He held his hands up. “So what’s the other grape it’s blended with?”
She bit her lip. Thought hard. “Merlot?”
His teeth flashed white against his swarthy skin. “Esattamente.”
She tried to ignore how everything he said in Italian sounded sexy. How he was standing so close to her she could smell that earthy, spicy aftershave of his, bringing back heady memories of the kiss. Hell. She forced herself to focus on the issue at hand. The wine was rich like the previous Cab, smooth like the prize-winning Merlot, but there was also something else...something special she couldn’t put her finger on. “Lots of wines blend Merlots and Cabs, though, right? What makes this one so special?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Chemistry. We add the mystery ingredients, play with the yeasts and use our proprietary processes to get that perfect blend.”
So how did that play into her theme? She racked her brain. Tossed around a couple of ideas. Then a lightbulb went off in her head. Maybe that was her theme...
Chemistry. There were a million innovative ways she could make it come to life at the party. It was perfect.
“You,” she pronounced, poking her finger into his chest, “are brilliant.”
“I’m glad you’ve seen the light,” he responded dryly. “Care to share?”
“Not yet.” She wasn’t stupid. She needed to have this idea fully baked before she put it in front of Mr. Flawless here. “On Monday when I can show you the full concept.”
“Prudent of you.”
She ignored the tilt of his mouth. She could be prudent when she needed to. She did have some restraint. Another sip of the glorious wine kept the ideas flowing. She rolled it around her mouth. Yes, she could definitely get inspired about this.
“We haven’t talked about who’s going to speak to the media about all this brilliance.” She lifted a brow. “You? Antonio?”
“Me. Riccardo doesn’t want to leave Lilly alone and Antonio isn’t coming.”
She frowned. “Why? The press eat Antonio up. They love his big personality, his theatrics. He can do the big-picture historic stuff.”
His face tightened. “I’ll do it. Antonio isn’t available.”
“What do you mean isn’t available? How can he not be available for this?”
He picked up the bottle and jammed it on the shelf behind the bar. “Antonio doesn’t believe in this venture. He doesn’t believe a decent bottle of wine can be made outside of Italy and if he were to come, he’d say something damaging that would hurt us. I don’t want him here.”
“We can message him so he doesn’t go off track. Make sure he knows what he can and cannot say. I really think—”
“No.” The force behind the word stopped her in her tracks. His face was a thundercloud of black emotion. “Find another way to get press coverage, Alex.”
And that was that. He excused himself to take his call. Alex sat there finishing her wine, wondering what kind of a father showed such a lack of support for his son in the most important venture of his life. She knew from Lilly that the De Campo men were not close to their father, but she’d never had any idea the rift between Gabe and Antonio ran this deep.
Her insides twisted with a hurt so old it had been healed fifty times over. She knew all about rifts. How you said you didn’t care, but they ate away at you until you couldn’t let another person in for fear you’d drive them away, too. Her father had written her off as unrecoverable at such an early age, nothing she’d done since had compensated. None of the career ladders she’d climbed, none of the praise lauded on her by some of the world’s leading companies had helped. She could be the first woman president of the United States and he’d still have the same low opinion of her.
She pushed the glass away and took in the dark, historic cellar around her. Gabe De Campo had demons, too. Go figure.
She was pretty sure she’d just scratched the surface at that.
CHAPTER FOUR
MONDAY MORNING AND Alex was once again cooling her heels in the reception area of De Campo’s San Francisco office. This time Gabe was on a call. She tapped her foot on the floor, the small amount of patience she did have fading fast in light of the amount of work she had in front of her if Gabe deigned to give the go-ahead on this concept.
Her tapping foot drew Danielle’s eye. “He shouldn’t be much longer,” the PA murmured sympathetically. “I saw the light go off on the line a few minutes ago. I’m sure he’ll be right out.”
Alex checked her watch and glared at the door. He was forty minutes late now.
“Does he always have so little respect for other people’s time? I’m sure that thinking you own the world inevitably leads to thinking your time is more valuable than everyone else’s, but I would—” She broke off midsentence as Danielle’s gaze slid to the right and her eyes widened. Oh, no. She turned around and found Gabe leaning against the doorframe, his tall body arranged in a deceptively relaxed pose.
“Per favore,” he murmured. “Go on. I was getting some keen insight into what you really think of me.”
She lowered her gaze, the sickening feeling she might have just blown it flooding through her. “I was just venting. You’re supposed to be in your office, not sneaking around the back way.”
“I’ve been on calls since seven. Nature called.”
She stood up, refusing to cower in the wake of the arrogant tilt of that nose. “If we’re going to make this into a contest, I’ve been up since five.”
His eyes glittered. “I wasn’t, but how very five-year-old of you.”
Danielle was watching them as though they were a prime-time reality show. Gabe inclined his head toward his office. “Shall we do this?”
Alex picked up her storyboards and followed him in, laying them out on the oval conference table near the window. The designer had done an inspired job on the visual representations of the concept and event. “On our tour,” she began, “you said the complexity and individuality of a wine depends on the chemistry—how you as the winemaker make the choices. Whether to use man-made or naturally occurring yeasts, how long the different varietals should be aged, the proportion of one versus the other.”
He nodded.
“I started playing around with the concept of chemistry. How that would work as an event theme. And came up with these concepts.” She flipped to the first storyboard. “The initial touch point is the invite. Guests are invited to fall in love with their ‘match’ at De Campo’s The Devil’s Peak launch.” She flipped to the next board. “When they arrive, they’re handed a computer generated ‘chemistry’ match, someone attending the event who is like-minded. It can be either a networking match or a romantic one. Throughout the evening, they’re tasked with finding their match and exploring it.”
He arched a brow. “What if they’re the jaded, unimaginative type who couldn’t be bothered?”
She flipped to the next board, which had a photo of the De Campo Tuscan vineyard on it. “We incent them. We offer them something fabulous, like a trip to the motherland. But only if the matches sign in during the evening and prove they’ve met.”
He looked skeptical. “Go on.”
She flipped to the next board. “Everything that happens throughout the evening is about chemistry. The decor, the quiz at the bar to match guests with their perfect De Campo wine, the gift bags tailored to each individual’s chemistry and finally,” she said, smiling, “the fireworks at the end of the night. They represent the chemistry of The Devil’s Peak. We end with the tasting of the wine and the fireworks for a big last