Page 33 of Under the Mistletoe
I pause, looking at her, loving her insight, knowing she sees what others don’t.
“What?”
“Location.”
I frown, thinking as she continues.
“He purchased the textile factories closest to water, thereby full and direct access to three docks. All small, none of which we use, but could be used for future shipping channels.”
“A logistics play?”
“Maybe, but I researched the tides in that area all week. It isn’t sustainable, unless he invests money into building new infrastructure at the docks.”
“What are the international ownership rules in those countries?”
She blinks for a moment, pushing her glasses up her nose.
“From what I can find, there isn’t really a strong rhyme or reason. There's some international ownership, but other areas within that zone are a little more… relaxed.”
“It has to be a logistics play…” What else could there be?
“But again, where’s he getting the money? Building new infrastructure at the docks is a significant investment.”
Her beautiful mind ticks over, and I stare at her face, the candlelight flickering across it, shadows dancing, the flames reflecting off her glasses.
“Do you like the wine?” I ask as we both take another sip.
“I love it.”
“It’s from the Stonemore family winery in the California wine country. They’ve just gone global.”
“Hmm… I can see how. It’s soft on the palette.”
My eyes widen a little. “A wine connoisseur?” This woman seems to know about a lot of things. She’s the kind of woman I can sit with all night and never tire of listening to.
“Not at all. But I did a study on the wine industry at a job I had about two years ago. A brewery in the Midwest. They wanted a thorough overview of competitors, including other beverages, so I spent a few weeks diving into wine. I may have sampled a few bottles while doing it.” I laugh, her cheekiness coming through. I love learning a little more about the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
I enjoy this banter. The conversation flows easily. It isn't stilted. We aren’t talking about Milan Fashion Week or what yacht is going to be in Mallorca or who is wearing what. This is refreshing and real.
“Do you like wine?” she asks.
“I have my own cellar at home. Nothing too big, but I keep a few rare bottles and some for special occasions.”
“Impressive.” She nods, and I feel my chest push out a little in pride.
We finish our meal, talking about wine regions, the weather in Asia, and a few other topics before I catch her yawning.
“We should go. I need to get you home.” I wave to the waiter, who puts the meal on my account, and we stand, grabbing our things. I really wish she was coming home with me tonight.
“Thanks for tonight. I really enjoyed myself.” Standing behind her, I help her with her coat again, forcing myself not to lean down and put my lips on her cheek from behind. I pull her coat up over her shoulders, then before she can, I sweep her hair out so it doesn’t get caught. It’s soft, slipping through my fingers so easily, and my heart rate quickens at the mere thought of missing out on having it in my hands.
“I had a good time too.”
I am about to grab her hand, maybe kiss her knuckles, but just as I reach out to her, I catch myself and pull back, looking around. People are watching. I’m not on a date. It's a work dinner. Fuck, York, get your head out of your pants.
“Let’s go.” We make our way through the restaurant, past all the eyes and to the door. Walking outside, the cool air takes my breath away, and I see Gordon jump out of the car to get the back door for us.
I immediately step aside and let Jessica step toward me, my hand landing on her back instinctively, wanting her to get some body heat and guide her to the car.
