch them walk out to ensure they actually do. We get far too many young people who think they can drink alcohol without being of age, but the rules for vineyard tasting rooms are much stricter than a bar or liquor store. We got a ticket for serving a minor shortly after we opened. The ID was a close match to the girl, and Sophia made an honest mistake, but it was an expensive $10,000 mistake we’ll never make again.

  I walk over to the guy I pointed out to the girls. “Hey, Tim.”

  “Did I hear you say I was with ABC?” he asks with a giant grin on his face.

  “Yep. I won’t risk my vineyard on a bunch of young girls.”

  “You have too many ethics for this town.”

  “Not at all. How’s my favorite bottle salesman?”

  “Doing great. I just met with Sophia, and we walked through your needs for the crush. We should be in good shape.”

  “Great. Care for a glass of wine?”

  “No, thanks. No drinking and driving for me. A quick way to become unemployed.”

  “I understand. Let me know if there’s anything you need from me.”

  He waves as he leaves.

  There are a few couples, and I see another table of women who keep making googly eyes at me.

  Good grief. I’m sure there’s something better I can be doing than being treated like a piece of meat.

  At seven, we close and lock the outside gates, then shut off all the lights in the tasting room. I send my sister Sophia home to her husband before heading up to the office to go through today’s bills. It never stops.

  Before I realize it, it’s nine, and I can call my mom in Italy for our almost daily check-in before I give in for the night. It’s 7:00 a.m. in Tuscany, but she’ll already be up and busy. She fields calls from my brothers and sisters from all over the world all day long and loves every minute of it. My parents are the only people in the family who really don’t speak any English, but it’s a good way for me to keep up with my Italian. Sophia and I tend to only speak to one another in English unless we’re having a heated discussion.

  The phone only rings once before my mother answers. “Pronto.”

  “Mama!”

  In Italian, she says, “My American son has called.” My father joins the call, and we have a quick meeting to update everyone on what’s going on here, including the daily numbers from the tasting room.

  We often talk about the differences between winemaking in the States as compared to Italy. Napa is a tourist destination unlike any other count
ry we operate in, so we see a decent income from tastings. It helps that Sophia and I grew up on our family’s wines and learned the process and what makes a good wine long before acquiring a taste for the fermented grape. Sophia primarily runs the tasting room and helps me with the books.

  I’m the tenth of fifteen kids, the oldest of the last five. My siblings and I have spanned the globe, starting vineyards and trying to make the family brand, Bellissima, the wine of the world.

  “We’d like everyone to come home next month for a group meeting,” my father says. We meet every quarter for a week at home. Someone always has something going on that becomes the focus of the meetings; it’s never a good thing to have eight brothers and our father focused on your vineyard.

  “Please bring your American girlfriend so I can meet her,” my mother adds.

  “Mama, there’s no American woman in my life.” Ever since I divorced, she’s been after me to meet someone. She worries I’m alone. I promise her that I’m happy, but she doesn’t buy it.

  “You have time. I have a good feeling you will find one and bring her home. One I will like, of course.” My parents are notorious for not liking anyone’s future spouse when they brought them home. My oldest brother married a French woman from an old champagne-producing family, and even that was difficult for them.

  It’s hopeless to argue with her. “I’ll try. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  We hang up, and I make my way to my apartment above the tasting room. Exhausted, I strip down and crawl into bed with only my underwear on.

  Though I try not to, I keep rehashing the end of our conversation. My mother’s usually a bit subtler, so it’s surprising that she’s pushing so hard for me to bring someone home.

  My head hits the pillow, and I’m out.