Page 27 of How to Play the Player

“You must be Ms. Sanders and Ms. Clark. I’m Marco Alvarez.” He extends his hand. “Jonathan has told me all about you both. Welcome to Solana Vineyard.”

After pleasantries, Marco leads us through the main villa. The interior is a stunning blend of old-world charm and modern luxury—exposed wooden beams overhead, hand-carved furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the vineyard like living paintings.

“The main house dates back to the twenties,” Marco explains. “My grandfather purchased it in the fifties and started the vineyard, but it was never open to the public. I’ve spent the last year renovating to meet event standards while preserving its character.”

We follow him into a grand room with vaulted ceilings and a massive stone fireplace. And there, standing by the windows deep in conversation with Jonathan and Kiera, is Nathan.

My heart stutters at the sight of him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. His veins are prominent under his skin. The casual attire shouldn’t look so good, but the way the fabricstretches across his broad shoulders and chest makes my mouth go dry.

No. I can’t get distracted. If he sees I’m ogling, who knows what he’ll do to take advantage?

Kiera spots us and waves. “Quinn! Lyla! Come check out this view. It’s unbelievable.”

Nathan turns, and for a moment, our eyes lock. At first he looks surprised. Yes, one point for me! His expression is quickly replaced with careful neutrality, but I’m quick to notice his gaze slides down my body in a quick assessment before returning to my face.

I force a professional smile as we approach. “Sorry we’re a few minutes late. The drive took longer than expected.”

“No worries!” Kiera says warmly. “Marco was just showing us the main reception space options.”

“This room is beautiful,” I say, genuinely impressed by the tall ceilings and natural light.

“The acoustics are excellent too,” Marco adds. “Jonathan and I tested it last week. Even without amplification, you can hear perfectly from every corner.”

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d changed your mind about our arrangement,” Nathan murmurs next to me. His voice is perfectly professional, but there’s an undercurrent I can’t quite identify.

“Not a chance,” I reply softly, meeting his gaze steadily. “I never back down from a challenge, especially ones I intend to win.”

A ghost of a smile plays at his lips. “We’ll see about that.”

Jonathan looks between us, clearly sensing the tension before taking his attention back to Marco. “Great, we’re all here. Why don’t you show everyone the ceremony site options first?”

We follow Marco through French doors onto a sprawling terrace with panoramic views of the vineyard and distant hills.The bright afternoon sun illuminates the landscape, the neat rows of grapevines stretching toward the horizon like nature’s own design.

“We have three potential ceremony locations,” Marco explains. “The terrace here, which can accommodate up to three hundred guests. The rose garden at the north end of the property is more ideal for about two hundred. And finally, the vineyard gazebo, which provides the most dramatic backdrop, but is limited to one hundred fifty guests.”

Kiera turns to Jonathan. “What do you think? I’m torn between the terrace and the gazebo.”

“Let’s see both before deciding,” he suggests. “Marco, could you show us the gazebo next?”

As our small group follows Marco down stone steps and along a path through the vineyard, I find myself falling into step beside Nathan. His proximity has me hyperaware of him—the familiar scent of his cologne, the nearness of his body is so close to mine, we almost brush fingers. My body can’t help but respond with goose bumps.

“So,” he says quietly, pitched for my ears only, “enjoying the tour so far?”

“It’s a beautiful property,” I reply, keeping my voice professional despite the fluttering in my stomach. “Perfect for social media content. The lighting alone will give us stunning material to work with.”

“Spoken like a true PR professional.” There’s a sharp edge to his tone, hinting at a deeper meaning to his words. “Though I have to say, that dress isn’t exactly what I’d call standard professional attire.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you critiquing my wardrobe choices, Nathan? Because last I checked, that wasn’t part of our arrangement.”

“Not critiquing,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Just observing. Black was always my favorite on you. Shows off your pale skin best.”

Observation or otherwise, the comment catches me off guard and I nearly trip over a loose stone. Nathan’s hand shoots out to steady me, his fingers wrapping around my bare upper arm. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through me. I pull away as soon as I steady myself.

“Careful,” he says, his eyes darkening slightly. “Wouldn’t want you to fall.”

“I’m fine,” I say, perhaps too quickly. “And I don’t need your help.”

His lips curve into a knowing smile. “If you say so.”

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