Because right now, she hummed as she came back to the table and had a smile on her face instead of that disappointed look that he’d been dreading.
No, he couldn’t lie to her like this. He was an adult! He was too old to lie to his mom, come on. He’d tell her. Right now.
“More mashed potatoes, Luke?” she asked.
“Yes please,” he said.
Avery was going to kill him for this.
Five
MARGOT GOT TO THE winery on Tuesday morning earlier than usual. She needed to get herself in the flow of things before she had to face Luke again. She needed to remind herself that she was more than the woman who had slept with her newest employee, whom she was still, unfortunately, wildly attracted to. She needed to sit down at her desk, throw herself into some spreadsheets and emails and metrics, try to remember that she was good at this job, that she genuinely loved this job. Because for the past twenty-two or so hours, she’d felt like an extreme fuckup.
She had to get back to Margot Noble, CEO and co-owner of Noble Family Vineyards. Fake it till you make it—hadn’t that been her motto for the past few years? She hadn’t made it yet, but at least she’d gotten good at faking it. And she needed to pull herself together before she saw Luke again. Before he said anything to her, in that voice he’d used to whisper in her ear in bed, before she heard his laugh from across the room, that laugh that had made her lean over just a little closer when they’d been at the Barrel. Before she saw those long, neat fingers of his carefully picking up wineglasses in the tasting room, with the same care he’d used to run his fingers up her . . . No. What was she doing? She had to stop thinking about this.
The party, that’s what she had to think about. She should have spent yesterday making initial plans, doing some research into when other wineries were having their events, what caterers she could get when, but no, she’d spent it obsessing about Luke. Maybe she should obsess about the party instead.
She wanted this party to be a true celebration of the winery, of all that Uncle Stan and Elliot—and she—had accomplished. Even more, she wanted it to be a sign of bigger things to come. She wanted more sales, more publicity, more attention for their winery. To fill their coffers, yes, but also to put them securely on the Napa Valley map. They were on the cusp of so much, she could feel it. She wanted it all to happen.
At ten forty-five, she heard someone drive up to the winery, and glanced out her window to see who it was.
Luke. So he had come back today.
She shouldn’t be relieved. She should be disappointed—if he’d disappeared and never come back, she wouldn’t have to deal with that particular stress anymore.
But she had wanted to hire before things got—well, hopefully got—busier this summer. And she’d already been able to tell from yesterday that Luke would be good at this—she’d been able to tell by his interactions with customers and the way he’d listened to Taylor and Elliot.
And fine, she’d been able to tell by the way he’d listened to her as they’d talked and laughed and flirted at the bar on Sunday night. She’d wondered later if he’d just listened to her so well to get into her pants, if his whole goal in asking her questions and laughing at her stories was to get her in his bed at the end of the night. If that had been his goal, then wow, that had worked out well for him, but after seeing the way he’d chatted with customers the day before, she thought this kind of thing just came naturally to him.
Why had he come back today? Why had he applied for this job in the first place? After seeing his résumé—and his car—she was pretty sure he didn’t need the money.
See, this was why she shouldn’t have done that no-talk-about-work bullshit at the Barrel on Sunday night. Yes, sure, she’d been sick of work, and she’d wanted to relax, but if she’d just said where she’d worked, she would have had a short, professional, friendly conversation with her new employee, and then she would have gone home and cuddled with her favorite vibrator, instead of fucking Luke all night.
Oh God, she had to stop thinking about her vibrator and the sex she’d had with her employee, when said employee was about to walk into the building. She did not want him to see that same look on her face when she unlocked the door to let him in for his second day of work as he had on Sunday night when they were both naked in his bedroom.
She forced her face into a professional smile and unlocked the winery doors.
“Good morning, Luke,” she said.
He smiled at her, with a slight question in his eyes. Did he wonder if she wanted him to come back?