Page 7 of You Give Wine a Bad Name

The lobby suddenly felt vast around us, the opulence a stark backdrop to such a raw moment of humility. I turned back to face him, studying the contours of his face shadowed by the dimmed lighting. His admission sparked a curiosity within me, and despite the earlier tension, I found myself softening just a fraction.

"Why does it matter so much?” I asked, genuinely puzzled. “You could've easily left my purse with the hotel staff and moved on."

He shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at me. "I do feel bad about it, yes. But there's more to it. A bad review can devastate a small business like mine. Sunset Vines, it's everything I have, and my sister works there too. Lila wasn't on tonight, otherwise you could have met her.”

I was surprised to hear that he actually owned the bar. Successful business owners of his sort in southern California rarely did any of the work themselves. There was a vulnerability in his confession, one that resonated with the guarded chambers of my own heart. I watched him, this man who unwittingly peeled back a layer of my own carefully constructed defenses, and the jumble of emotions weaving through me made my heart do a sudden flip-flop. It was an odd sensation, this flutter of comfort in his presence, especially after our heated exchange earlier. The notion that his bar could be his sole anchor piqued my interest.

"Sunset Vines is one of the top-rated wine bars in Orange County," I said. "Why do you act like it's all hanging by a thread? You're already a huge success."

Bowie’s gaze darted to the ornate chandelier overhead before settling back on me. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, and he hesitated before responding. "You probably don't want to dive into my sob story. Trust me, it's nothing glamorous."

I shrugged. "I've got time," I said, more intrigued than I cared to admit. “Besides, what’s sleep anyway? We can sleep when we’re dead.”

Bowie looked around the lobby, scanning the faces of those milling about with the wariness of a man who knew too well how quickly whispers travel. For a moment, he seemed less the confident bar owner and more a man grappling with ghosts.

"Let's not talk here," I found myself saying, the words slipping out before my mind could wrap around their implications. "Upstairs?"

“You sure?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

I nodded, leaning in to my reckless decision even though I knew I’d probably regret it later.

The elevator dinged open, and we stepped inside. The air between us crackled with unspoken possibilities as we ascended in silence.

"Here we are," I announced when the doors opened. I led him inside the suite, noting the way his eyes widened slightly as he took in the luxurious surroundings. The penthouse was extravagant, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city, but it was just another hotel room to me. I had been in so many of them over the years, they all started to blend together.

"Wow," he uttered, sweeping a gaze across the high ceilings and panoramic views of the city. "This is...incredible."

"It was an upgrade," I replied, downplaying the grandeur. "A perk from my company."

He paced the length of the room, fingertips grazing over the textured fabric of the throw pillows, a low whistle escaping his lips. “So, what is it that you do? International spy? Tech mogul? Or maybe...” A mischievous glint sparked in his dark eyes as he turned to face me and cleared his throat suggestively. “Something else?”

For a heartbeat, I feel the sting of irritation at his jest, an instinctive recoil tightening my chest. But then, his expression changed to one of chagrin.

“Sorry, that was out of line,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “God, how many times can I put my foot in my mouth one evening?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll try not to take offense this time.”

In the silence that followed, our gazes locked, and I sensed the wheels turning behind his thoughtful expression. It was a dangerous game, this dance of disclosure that we were playing, and yet, I was enjoying the rhythm.

His mouth curved into a rueful half-smile, and a quiet chuckle rumbled from his throat. And just like that, the tension between us shifted, softening the edges of our interaction with the promise of something I couldn’t name—yet.

Chapter Four

Bowie

When Angie and I walked into her penthouse suite, the first thing she did was kick off her shoes, sending them skidding across the plush carpet. She turned to me, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “You should do the same,” she said, her voice light but carrying a certain familiarity. “No need for formality in here.”

I looked around the room, thinking this was anything but informal. The suite was something out of a dream—floor-to-ceiling windows with an unobstructed view of the LA skyline, a spacious living area filled with sleek, modern furniture, and soft lighting that bathed everything in a warm, inviting glow. I was used to nice places, but this was something else. There was an air of effortless elegance about it, like everything was just so, but luckily not in a way that screamed for attention. It just…was.

Feeling a bit out of my element but willing to go along with it, I bent down to untie my shoes, slipping them off, along with my socks, and setting them aside. The carpet was soft beneath my feet, a small detail that somehow added to the surreal nature of the evening. Here I was, a guy who ran a wine bar, standing barefoot in a penthouse suite with a woman I’d only just met. It felt like I’d stepped into another world, one that was both thrilling and slightly unnerving. I was used to having no shortage of women more than willing to spend the night in my bed, but Angie was different, and whatever was happening between us was something else entirely. I just wasn’t sure exactly what, and that was the problem.

Angie walked over to the bar, which was impressively stocked with bottles of liquor and wine. “You want something to drink?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at me. “There’s a full bar here. I figure it’s only fair to offer you something after you returned my purse.”

I smiled, appreciating the gesture. “Sure, I’ll take a look,” I said, making my way over to have a look at the offerings. I scanned the selection, my eyes falling on a bottle of Malbec. It was a deep red, rich and velvety, the kind of wine that could warm you from the inside out. I picked it up, turning to her.

“How about this one?” I asked, holding the bottle up for her to see. “It’s a Malbec. A good, deep red, similar to the one you ordered at Sunset Vines.”

She nodded, a trusting look in her eyes. “Sounds good to me. I’ll trust your expertise. I don’t know anything about wine, so I’ll leave it in your hands.”

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