Page 99 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“Sometimes I’m tired of explaining… and asking for permission,” he sighed. He leaned against the door frame, an exhaustion that had nothing to do with being tired slumping his shoulders.
“He doesn’t trust you to make decisions?” Eden asked.
“Ferguson Gates doesn’t trust anyone but himself to do the right thing. And if it’s something different from the way he’s been operating for the past thirty-plus years, it’s automatically wrong.”
“So, you work around him.”
His fingers worried the label on the whiskey. “And maybe it makes me feel like ever so slightly less of a man.”
Davis’s words, his raw honesty hung in the room between them. She rose and crossed to him. Her fingers circling his on the bottle.
“Maybe it’s time to stop asking for permission.”
“Maybe it is.”
“For what it’s worth, Davis. Ferguson should be thrilled to have you at the helm. No one cares more about the winery and this town than you do.”It was the truth and he deserved to hear it.
He studied her, his brown eyes looking into hers, searching. “I want to draw you,” he decided.
“Ohmygod, yes!” Eden said, surprising him. She laughed at his shock. “Um, hello. Have you seenTitanic? ‘Draw me like one of your French girls’? It’s like the sexiest scene of the entire movie.”
Eden pulled the bottle from his grasp and flopped dramatically on the tiny loveseat he’d crammed against the wall by the room’s closet. “Make sure you get my good side.”
“You are a piece of work,” Davis said, pulling a sketch pad off the shelf and arranging his charcoal pencils.
“No, no, Davis. I’m a piece ofart.”
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Loose-wristed, Davis let the charcoal move over the paper in quick, sure lines. “This is just a quickie,” he told her.
Eden turned her head to look at him, a feline smile on her face. “I like quickies.”
He was always half-hard around her. It was impossible not to be. Everything about Eden Moody was alluring. The lines and curves of her frame, the wicked way she used her mouth, the never-ending energy she put into life. Not to mention the fact that she was as obsessed with work as he was. He loved that she was driven, ambitious. That she lived and breathed a passion to build and grow something.
“Mind if I run something business-related by you?” he asked, watching the way her face changed as she studied the whiskey she’d rested on the flat of her stomach.
“Mmm, youknowit gets me hot when you talk business,” Eden teased.
He grinned. “Thinking about offering weekly art classes at the winery. Open it up to the community—and tourists. Serve wine, learn to paint or draw.”
She lolled her head to the side, eyebrows arched. “That’s brilliant.”
“I could teach some of the beginner classes,” he continued, capturing the curve of her lips on paper. “Bring in other artists here and there.”
“And everyone would drink your wine, learn more about your winery. You’d be deepening the relationship.”
“Exactly,” he said, shading lightly under the graceful line of her neck and jaw. “I want Blue Moon to feel connected to the winery and vice versa. Right now we’re sort of separate. We don’t do anything beyond the usual tastings. There’s nothing that draws locals, our people, in.”
He liked the way she was smiling at him. Fondly, with an underlying desire that he doubted she even realized was there. “What are your other ideas?” she asked.
“Private tours of the vines, the process. Bringing in a group during harvest to show them how it works. Grape stomping vs. pressing. How we choose the grapes, how we blend them, how we name them.”
“Again. Smart. You’re building that connection between your customer and your product. Making them feel invested. They’ll come back for the vintage that they helped create.”
“And maybe they’ll stay at your inn,” Davis mused.
Her gaze sharpened and he drew the heavy lids, the inky lashes, liking the anything-but-aloof expression.
