Free A Taste of Merlot by Heather Heyford Page B

that had been only that morning.
    Mark reached out to shake her hand. It was warm and capable in his, and he had an urge to stroke her palm with his thumb. Instead, he settled for a squeeze. “I hope this will be the start of a mutually beneficial relationship.”
    Her eyes shone with promise. “I hope so, too.”
    The waiter set down the salads and giant pizza they’d ordered. Thin slices of tomato and little pools of olive oil dotted its rich golden surface, and it was all Mark could do not to attack it. First, he pulled away a cheesy slice and passed it to Meri.
    â€œHow long have you been working for Harrington’s?” she asked.
    â€œAbout seven years. I majored in business at Berkeley, interning there in my senior year. Started out on the floor at the flagship. Eventually I worked my way up to senior buyer.”
    â€œDid you grow up in the city?”
    He took a swig of the long-awaited beer. Man, what a day. But it was all good, now that he sat across the table from Meri, the pizza sating his hunger, the beer smoothing away the rough edges.
    â€œPacific Heights.” He’d admit that much. He left out the fact that Aunt Gloria had taken him into her house on the most prestigious street in the swanky neighborhood after his mom died.
    â€œYour parents still live there?”
    Here, on a silver platter, was his opening. Now was the time to tell her he was more than just a Harrington’s buyer. Now that he knew the truth about Meri, there was no reason to hide his own affluent background. So why wouldn’t the words come out? Scary, how accustomed he’d become to holding back since the annulment. But he was still in the dark about Meri’s own reasons for hiding behind an alias. For tonight, wasn’t it enough to know she had no reason to use him the way Brandi had?
    â€œNo. They got divorced when I was a little kid.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” She lowered her fork, empathy washing over her pretty features.
    Time to get off the topic of him , before he dropped his guard.
    â€œYour turn.” Maybe he could get her to open up first.
    Meri sipped her wine. “I lost my mom a long time ago. But I still have my father. And I’m really close to my sisters. One’s an attorney, the other’s a social worker who runs a children’s foundation.”
    I know. I’ve read all about them. Me and half of California. He took another swig from his long-necked bottle.
    â€œMaybe I’ll get to meet them sometime.”

    It came as second nature to Meri not to refer to her parents as Papa or Maman outside the house . . . or, heaven help her, bring up anything remotely related to the wine business.
    The sky outside the windows of the restaurant was a dusky lavender by the time the waiter brought their check. She and Mark went for it at the same time.
    â€œI’ll get it,” he said unequivocally.
    â€œWhy don’t you let me treat? I’m so grateful for what you’re doing for me. For making me legit.” Besides, she had a credit card with no limit in her bag.
    But Mark insisted. It occurred to her then that he must have an expense account for taking vendors to dinner. Not for the first time, she was starting to realize what she’d missed during that last year at Gates. She was clueless as to the customs in the business world.
    On the walk back to the co-op in the pleasant September air, Meri stepped lighter than she had in months. A little of it was the wine, a little more the signed purchase orders tucked safely in her bag, but most of it was the guy walking next to her.
    Her pink platforms elevated her so that her hips were even with his hips, her shoulders even with his shoulders, as they matched strides. Judging by the leisurely pace they shared, he didn’t want the evening to end any more than she did. When she inadvertently brushed against his side, he steadied her with a hand to her elbow, then slid his hand down