The Estate Blend Arrangement

1. Gemma

GEMMA

PREVIOUS NOVEMBER

Ihad three rules when it came to working weddings.

Don’t get emotionally involved. Don’t drink on the job. And never, under any circumstances, let a charming man with a devastating smile convince you, you’re any different from any other woman he’s met in his lifetime.

Sebastian Whitmore tested two of them within five minutes of meeting me.

It was late in the reception—that golden hour when the formal events were finished and guests had loosened their ties and kicked off their heels.

The Avila wedding had been beautiful, albeit chaotic.

A candle fire, a missing caterer, a flower-girl rebellion, and one very determined grandmother, who’d insisted on making a toast despite not being on the schedule.

I’d handled all of it with the calm efficiency that had built my reputation.

Now, I stood near the bar, checking items off my list and pretending I didn’t notice him approaching.

I’d been aware of Bas, as most in the valley called him, all day.

It was hard not to be. He was one of those men who commanded attention without trying—tall, sandy-blond hair, with the kind of easy confidence that came from growing up wealthy and wanted.

I’d paid attention to him during dinner, making the rounds and charming every person he spoke to.

I’d noticed him watching me, too, though I’d pretended not to.

“You look like you could use this.”

I turned to find him holding two glasses of wine, one extended toward me.

Up close, he was even more dangerous than I’d anticipated.

He had blue-gray eyes with laugh lines at the corners, a mouth that tilted up on one side like he was always on the verge of a private joke, and the kind of face that had probably gotten him out of trouble since childhood.

“I don’t drink on the job,” I said, focusing on my tablet.

“Not even a sip?” He wasn’t deterred. If anything, my dismissal seemed to interest him more. “This is from our reserve collection. Most people would kill for a taste.”

“Most people aren’t responsible for making sure the sparklers don’t cause another fire.”

“If the lawn catches, the estate is insured,” Bas countered.

“The lawn isn’t my concern. The bride is, and she asked for a send-off her guests would remember for the right reasons.”

“You’re quick,” he teased.

“You’re in my way. I have a checklist to finish, and you’re standing between me and the last item on it.”

“Which is?”

“Making sure the bar stops serving before the guests who peaked at cocktail hour decide to give speeches.”

He laughed—a warm, rich sound that I somehow managed to ignore. Or at least make him think I did.

“Fair enough.” He set the rejected glass on the bar and took a sip from his own. “I’m Bas, by the way. Sebastian Whitmore.”

“I know who you are.”

“Ah.” That half smile again. “My reputation precedes me.”

“Your name was on the guest list.” I finally looked up, letting him see how unimpressed I was. “I make it a point to know who’s who.”

“And what did your research tell you about me?”

“Not necessarily research. More awareness.” It was a lie.

I’d looked into the eldest Whitmore when Isabel mentioned they’d been childhood friends.

He was the heir to Whitmore Estate, and his father had recently announced his retirement.

The family had been making wine since before Prohibition, then started up again in 1934.

But there was more, which I decided him hearing might take him down a peg. “You date models and actresses, none of whom seem to last more than a few months.” I smiled, the polite version I reserved for difficult vendors and handsy groomsmen. “Shall I continue?”

The easy charm flickered, replaced by a sharper and more real expression.

“You’ve done your homework.”

“I told you. I make it a point to know who I’m working with.” I bit my tongue, regretting my words the moment I said them. I had no intention of ever working for or with the man.

“Is that what we’re doing?” He leaned against the bar, close enough for me to catch his scent, probably some expensive cologne only available in Europe. I wanted to lean in. I gripped my tablet harder and held my ground, because leaning in was exactly what he expected me to do. “Working together?”

“The wedding’s almost over, Mr. Whitmore. So, no. After tonight, I doubt we’ll see each other again.”

“Bas,” he corrected. “And I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” He tipped his glass to me. “Care to bet on it?”

Before I could respond, my headset crackled with a question from the catering manager. I turned away to handle it, and when I glanced over my shoulder, he was gone.

I told myself the twinge of disappointment was fatigue.

Before I could catch my breath and move on to the next crisis, Alexis Avila approached me.

“I’ve been watching you all night—”

“You’re not the only one,” I muttered under my breath, truly not intending to say it out loud or interrupt the woman. “Sorry, you were saying?”

She laughed. “Since you’re busy, I’ll get right to the point. The Russian River Valley is the perfect place to establish a Wicked Winemakers’ Ball fundraiser similar to the one we do in Paso Robles.”

I’d heard of the event and the astounding amount of money it raised every year for the local children’s hospital.

“You would be the perfect person to organize it.”

I smiled despite myself. “I’m flattered that you think so, but I’m not in a position to do pro bono work presently.”

“Who said anything about it being pro bono? It would be up to you to draft a proposal with an estimate of your fees, but otherwise, you’d be well-compensated for the job.”

“By whom?” I asked.

“The sponsors. We haven’t needed them in Paso Robles because the event started small years ago and grew with the help of volunteers.

I don’t want to do that here. I’d rather get a big donor lined up so it kicks off at the same level we’re at now.

Given we’ve already established the formula that works best, applying it here would be easy. ”

I almost scoffed, but bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself.

There would be nothing easy about it. It would take a full year to plan, and in that time, it would be close to a full-time job.

On the other hand, if I did this, and it paid well enough, I could return to the city with my head held high instead of with my tail between my legs like I’d been forced to leave it.

People in San Francisco would hear about it whether I called them or not, and the man who’d done his best to ruin me would be exposed for the liar he was.

“I’ll do it,” I blurted, not realizing she was still talking and I’d interrupted her for the second time.

“Excellent. Come with me so I can introduce you.”

“There are things that need my attention—”

“I promise it’ll only take a minute. We need to let him know you’re in and schedule a meeting for tomorrow at Whitmore.”

Whitmore? Oh no. I should’ve known this was too good to be true.

Was I about to be humiliated again when Bas decided to pull the rug out from under both Alex and me as payback for my turning him down a few minutes ago?

If she weren’t already dragging me behind her with a firm grip on my arm, I’d tell her I’d changed my mind.

“Thomas,” she said as we approached the elder Whitmore, Bas’ father. “I told you I’d have an answer for you tonight. Gemma has agreed, so all that’s left is putting together a contract and meeting tomorrow to finalize it.”

He chuckled. “Nobody but Alexis Avila could put a deal together in under five minutes while at her brother’s wedding. And with the wedding planner, to boot.”

I glanced around, but didn’t see Bas in the vicinity. Maybe this wasn’t too good to be true.

“Thomas Whitmore.” The man held out his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Thomas has generously agreed to underwrite the event this year as well as allow us to host it at one of the most beautiful vineyard properties in all the valley.”

He put his hand on Alexis’ arm. “I’m already in; you can stop schmoozing now,” he teased.

“So, tomorrow at eleven work for everyone?”

If I had to put a proposal together by then, it meant I’d easily be up all night, and that would include wrapping this event first. “If possible, could we please do it later in the day? I’m already committed at eleven.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Two is as late as I can push it and still make our flight home,” said Alex.

Thomas said that was good for him, so I agreed, then walked away, praying I’d be able to put something together that wouldn’t make them both change their minds.

“I’ll send you the template I have drafted. All you’ll need to do is add the proposal for your fees,” Alex said as we stepped away.

I handed her my business card, then rushed to the kitchen to make sure everything left for the wedding was on schedule.

I’d breathe a sigh of relief, but until I saw what she had, I couldn’t afford to. One thing I could rest easy about was not having to work with Bas.

Alex was already waiting when I pulled up to Whitmore the following afternoon. I’d been up most of the night, getting the proposal into shape, and part of me still expected her to take one look at it and change her mind.

She didn’t. Neither did Thomas.

We met in a study off the front hall, and he read every line while Alex chattered beside him. When he got to the page with my fees, I held my breath, waiting for him to negotiate it down. He didn’t. He initialed the page without so much as a raised eyebrow.

“Excellent job,” he said, turning to the end and adding his full signature.

Alex was on her feet before he’d set down the pen. “This is going to be the event of the decade. Paso will be green with envy. I can’t wait.”

We were shaking hands, all smiles and congratulations, when the door opened behind me.

“What’s going on? What’s everyone so excited about?” Bas asked from the doorway. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he was glaring, and unless I was very much mistaken, it was directed at me.

“Whitmore is sponsoring the first Wicked Winemakers’ Ball in the Russian River Valley,” Alex announced. “Sponsoring, hosting it, all of it.”

“Is that so?”

His eyes never left mine even though he was responding to Alex. Wonderful. Apparently, one refused glass of wine was all it took to get on his bad side. Well, if he wanted to sulk, that was his business. It was his father’s name on the contract, not his.

“I hate to sign and run, but I have a plane to catch,” Alex said, gathering her bag.

“I’ll follow you out.” I shook Thomas’ hand one more time. “Thank you again. For everything.”

“It’ll be my pleasure, Miss Engel. Let’s touch base after the first of the year.”

Bas stayed where he was in the study doorway. I felt his glare from across the room, a prickle at my hairline that spread down my neck. The whole way out, I kept my chin level and my steps even.

Thomas walked us to the door. Bas didn’t, and I didn’t waste a goodbye on him.

I glanced up at the house as I pulled out of the driveway. Bas was standing on the front porch, watching me go, no happier than he’d been a few minutes earlier. Whatever his problem was, he could deal with it. I had a ball to plan.

Two weeks later, I was waiting in line at the coffeehouse in town, scrolling through venue layouts on my phone, when a conversation at a table behind me caught my attention.

“It’s so tragic. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“This valley will never be the same without Thomas Whitmore. He kept the young hotheads and the crotchety old guys in line like no one else could.”

I turned around. “I’m sorry—what happened?”

The older of the two women shook her head sadly. “He died of a heart attack last night.”