LITMIR.BIZ

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back. She had nothing to hide. Profiles like his graced Italian coins. He had a spade-shaped face: broad forehead, arresting wide-spaced brown eyes. There was a diagonal line through one of his heavy brows. At first she thought it was a razored fashion statement, but looking closer, she saw it was a scar. It, along with a slightly crooked nose, just made him look rugged. And a strong jaw narrowing to a squared-off chin only added to the effect.

       Oh, Harry, your cameras would love this one.

      And he knew how good-looking he was. He wore handsomeness as casually as he did his expensive clothes. Hollywood was full of men like this, bursting with charm and hubris. He had no way of knowing she’d been inoculated against that type years ago. “Why would you want this position?” She read from the résumé. “Cum laude in agribusiness from UC Davis, you worked your way up to lead vintner at one of the largest growers in the area within three years.” She dropped the paper and studied the man it supposedly explained. “You are obviously overqualified.”

      “Actually, I’m looking to this job as a way of completing my education.” He leaned back, resting his hands on the chair arms. “I need to know how to start up a winery if I hope to own my own someday.” His eyes traveled around the dingy room. “No offense meant.”

      “None taken.” She kept the wince on the inside. “I’m hoping our grand reopening will be like a startup.”

      “‘Our.’ Do you have a partner?”

      The corner of her mouth lifted. “Not unless you count Barnabas.” Might as well scare him off before they wasted too much time; she had a lot to do today. “I can’t afford to pay much.”

      “What is the salary?”

      She told him.

      He wasn’t as good at hiding winces as she was. “I have an idea.” His thumbs beat a cadence on the chair arms as he considered. “What if I accept your salary and we work out a percentage split of the profit?”

      Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

      “If I can’t increase the profitability of your winery, I only receive the salary you’re proposing. But if I succeed, I get, say, fifteen percent of the profit I generate.” He stopped tapping and raised his hands, palms up. “This way you’re assured that I’ll do my best, because I have skin in the game. And you wouldn’t lose anything that you didn’t have to begin with.”

      She searched for holes in his logic. “I’d have to think about that.”

      He gave her a Hollywood smile. “Fair enough. Why don’t you give me a tour and tell me your plans?”

      “Follow me.” She stood and led him to the hallway. “Our wines have enjoyed a solid reputation for years. I hope to continue that.” When she stopped in front of a door, he opened it. “Since I have a background in yoga and massage, I plan to reopen as a boutique winery and spa. I think it would give us a unique twist.”

      The room was long and narrow. “This would be great for my yoga classes.” She stepped in and flipped on the lights. “I’ll install mirrors all along this wall and put reflective tinting on the windows for privacy. I’ll wall off a small room at the end for massage and aromatherapy.”

      “Really.” He didn’t actually put his nose in the air, but his tone was the auditory equivalent. “I’m not big on all that new-age woo-woo, but you may be right. Rich women love it.”

      Great. Arrogant and opinionated. Well, he didn’t need to approve of her—just respect her, as the owner. “Not only rich women. I’m going to encourage the local women to participate as well.” She pulled the door closed and led the way down the hall.

       He’s only the first applicant. Hopefully the next will be better.

      “These are the manager’s quarters. Barney and I are camping out here until I can get moved into the cabin at the top of the hill.” Glad she’d thought to make the bed this morning, she unlocked the door and stepped in.

      He looked around, his gaze lingering on her open suitcase. “Nice.”

      Of course her fuchsia underwear lay on top like a Frederick’s of Hollywood advertisement.

      Wondering if he referred to the apartment or her underthings, she stepped around him, walked across the room and kicked the suitcase lid closed, sure her face was the same shade as the lingerie.

      “Why did you leave your last position?” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms.

      His assurance faltered as something flashed across his face—shock maybe. But it was gone before she could be sure.

      “I’m the lead vintner at Bacchanal.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “They don’t know I’m looking to take my career in another direction, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t contact them. My other references should tell you what you need to know.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      “I SEEYOU’VE worked as an assistant vineyard manager...” She consulted the résumé before her. “...Craig. But I need more than that. I need a generalist.”

      The earnest-faced young man leaned forward in the guest chair. “I know. But I learn fast. I thought I could start in the vineyard then advance.”

      “I appreciate your aspirations and your attitude. But as you can see—” she spread her arms “—it’s just me. I need someone who knows it all.” And who can teach me. “I’ll hold on to your résumé for when I can affo—expand enough to require a vineyard manager.” She stood. “But thank you for coming by.”

      The kid stood and extended a hand. “I hope you do keep me in mind. I’m looking for an opportunity to move up.”

      From the office window a few moments later, Indigo watched his car peel out of the parking lot, leaving a haze of dust and desperation.

      That was the last interview. The posting had run for a week, and she hadn’t had a call in three days. As Harry would have said, “It’s time to kill the engineer and start production.” But there had only been six applicants, and two had ended the interview when they heard the salary. One had the nerve to chuckle on the way out.

      She lifted the three remaining résumés from the desk. The old man would be a great teacher, but with his huge-knuckled, arthritic hands, she had doubts that he could withstand the physical work required. She dropped his résumé in the overflowing trash can. The next looked great on paper, but two of his references had sung the same song about complaints from the serving staff. Sexual harassment complaints. Since the manager would live on the premises and Indigo’s closest neighbor was a half mile away... She shivered, imagining a knock at the cabin door late at night. Or maybe not even a knock. His résumé followed the rest into the trash.

      That left one. She studied the heavy ivory paper.

       The arrogant Italian.

      Yes, his attitude bugged her, but she was used to that. After all, if arrogance was a crime, all of Hollywood would be incarcerated. She’d checked his references. No one had a bad word to say about Danovan DiCarlo, from his expertise to his knowledge to his work ethic.

      But something still nagged about him. Like the shredded remnants of a dream upon waking, something lingered, leaving her with an uneasy feeling and the memory of his sad smile. Her hands swept the papers on the desk into stacks, almost without her being aware that she’d done so. Whenever she was upset, her body craved movement, as if action could help sort the knots in her mind.

      What was it about him?

       For one thing, he’s overqualified. He’ll walk as soon as he gets a better opportunity.

      But he already had a better job than she was offering.

      How very convenient

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