Some Like It Hotter. Isabel SharpeЧитать онлайн книгу.
help. “Okay, show me. But so help me, if this spot isn’t paradise on earth, I’ll—”
“It is.” He ambled across the sidewalk, not looking to see if she’d follow.
She did, but not willingly. In fact, during the walk she was wondering if there was anything she could put in his coffee that would keep him in bed for oh, say, exactly a month.
Down La Playa they moseyed toward the Pacific. Could he not move any faster? Chris had to shorten her steps so she didn’t pass him, and her legs were shorter than his. What was he waiting for? Did he think she couldn’t keep up? That she was some dainty flower? Forget that, she did triathlons every summer.
When she was just about ready to put a hand to his broad back and shove to make him go faster, they reached the end of the line of buildings and turned toward the beach.
Okay, okay, it was beautiful. Really beautiful. A peaceful expanse of sand flattened smooth by waves. On either side, rocky cliffs topped with sparse green growth and low trees. Zac led her on a short stroll across the sand, then up a steep path to the top of the cliff on the north side.
She followed him to a spot between two scrubby bushes, where a table and bench had been set up so the occupants would be sheltered while still being able to take in the Pacific, the cliffs and the mountains behind.
“Wow.” Chris put her hands on her hips, shaking her head in defeat. “You were right. It’s perfect.”
Zac shrugged his broad shoulders. “Seemed to me you can’t improve on much when you’re reading sales reports, but this might do it.”
“It’s beautiful. Thanks for showing me. I’ll appreciate the quiet and privacy.” She brightened her voice and put the report on the table with her coffee, praying he’d get the hint and leave her alone.
“Just you and the beautiful Central Coast.” He lifted his hand for a high five. “Be at peace.”
Chris slapped his palm. Whatever. He was going. “Thanks.”
“See ya around.”
She managed a noncommittal “Mmm.” The second he was out of earshot, she furiously dialed her sister.
“Eva! What did you let me in for?”
“What do you mean?”
“This Zac person. He’s horrible.”
“Zac? Horrible?”
Chris rolled her eyes. She adored her sister, but sometimes she was much too...tolerant. Especially of guys. “He practically jumped down my throat. Told me I shouldn’t drink red eyes, that I shouldn’t read sales reports, shouldn’t sit at the Slow Pour...”
“Oh, but isn’t it gorgeous there where he took you? The cliff seat above Aura Beach, right? I told him he should.”
Chris wrinkled her nose, gazing around her at the wide, endless ocean. “Well...yes, it’s gorgeous.”
“He wanted you to be happy.”
“That’s not the point. I was perfectly happy sitting outside at Slow Pour.”
“Aren’t you happier now?”
“No, I’m completely exasperated with him. And you!”
Eva giggled, making Chris smile. “He’s a good guy, I promise.”
“So what’s he going to do, come in every day and tell me how to live my life?”
“Probably,” Eva said cheerfully.
“Great.” Chris rolled her eyes. “Out of Ames’s frying pan and into Zac’s fire.”
“Ooh, into Zac’s fire. Sounds like a sexy title. And speaking of sexy, you forgot to mention that Ames is a total hottie.”
“Yeah...” Chris lifted her chin, letting the sun have at her face again. “He is kind of hot.”
“Mmm.” Eva sighed.
“Do not get any ideas. The guy’s a narcissist. Not your type at all.” It immediately occurred to her that Ames was Eva’s type, since she invariably went for guys who were wrong for her. But that didn’t mean she had to do it again.
“No? We’ll see. Now sit down and enjoy the ocean for an hour or two.”
“An hour or two? Staring at waves?” She snorted. “Not me. But it is a beautiful place to work.”
“Chris, you just arrived! Enjoy the place!”
“I am enjoying it. It’s stunning up here. Now leave me alone while I study your sales reports.”
“You are hopeless.”
“I know.” She ended the call reminding her sister of a couple of restaurant suggestions in her neighborhood on Eighty-Seventh Street, and settled back with her report.
Hmm. Sales okay, fairly steady, but not really taking off. Looked a lot like her own track record in New York, except most of Eva’s traffic occurred midmorning and midafternoon, NYEspresso’s dead times. In a place like—
“Whoa, sorry, man. Didn’t realize someone was here.”
Chris looked up, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone com—
Oh, my God.
Dark windblown hair. Blue eyes. Shorts and T-shirt revealing a gorgeous body. Warm, white-toothed smile. The hottest guy she’d ever seen.
Her heart launched into triple time. She was unable to speak or return his smile, just sat there staring in a flood of hormones.
When was the last time a guy had affected her like this? Not John, not Rob, not even Steve, her most serious boyfriend. This crazy, overwhelming reaction was a first. What did it mean?
Something really good.
She took a deep breath and indicated the other half of the table. “Have a seat. There’s plenty of room.”
“GUY CHAUMONT PINOT Noir. Three cases? Four? Like last time. Okay, glad you enjoyed it.” Ames scribbled on his notepad. “He’s got an excellent Chardonnay, too. Twenty-ten, a classic dry Burgundy, with apple and melon notes, great with vegetarian and vegan dishes. Want me to bring a bottle when I see you Thursday? Okay, good. And the Chateau Moulin Bordeaux, too? Excellent. Nice talking with you and I’ll see you Thursday at two. Right. Bye.”
Ames tossed his pen onto the desk in the office he’d set up in one of his condo’s extra bedrooms. Working from home was one of the greatest perks of his job and also one of its greatest challenges. Days like today, when he was restless and irritated, there was no one else around to bring him out of it except Jean, his Tuesdays-and-Thursdays cleaning woman, cook and sometimes assistant, who was convinced he couldn’t live without her. She might be right. But her way of bringing him out of a funk was to tell him exactly how he was living his life wrong.
Didn’t seem to help.
Finding out that Chris Meyer had left New York and flown about as far away over land as possible without telling him hurt more than Ames had expected. He’d been settling in for a slow and steady campaign to win her, and had thought he might be making some progress. To put it mildly, this didn’t look good.
He pulled his laptop closer and brought up the file on Manhattan Vine, one of the biggest chains of liquor stores in the city, an account he’d singlehandedly landed for Boyce Wines, a coup that had been instrumental in getting him promoted in the venerable company. He’d spent the morning visiting retailers to check signage and point-of-purchase placement and probing managers for their openness to hosting wine-tasting events. He was thinking some of Manhattan Vine’s east-side stores might be a good