In Over His Head

Chapter 5

He looked so damned sexy with a day's worth of stubble across that chiselled jaw that Sharla had to block him out with her monitors and firmly stare forward until he was buried into the numbers on his spreadsheet.

She was an utter fool. She could dive into her work with ease—normally—but after he'd been away for a few days and rematerialized in the office, she couldn't concentrate to save her soul. He filled up the room with his presence, rendering her helpless in her ability to switch off the emotion she attached to that man.

Most of the time she could shelve it, and had, thankfully. He was her boss, she'd crossed the line with him, and in the wake of those lapses in judgement, she'd crossed back. He didn't fire her, on the contrary, had given in to all her wishes, refused to let her resign, and even after he told her how he felt, he'd still respected what she wanted and kept her on.

Her brother Benji told her she should've quit a long time ago. She thought sometimes she should've taken that advice, but she loved this damned job, and despite the odd tension because of her own stupidity, they worked really well together. Like, really well.

There were times they would be out at a winery and all she'd have to do was look at him a certain way and he'd know what she thought. She could read his mind when he would snap his fingers in the air, forgetting the name of a file he needed, stumbling over his own words with "The... uhh... you know... when we were in Alsace and..." and she would point at his laptop and say "file's queued."

"Do you have the Brix numbers for last year's testing?"

Sharla dragged the spreadsheet from her desktop over to the Slack channel they used. She dropped it in and it dinged on his laptop. He swivelled his eyes from his screen to her, and she caught it out of the corner of her eye.

"Thank you," he said, then went back to his laptop. She let out a tiny huffed breath, and sent him the other three files she knew he was going to ask for, his laptop chiming as they loaded. He was putting together a report for their investors for the California Zinfandel vines they had imported to France. Despite the influx of Primitivo varietals in Italy, Kevin had this odd idea to re-import vines that had been grown in California for decades, and see how the grape had changed from the original transplants brought over to the US, but put them in France instead of Italy or Austria.

It was an odd experiment, and their first pressing would be this coming fall. Last year they had done a test batch, and the resulting must had not been promising. The soil needed to be amended, the year had too much rain, which resulted in unexpected vine rot. He had been disappointed.

"Have you had any news from the vineyard?" she asked.

"No. I'm thinking I should pop over and visit. Want to come with? We'll be back in time to leave for Toronto."

Sharla stopped typing and looked over at him. "We?"

"I was invited to Josh and Gretchen's nuptials too, Shar, you know that."

Shit, of course he was. Sharla tried her best not to frown. "You're actually going?"

"I was thinking we could fly over together," he said offhand, peering at something on his laptop, then sighing and flopping back on the couch, leaning so he could see her. "Or not, given the look on your face right now."

Sharla smiled as widely as possible and batted her eyelashes at him. "What look?"

He snorted a laugh and shook his head. "Cressida is going to be in Toronto around then too. I thought she might like a night out and a familiar face so I asked her if she would be my plus one since you're on bridesmaid duties. She's there for a model contract."

That dropped Sharla's fake Cheshire grin and she scowled, turning back to her screen. Cressida. Cressida Graham. The perfectly beautiful, proper English lady who, according to all the supermarket rags, was rumoured to be dating Kevin. Pictures of him dapper and socialising in London superimposed with pictures of Cressida on some fancy photo shoot taunted her every time she went to the Tesco.

She didn't know if he was or not. He'd never once mentioned it, but she'd also never asked. He'd said what he said that night in France when they were there for Les Sarmentelles, and she had pushed him away, so really she had no right to an opinion on it. Cressida was perfect for what he needed for his title anyway.

Sharla was salty in private, and would never admit it, because she waffled back and forth constantly in indecision on what to do about it. She knew it was self-torture, and sometimes in her weaker moments she wondered if she should just ask him. They were friends, after all. Once the relationship was confirmed, she knew it would be really hard to deal with, but she'd figure it out.

Those thoughts hadn't been helped by Kevin's mother. The last time Eugenie visited it was "Cressida this" and "Cressida that", extolling her perfect manners, grace of a ballerina, and ability to handle any social situation, with a hint they were "reaching an understanding".

Sharla ran her fingers through the ends of her flyaway hair, the waves out of control in the humidity they were experiencing. She looked down at her unmanicured hands, and then to the jeans with the barely visible hot sauce stain she had furiously rubbed at this morning. Cressida was the exact opposite of her, she could never hope to compete with that.

Cressida was also an absolute sweetheart, and Sharla couldn't hate her if she tried.

"That's great! I'm sure she'll enjoy that," Sharla commented, the numbers on the investment predictions she was recalculating swirling. She'd been at this since six this morning, and she needed a break, especially with Kevin mentioning her.

"Shar, you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just need a break. I'm going to go secure some lunch. Any requests?" she said, and jerked to her feet. As usual, he had sensed her mood changing. He was her personal barometer.

"Alright then. No, just whatever is in the fridge. No need to trouble yourself for me. I grabbed a croissant and a banana en route."

Sharla steamed out of the room without answering him, intent on getting out of there before her displeasure showed, knowing it was likely already too late given her feathers ruffled the moment Kevin had mentioned his maybe-girlfriend.

She was stuffing an entire slice of mortadella into her mouth while she made herself a sandwich when Mo tapped into the Grange kitchen. Sharla held out the plastic tray to her, and Mo picked a slice out carefully and nibbled on one end.

"Oof, that is the good stuff," Mo mumbled as she chewed. "Get it sorted?"

"Yes, he's in there staring glassy-eyed at spreadsheets sprawled on the couch. I'll come back up with lunch and he'll be asleep, guaranteed."

"Got word from James in London that he has some meetings next week regarding the Fellowes Trust. Is that in your calendar yet?" Mo asked as she pulled out the mustard and some greens.

"Mmm, no, I'll call James and slot them in. Kev wants to go see the vines, but I don't know if he'll have time now. He's set on going to Toronto with me for Gretchen's wedding."

"Darn. That would be perfect for him. He needs a break, and even though it's work, he'll relax when he's out and about with his mouldy old vines, yeah? He's such a bear when he gets back from Earl-ing."

Sharla looked down at her hands wrinkling the plastic tray of deli meat in a death grip, and she dropped it to the counter. He would. He always relaxed into the man she could not resist the moment they were on the road, no matter where that was.

And that was dangerous for both of them.