Page 47 of One Week Wingman

“The possessive caveman routine?” I prompt him. “You practically pissed in a circle around me to stake your claim.”

Sebastian shrugs casually. “I thought you’d be happy. Wouldn’t Stefano get a little jealous, seeing you having breakfast with your ex?”

Right. Stefano. Of course.

I exhale, feeling just a little disappointed. I mean, sure, Seb’s caveman routine was old-fashioned, but it was also kind of… Hot?

The idea that he would be jealous over me… Let’s just say, I don’t hate it.

We stopby the house to collect my overnight bag, and then hit the road in Seb’s rental car.

“So what’s the brief for the next couple of days?” I ask, trying to get my head back to ‘platonic arrangement’—and away from how his casual button-down shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, revealing a stretch of tanned forearm…

Focus, Roxy.

Seb merges onto the highway. “We’re checking out the Modesto vineyard,” he replies. “It’s a small operation, but there’s a lot of potential. The owner, Franco, knows what he’s doing when it comes to the grapes. All it needs is some modernization and a bit of creativity. It’s a family business,” he adds, “so he’s wary of some big-city hotshot coming in and taking things over.”

“Big-city hotshot?” I repeat, amused.

“That’s what my business card says.” He flashes me a grin. “But you know what I mean. I just need to convince Franco to hear me out, get to know me. Then I’m sure he’ll see what a great partnership it could be. His growing expertise, my marketing know-how… It’s a match made in vino heaven.”

“And the adoring fake girlfriend…?” I ask.

Seb winces. “That was a spontaneous thing. I needed them to know I’m serious about the project, and ready for a real commitment.”

I snort with laughter.

“Hey!” Seb protests.

“Sorry, it’s just something of a contradiction, isn’t it?” I ask, amused. “You’re proving what a serious, settled partner you can be… by lying to them.”

“I know,” Seb groans. “It’s not ideal, but I can’t take it back now, can I? Not without jeopardizing the whole deal. And I want this, I really do. A vineyard has been a dream of mine for years now, and this could be the perfect fit.”

“OK, OK,” I agree, smiling despite my doubts. Seeing Seb be sincere about anything is a new look on him—and I like it.

It makes me wonder if he could get this serious about any other thing.Any other woman…

“There she is,” he says, voice admiring. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

I look, and see the vineyard come into sight over the crest of the hill. A long driveway winds directly up to the property, nestled in the foothills with the vineyard rolling out in every direction. Everything is gold and red in the autumn sun, and as we turn onto the gravel road to the main house, it feels like we’ve taken a trip to Italy, or the South of France.

“Isn’t it weird, growing grapes in Connecticut?” I ask, looking around. “I thought it was supposed to be a warm climate.”

He shakes his head. “Rain is crucial to the growing process, and actually, it’s the soil that matters most of all. Franco Modesto follows the biodynamic school of winemaking, where you cycle the soil, to keep everything in balance and—” he pauses, shooting me a sideways glance. “This is going way over your head, isn’t it?”

“Just a little,” I agree. “But feel free to nerd out as much as you like.”

We pull up outside the house. “This place is something else,” I say as we get out of the car and I take a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. There’s a big main lodge, styled like an old barn, plus a number of outbuildings, and a large low structure off to one side that I’m guessing houses the wine presses, or however they turn the grapes into the magic of a mellow Cab.

“You see?” Sebastian already looks excited, grabbing our bags from the trunk. “It could be a real destination, for tasting, workshops, all kinds of things.”

He holds his hand out to me, and for a second I’m flustered. Then I remember: I’m here as his fake girlfriend, not as myself.

Is this how Seb felt, showing up to save me in front of my whole family?

“Sebastian!” We’re greeted by a gorgeous woman, emerging from the house. She has glossy dark hair and is dressed in chic wide-legged pants and a simple tank. “And you must be his new girlfriend,” she says, turning to me with a smile. “I’m Natalia Modesto.”

“Roxy,” I introduce myself. “This is an amazing property you have,”

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