Seriously, what is happening to me?
Football, wine, and women. Those are what I’m best at. Yet, with her, I feel completely out of my element, and that’s so wrong. She’s the one who’s the critic, and she’s the one who needs to worry about her deceitful character being exposed to the unaware unsuspecting followers of her blog. So, why am I the one who’s so flustered? I feel like I’m wandering into an unprotected area, and I’m about to be blindsided.
Slipping through the employee access hallway, I head straight for my office. Slamming the door, I turn and drop my forehead to the cool wood before my eyes drift shut and I force air into my lungs. There’s no way I can be social right now. I know the camera crew and a few others are lingering in the tasting room, but I need to escape from them, escape from all of it, escape from her.
What is it about this girl that makes me utterly insane? I’ve been around plenty of women I don’t particularly care for. I’ve never had a problem controlling myself. She’s smart-mouthed, which only draws attention to her full, inviting lips. She has this all-knowing look in her eyes, which makes it clear she’s into me and drives me insane, and she carries herself as if she’s better than everyone here. It’s unnerving and makes me feel crazed. It has to be because of the magazine assignment and what she does. I’ve been so restless over the potential outcome of the article and what it can do for the winery’s sales that I can’t think of anything else. And now, with her here, her lack of enthusiasm about our winery in her article could potentially be the difference between a small jump in revenue and a large one.
Ever since that shitty review about us went live last year, I’ve been in defensive mode, and nothing I’ve done over the last two days has helped all our efforts in the restoration of the winery’s name. Yes, there have been dozens of great reviews over the years, but that one four wilted grapes haunts me at every turn.
Pushing away from the door, I pull in a deep breath and then scrub my hand over my face. What was I thinking trapping her against the wall like that? It’s one thing to think she’s beautiful and to let my mind wander with the what-ifs, but it’s something different to act on it. Especially when I have zero interest in her. Come to think of it, she’s made it pretty clear that she hates me as much as I hate her, but it was also clear how much her body wanted mine.
My hand wraps around the back of my neck to try to rub out some of the tension while I will my body to forget the way she felt pressed up against mine.
She could have pushed me off at any time. Instead, when my hand wrapped around her, she arched her back to get even closer. From what I know of her and her stubborn personality, I understand her not backing down, but I felt the way her heart beat through her chest and her breath quickened. She may not have acted on my advance toward her, but she was as caught up as I was.
Shit.
The memory of her body is the last thing I need.
The door flies open and bangs against the wall. Kyle’s jaw is locked tight, his eyes are narrowed, and the vein on his forehead is bulging.
“Do you mind telling me what the hell that was?” he snaps, pointing toward the hallway. “Need I remind you that regardless of whatever your relationship is or isn’t with her, she works for Food Network. The same Food Network we need to help save our asses.”
Letting out a sigh, I walk behind the desk and fall into my seat. I hate the thought of not being the business owner that I know I am. “She doesn’t work only for Food Network.” I lean forward, rest my arms on the desk, and unconsciously pick up and twirl a pen.
“I know that. She’s a chef and co-owns a restaurant in Charleston. A very successful one,” he says. Funny, over the last two days, I haven’t once thought about her restaurant. It never occurred to me how successful it may or may not be, but this reminds me again of how career climbing and driven she is. There’s no telling how many she’s run over or backstabbed along the way.
“That isn’t all she does.”
“What do you mean?” He moves to sit in the chair in front of me.
Leaning back in my chair, I spot the sandwich in his hand. Kyle loves food as much as I do, so I’m not surprised he grabbed something on his way in here to berate me.
“She’s a critic, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know I know.” I nod my head toward his hand. “Sandwich good?”
He looks down at the sandwich as if he’d forgotten about it and then takes a huge bite while somehow managing to smirk at me.
“What makes you think she’s a critic?” he mumbles between bites.
“Remember that event Lexi talked me into going to for Feeding America last fall?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, she set me up on a blind date, saying I’d love this girl, and sure enough . . .” I wave my hand toward the showroom.
“You’re kidding?” He finishes the sandwich in two more bites and wipes the back of his hand across his face.
“Nope.”
“But why do you think she’s a critic?”
“Because, right after I got there, I spotted Lexi across the room and I made my way toward her and her friend. I was standing behind them, neither one of them noticed me, and they were discussing her last critique on her blog.”
In my mind, I can see her like it was yesterday. It was her legs that first caught my attention: long, lean, and toned. Killer shoes that made them stretch on for days. Next was the tight little short silver dress, followed by a smile so stunning time stopped. It snapped back into motion seconds later when I heard what the two girls were talking about. Apparently, Shelby was telling Lexi about some guy who had the “gall” to serve her raw food. At first, I thought she was talking about some date gone bad, which almost made me laugh. Some guys didn’t have any luck. I kept listening. A small seed of doubt settled inside me, and with each word that passed through Shelby’s perfect lips, the sick feeling in my stomach grew.
Shelby, in all of her stunning beauty, seemed so self-important and nasty when she scoffed and said that if he had known she was a critic, she would have gotten better food.
A critic.
The sick feeling in my stomach turned to anger, and all I could see was the asshole who was getting ready to post a bad review of my own wine—not because it was bad wine, but because he had gotten someone else’s bottle by mistake.
Lexi asked if Shelby was going to post about it on her blog, Starving for Southern, and Shelby just grinned and lifted her glass to her lips. I turned and left without actually finding out her answer.
“She has a blog, too?” Kyle asks.
“Oh yeah, and not a little blog, either. It’s a big one.” I open my laptop and type in the web address for her blog.
“Well, what is it?” he asks as I move my computer around so he can see the screen.
“Starving for Southern.” I watch him carefully as he studies the image of a girl with her hands covering her face. The same girl that has been walking around here for the last twenty-four hours.
“Shut the hell up!” He leans closer to get a better look. Even though her face is hidden, there’s no denying it’s her. Same hair, same shoulders, just . . . the same. “I can’t believe that girl, the one out there, runs Starving for Southern.”
“I take it you’ve heard of it?”
“Of course I have. It’s my job to keep a stamp on the who’s who of food and wine in the south. This blog has been around for years.” He leans back in his chair.
“Yeah, I had heard of it, too. Lexi had mentioned it a few times, at least how much she loved the recipes on it. Needless to say, I was shocked and then pissed when I found out my blind date for the night was the author. I checked repeatedly after that night and searched our name, but nothing ever popped up.” Tension builds in my muscles as I think about that night.
Turning the laptop back around, I scroll down through the home page. Most of the posts are recipes and food tips, but every now and then, there’s a review.
“Wow, what a small world.” Kyle shakes his head.
“Tell me about it.” I frown and run my hand over my face.
When Lexi first called and said she had someone she wanted me to meet, I was all for it. How could I say no? Lexi has great taste in friends.
But after what I heard, and then later what I saw, I went out of my way to spend as little time with the girls as I could. I’d run into a few colleagues in the industry, I’d been approached by a few girls, but mostly I kept returning to the bar to try to drown the hours away.
At one point toward the end of the evening Lexi found me standing at a small table. She was fuming and called me an asshole, and although I hated disappointing her, I had my reasons.
No one knew yet about the four wilted grapes review. It was scheduled to go to print a few days later, and until then, I was keeping it to myself. So, I didn’t explain.
She pushed her hair over her shoulder, nodded to her friend, who was walking our way, and mumbled, “Whatever.”
I knew then I was forgiven.
“Come out soon and see me?” I asked.
“Maybe.” She punched me in the arm and then hugged me tight. “See you around, Ten.” Ten. A stupid nickname she gave me because of my college jersey number.
“See ya, Key Lime.” I returned her teasing. Lexi makes pies.
As I walked toward the door, ending the worst blind date ever, my eyes met her friend’s. No words needed to be said. We both knew that the likelihood of seeing each other again was slim to none, too bad we don’t always get what we want.
“You know what this means,” Kyle says.
“Not really. I mean she’s a food blogger, critic, whatever. You know how I feel about critics.” Saying the word “critic” leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“I do, but you need to stop thinking of them in a bad way. And really, you’re the only one here who doesn’t like her. Michelle, the crew, and myself, we all think she’s great. So keeping that in mind, also think about how if she’s happy here, she might blog about it and/or Instagram the wine. She has like a bazillion followers. And since she’s so well known in the southeast, she might be as much of a marketing strategy as the magazine article.”
Strategy.
My eyes jerk and lock onto his as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end—he’s right.
Why didn’t I think of this sooner? Oh, I know, it’s because I’ve been too caught up verbally sparring with her and trapping her against walls. I shake my head at the imprudence I feel for myself.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.” He doesn’t need to know the war that’s going on inside my head.
“We need a plan,” he says.
Plan.
I’m good at making plans. I’ve been making them my entire life. Plans to get me into the college of my choice, plans to get me in the NFL, and plans for the future of this winery. Hell, on a simpler level, I’m best at making game plans. Plans to defeat the other team. There’s a reason why I was the top pick for linebackers during the draft, I’m excellent at strategizing and executing a plan.
Most people think the way to win a game falls to the offensive side, but they’re wrong. It’s the defense that prevents the opposing team from gaining yardage, and best-case scenario is that defense has a turnover and recoups the ball. Although she’s a woman, when the same rules are applied how different can it really be?
Rules.
So, when it comes to rules, in defense there are three: run defense, pass defense, and a blitz. If I focus on these three things, I can’t lose. She’ll leave here in two weeks thinking we are the nicest people she’s ever met and our wines the best ever. I personally may not know the ins and outs of her blog, but I had heard of it outside of Lexi, which says something about its popularity and devoted followers. Between the Food Network Magazine article and her blog, maybe we can eradicate more of the negativity attached to our name.
So, rule number one: run defense. This is when we add more players to the line of scrimmage to get to the guy handling the ball more quickly. I can do that, but I’ll need some help. I know Kyle is in. He sees my wheels turning, and he is smiling so widely, it’s almost comical. I’ll have him talk to Michelle, and maybe I’ll even call in a few of our devoted locals that will just happen to be at the tasting bar at the same time she is. We’ll surround her, suck her in, and make her feel so welcome she’ll think she was born here.
Rule number two: pass defense. This is one-on-one, man-to-man coverage of the guy carrying the ball—like the wide receiver—or it can be coverage of an area. The objective is to take the ball away. I am going to follow her around as much as possible, and study the ins and outs of her blog to learn all of her favorite things. Every time she turns a corner, I’m going to be there. She doesn’t know it yet, but we’re going to become best friends, and by the end of the two weeks, any doubt she had because of me will be eliminated and she’ll think she’s a silent partner of the business.
A shiver runs through me. Being forced to spend time with her is not part of the deal, but unfortunately, there’s no getting around this one. It’s my winery, my family’s name, I have to suck it up and do it.
Rule number three: blitz. This is when the defensive players charge the line of scrimmage in an attempt to tackle the quarterback before he has a chance to pass or hand off the ball to someone else.
Tackle. The. Quarterback.
The feeling of having Shelby flush against me while having her backed against the wall heats through me. Just thinking of her curves and her lips has my blood pumping a little faster. Nothing happened, but damn if that wasn’t hot. For a split second, the idea of tackling her doesn’t sound so bad, but then I remember who she is.
Switching tactics, I decide I’m going to tackle her brain. I’m good at reading people, so this shouldn’t be too hard. I will ask indirect questions to figure out her thought process when it comes to writing her posts and then play right into her moves.
I need to beat her at her own game.
I have to be in control.
I can’t let her walk out of here in two weeks without the most stellar impression of us.
I can do this.
I never lose.
Kyle leans forward and places his arms on my desk. “Tell me, boss, what’s the plan?”
Excitement courses through my veins. This is the first time in a long time where I’ve felt like myself. Maybe this is what we’ve needed all along—a plan. And now that we have one, I can almost taste the victory.
Chuckling to myself, I remember how yesterday I said I’d do anything just short of selling my soul to the devil, well as it turns out, my soul is about to get real friendly with the devil—a she-devil that is.