“I understand completely,” he assures me. “I’ll just be there basking in your glory, always the proud father. I won’t disrupt your little party tomorrow night, I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

That he’s describing tomorrow’s event as “my little party” already sets me on edge, the asshole. I swear he says those sorts of things on purpose. I don’t believe a word he says.

And I hate that I feel this way.

After he hangs up, I ponder over how I can handle the problem that is my father. I wonder if Bryn would help me. But if I set Bryn in my dad’s sights, he’ll probably try and make a pass and she’ll end up beyond insulted.

Yeah. That’s a risk I really don’t want to take. Do I have a choice though? It’s like my dad needs a babysitter and only a specialized few will do.

Still, I definitely don’t want to subject Bryn to my rude bastard of a father.

Matt

“THE PLACE LOOKS fabulous, man.” Archer slaps me on the back so hard, I take a step forward, wincing when pain shoots through my knee. It still hurts. It’ll always hurt. “You pulled it off. I bet everybody will have DeLuca Winery falling from their lips come tomorrow.”

“Thanks, but the party only just started,” I say, ever the grim reaper as I worry about anything and everything. The grounds are crowded with people, the lot filled with cars, including the dirt field we opened up specifically for the event.

My father still hasn’t arrived which worries the shit out of me, but I can’t sweat it. Maybe he’ll never come at all. I figure I won’t be that lucky. He knows how to put a damper on any party, big or small.

The image of my father crashing into the party, loud and drunk and making me look like a fool has set me on edge. I need to do something to take that edge off and quick.

“You’re all gloom and doom today, asshole. Perk up. Life is good,” Gage says, saluting me with his glass before he takes a swallow of a DeLuca Cabernet.

“Don’t be so mean,” Marina chastises as she slips her arm through Gage’s. “It’s an amazing party, Matt. I know everyone’s impressed.”

“Thanks, Marina.” Her words mean a lot to me since she comes from one of the oldest families in the area. If anyone knows what’s going on in the Napa Valley, it’s Marina Knight. That I can impress her and she hears nothing but good things from those she knows, lets me breathe easier.

A little bit easier, at least.

My name is on the label, on the sign out front, on the building. It’s a surreal feeling, finally seeing the fruition of months and months of hard labor, sweat, and tears.

The day’s events came off without a hitch. The tour was a success, heavily attended by many, including plenty of local media. The wine tasting had been a nerve-wracking experience but soon turned into complete relief. Almost everyone enjoyed what they sampled, though there had been a few naysayers, but that was to be expected.

Bryn led the tasting, composed and elegant and thoughtful and amusing. She’d enraptured everyone, talking so enthusiastically about the wine and the DeLuca name and what it’s going to mean to the Napa Valley in the coming years. Hell, even I believed my own hype.

She’d been utter perfection, and I never got a chance to thank or praise her. I still haven’t seen her arrive tonight and that surprised me. I figured she’d be here already.

I need her to be here already.

Gage and Marina head for one of food tables, and I glance around, checking out the crowd. I notice that the small live band is tuning up and getting ready to play. The weather tonight is perfect, not too cold, though I have outdoor heaters going on low to fill the air with warmth. There’s a gentle breeze rustling the majestic oaks that are all over the property. White lights are strung in the trees surrounding the courtyard, illuminating the party without being too bright. There are bars set up on each corner of the courtyard, and they all have long lines, everyone wanting a glass of one of the new DeLuca wines. Servers move through the crowds with their trays, offering appetizers or flutes of sparkling wine.

It has all come together so perfectly, and I owe a lot of that to Bryn. But where is she?

“Matt! Your party is fabulous.” Ivy comes at me, her pregnant belly so obvious it’s preceding her. Archer stands at her side as she comes for me, enveloping me in a perfume-scented hug. “I can’t believe how beautiful everything looks. Where’s Bryn? I wanted to praise her too. I know she’s done so much for you.”

“She has. And you’ve done an amazing job too you know.” I kiss her cheek before I let her go, thankful for all her decorating input. Everything looks freaking amazing because of her. Her design skills and expertise were just what I needed to ensure the grounds and the interiors looked modern yet stayed true to the authenticity of the winery in times past.

“I’m so glad you like it.” She smiles, then notices Marina and Gage waiting in line. “I’ll be right back. I want to talk to Marina.”

Archer and I watch her go before Archer turns to me, a knowing smile on his smug-as-hell face. “Been diddling the help yet?”

Unease slips down my spine. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Ah, don’t pretend with me. I know your assistant has the hots for you, and I hear the feeling’s mutual.” Archer takes a sip from his glass. “Ivy talks. Her and your Miss James have become awfully close.”

“What did Ivy tell you?” No way did Bryn tell Ivy about what happened a few nights ago, when I kissed her then pushed her away.

“Not a whole hell of a lot. Just that the two of you have been circling around each other in the office for far too long and that Bryn finally got herself a new wardrobe and some courage. I hear the dress she’s wearing tonight is a plan to knock you completely on your ass with lust for her,” Archer warns.

I swallow hard. Great. So she’s going to be wearing a dress that makes her look like utter perfection? I can withstand that. No problem.

Shit, I hope I can.

She hadn’t worn an uninspired beige outfit earlier today, and I was thankful for it, though she impressed me so damn much I probably wouldn’t have even noticed. She’d shown up dressed to perfection in a fitted deep purple dress, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail that wasn’t so severe as her usual hairstyle. She’d looked beautiful. Assured and elegant, she was a fine representative of the DeLuca Winery.

“She’s my assistant, nothing else,” I tell Archer, needing to convince myself as well. “I know you’ve seen the pictures of when she got the makeover and you’ve given me endless shit, but I can’t do anything about it. She works for me. I won’t risk anything between us for fear it could go horribly wrong in an instant. She could turn against me and ruin my ass. Get me on sexual harassment charges or whatever.”

“Oh, I get it. Tell that to Ivy though, since she’s still hell bent on getting the two of you together,” Archer says, his gaze roaming lazily over the crowd much as mine had only a few moments ago. “Hey, isn’t that her? Your Bryn?”

I jerk my gaze to where Archer’s staring, and I do a double take, my eyes widening when I see her.

Damn, she’s . . . unbelievably gorgeous. I thought she was hot when she showed up in that black printed dress on Monday but right now, she’s just fucking beautiful. There are no other words for it.

“That’s her,” I say, watching as she walks the far parameter of the courtyard, her head turning this way and that as she seemingly takes everything in. A small smile curves her plum-colored lips and she pushes her long, inky colored hair over her shoulder, stopping to talk to someone, laughing at whatever he said before she pats the man on the shoulder and keeps moving.

Jealousy moves through me, and I tell myself to knock it off. She can look at and talk to other people, especially if we’re not together. Hell, even if we were together, I have no right to tell her what to do or who she talks to.