Hidden in the Vines (Romancing the Vine) Read online

  Mike gusted out a breath and continued to stare at the desk. “I can’t have fistfights in the office. We’re a team here. You’re supposed to help each other, not try to beat each other to a pulp.”

  “He shoved me. I had to defend myself,” Rawlings said in his whiny little bitch voice.

  The Toad’s tone raked across Alex’s shoulders. Repressing a shudder, he leaned back in his chair, choosing to not reply. Judging by Mike’s thinned lips and lowered brow, it wasn’t necessary for Alex to say a damned thing.

  Slapping his palm on the arm of his chair, Mike bellowed, “I thought I told you to shut the fuck up! I’ll talk and you will listen.” He drew a breath, held it, then sighed it out, as though expelling poison. “Rawlings, you crossed a line when you went after Dixon’s source. Confidential sources are protected. You damn well know that.”

  Alex tightened his grip on the edge of his chair. The unspoken but at the end of Mike’s sentence boded ill for him. Rawlings shot a death glare at him across the small space between their chairs. Alex smirked back at him and waited for Mike to continue.

  “But . . .” Yep, there it was. “You did uncover a larger, juicier story. We managed to scoop every other entertainment media outlet in the country. Unfortunately, that is the only reason I’m not firing your ass for violating the sacred nature of a confidential source.”

  Mike chewed a fingernail and leaned his head of unnaturally brown hair against the oily stain on the chair’s leather headrest. He pinned Alex with an inscrutable look as he waved a hand in Rawlings’ direction. “Why did you have to shove him?”

  Alex squashed the sick feeling in the pit of his gut. “The prick deserved it. I’d worked my source for too damn long. He blew the relationship out of the water in less than an hour.”

  Rawlings’ stunt ruined not just Alex’s reputation, but had probably destroyed the career of a studio executive. The public would be outraged to hear the sixty-year-old family man had been slipping the salami to a teenage starlet. The exec deserved whatever he got, but the scandal was going to hurt the company’s sales for years. The studio’s chances of survival looked grim from where Alex sat.

  “Maybe. But I can’t condone violence in the work place.” Mike shifted his glance out the window like there was some kind of mythical creature hovering just beyond the glass. Shaking his head, he looked back at them. “HR has informed me they’ve signed you both up for remediation. Your little duo is relieved of duty until you complete a team building course.”

  Rawlings spluttered, “What? I can’t take off time now. I have to follow this story.”

  Mike growled, effectively shutting down Rawlings’ protest. “We’re giving the story to Renner. She’ll cover the fallout and get an interview with the actress.”

  Shit. Renner was a lightweight. The studio was going to eat her for lunch. Alex bit back a curse. Losing his story hurt, but being forced to go through a team building exercise with the jackass sitting next to him pegged the needle on the suckage meter. But, he still held his peace. No need to make Mike any angrier than he already appeared to be.

  “Clear your calendars for the rest of the week. We’ve made arrangements for you to go to Team Vino. While there, you’ll both receive counseling from a psychologist to help with your anger management issues.”

  He jerked papers from a file folder and spun them around, revealing the title. Disciplinary Action. Double damn.

  Mike dropped a pen on each form. “You’re both being written up for your little escapade yesterday. Completion of the team building exercise, and a positive report from the shrink, are conditions of your continued employment with Entertainment Access. You leave first thing tomorrow morning. Travel has booked you on the twelve-thirty flight to San Fran and rented you each a car for the trip to Santa Rosa.”

  At least Alex wasn’t required to sit in a car with the fuckwad from the airport to the hotel. He’d have his own vehicle. Alex rolled his eyes heavenward, thankful for small courtesies.

  “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning. I can’t leave that early,” Rawlings grumbled.

  The muscle in Mike’s jaw popped convulsively. “Fuck, what are you? Seven? I’ll have Travel rebook you on a later flight. But the session starts tomorrow evening with a team dinner and you had better be there. Now sign the form and get the fuck out of my sight.”

  Jesus, the Toad was a whiny bitch. There was a serious danger Alex would choke to death trying to swallow the rude comments he was dying to make. He grabbed the pen, knuckles turning white when he gripped the thin instrument. Ten seconds later, he’d scrawled his signature on the corrective action form.

  He walked out of the editor’s office without a backward glance. The next few days were going to be hell.

  Chapter 2

  Jules dropped her forehead to her clenched fist. It had only taken twelve hours for her mom and Peyton to wear out their welcome. Well, mostly Peyton. Once they’d gotten settled into the cabin, Gitta had crawled under the covers on Jules’ lovely new queen-sized bed, bitched about scratchy sheets, and passed out from her pain meds.

  Peyton hadn’t stopped blowing up Jules’ cell phone with text messages. Where were the towels? What time would someone bring them dinner? How did she turn up the temperature on the hot tub? The woman was useless when it came to helping herself. Or maybe a better word would be clueless. Nah, both really applied. How she’d lasted as Gitta’s assistant remained a mystery.

  Jules stopped responding after eight last night. But then Marcus had called to bitch about Peyton texting him.

  Now, with less than an hour before her clients were due to report for team building, Peyton slunk into the office. “Gitta needs ice cream.” The skinny twig threw down the demand like a true queen bitch of the universe.

  “There’s some in the freezer in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

  “I already looked. It’s not her brand.”

  Peyton rattled off the name of the upscale, super creamy brand Gitta preferred. The one that cost a shit-ton of money for a tiny pint. Of which, Jules was certain her mother would eat only a few small bites.

  Lifting her head, Jules dropped her hands to her lap and laced her fingers together, knuckles white. Staring at the colorful sarong wrapped around Peyton’s emaciated frame, Jules did a slow mental count. Peyton jutted her bony left hip out and crossed her arms—the only body parts capable of moving—to express attitude.

  When Jules got to five, she addressed the size-zero woman. “Peyton, I’ve explained this to you a couple of times. I have a class of eight adults arriving today. They won’t play nicely together. I do not have time to run to Santa Rosa to pick up a pint of luxury ice cream for Gitta so she can eat two teaspoons of it. She’ll have to make do with what’s in the fridge.”

  “Send Marcus.”

  “I can’t spare him. He’ll be helping with the paying guests.” Jules held her hand up, palm out. “And no, you may not borrow my car to run to the store yourself. I don’t have time to babysit Gitta while you’re gone.”

  “You’re not being a very gracious hostess. Gitta will be unhappy.” Peyton uncrossed her scrawny arms and jammed her hands onto her hips.

  “What the hell? How is it ungracious to give up the private quarters I’ve just spent thousands of dollars remodeling so my ailing-by-her-own-fault mother could recover in seclusion?” As far as Jules was concerned, she’d exceeded normal happy hostess duties with her unwelcome company.

  Peyton stared at her as if a third eye had popped out on her forehead. “You could be nicer to her, you know. She’s not getting any younger.”

  Jules resisted the urge to touch her head to make sure she hadn’t suddenly turned into a Cyclops. Then snorted. “Wait. I thought that was the purpose of the surgery.”

  “That was mean. And uncalled for.” How the hell did Peyton
look down her nose like that? She was three inches shorter than Jules.

  “Peyton, I’m . . . I’m just swamped right now. I will try to get to town or send Marcus for the ice cream and anything else Gitta needs. But it will have to be later. After I get this team class settled.”

  “Fine.” The skeletal vixen’s tone implied it was anything but.

  Closing the file folder on her desk, Jules waved toward the car driving up the lane. “If you’re hoping to keep a low profile for the next few days, I’d suggest you skedaddle back to the cabin. It looks like my teams are starting to arrive.”

  Peyton followed her gaze, her eyes opening wide. Jules decided not to wait for the woman’s brow to rise. That wouldn’t happen until the latest round of poison had leached out of her system. Then she’d satisfy her Botox addiction with a few more needles to the face.

  Jules suppressed a shudder.

  “Gitta would appreciate a visit after dinner tonight. If you can spare the time.”

  Fresh shivers ran through Jules’ body.

  Without waiting for an answer, Peyton sashayed out through the office door and climbed on the golf cart she’d commandeered for transportation across the sprawling vineyard. The cart beeped as she reversed to clear a second cart parked next to the steps, then Peyton’s body jerked when she stepped on the pedal. On her way out of the lot, she hit the speed bump going too fast. Jules mentally chided herself for her petty hope the twit’s teeth got a good jarring.

  As Peyton flew past the incoming black sedan, the driver braked. Then craned his neck as if tracking Peyton’s progress. Jules’ shoulders tightened. Was it possible he recognized the bony bitch behind the wheel?

  The brake lights blinked off as the sedan entered the parking area and eased into one of the slanted spaces. Through the door Peyton had left open, the noise of the engine died away as the driver emerged, and lifted his arms toward the sky. As he stretched and twisted the road kinks from his long frame, the red polo shirt he wore rose, revealing a taut belly. A treasure trail of dark blond hair disappeared into his low-slung jeans.

  Jules forced her gaze away from the guy’s torso and focused on his familiar-looking face. He resembled a famous actor she’d met several years ago when she’d accompanied Gitta on a red carpet stroll for a movie release.

  The one where The Incident had occurred.

  Jules, with her frizzy purple-streaked blond hair, boyish five-foot-nine-inch body, and heavy horn-rimmed glasses, had been fair game for the actor’s caustic assessment of her appearance. To make matters worse, within earshot of all the photographers and reports present, the dumb-shit actor had asked if Jules had raided her granny’s closet for her dress, then berated Jules for embarrassing her stylish and elegant superstar mother, thus disgracing the sanctity of the red carpet.

  Of course, the paparazzi had caught the actor haranguing Jules on film.

  Cringing inwardly, an image flashed in Jules’ mind of the scared, deer-in-the-headlights, dropped jaw look that had been immortalized when she couldn’t think of a single witty comeback.

  And good old Mom had completely ignored Jules and the situation, as if hoping it would go away. She’d never even spoken of it in private with Jules. Couldn’t have bad publicity of any kind jeopardizing her new endorsement deal with Beauty By Nature, the organic skincare giant.

  It was the final straw in convincing Jules to avoid any sort of publicity event or exposure. She’d slunk off the red carpet gauntlet, a staple at all premieres, and hid in the ladies’ lounge until the theater had been darkened. She’d slipped into a seat next to Gitta, but crept away before the final credits rolled. Jules hadn’t appeared in public for two weeks, waiting for the next big story to break and draw public attention from the unfortunate episode.

  She shook off the sour memory and studied the man climbing the stairs to the office. God, he really looked familiar. Unruly, dark blond curls and a strong, square jaw shaved clean of the scruff so many men thought looked sexy. Add piercing blue eyes and firm lips with the best Cupid’s bow she’d ever seen, and he became an all-American heartthrob.

  Fading bruises under his eyes marred the otherwise perfect picture. Tall and broad shouldered, his face rang a bell for her. But it was an alarm bell. She knew him.

  Oh Jesus. That’s . . . oh shit, what’s his name?

  He stopped in the doorway. “Hi. I’m looking for Jules Capelli.” The rich, smooth timbre of his voice reminded her of a television announcer.

  She hunched her shoulders and dropped onto the chair behind her desk, creating a barrier between them. “That’s me. How may I help you?”

  Her visitor pulled a wallet from his back pocket as he approached. The action lifted the hem of his shirt, giving her a closer view of his trim waistline. “Access Group International made a reservation for me in your team building seminar.” He handed her a business card he’d fished out of his billfold.

  “Yes, of course. You’re one of the late add-ons.”

  Accepting the slip of cardstock, she glanced at the bold logo and bright red lettering on the front. Her heart stopped beating and turned to stone. Actual pain from the boulder sitting on her diaphragm knifed her chest.

  The card’s bright red lettering declared the man was Alex Dixon. Reporter. With Entertainment Access. A division of AGI.

  This could not be happening. How had she not known AGI was the parent company of the worst gossip mongering website and tabloid in existence? To be fair, all communication had been via phone with AGI’s human resources department. She hadn’t even received a confirming email from the company. Now, not just one, but two reporters whose jobs relied on satisfying the curious masses’ need for damning information about celebrities would be on site. The boulder gave way to an avalanche of dread.

  The man didn’t seem to notice her distress. He cast his gaze toward the pictures on the wall of past seminars Team Vino had hosted. “My co-worker, Toad, uh Todd Rawlings, will be here in time for the dinner tonight. He had a commitment he was unable to get out of.” Did he just mutter the douchebag under his breath? “I understand the actual fun and games starts tomorrow.”

  Stunned, Jules didn’t respond. Dixon returned his attention to her, a quizzical look in his eyes. He cleared his throat.

  She snapped out of her trance. “Oh . . . um, yes, that’s correct. There will be an informal meal tonight at seven, then you’ll be on your own until tomorrow morning. We’ll have a full slate of activities to instill a strong sense of team between you and uh . . . Mr. Rawlings.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing short of a miracle will make me and Rawlings a team. But my employer insisted, so voila, I’m here.”

  Jules sifted through the folders from the stack on her desk and found the one with Alex Dixon’s name on it. She pulled a blank registration form out and offered it, along with a pen. Gesturing to the table in the corner, she said, “Have a seat and fill out this form. When you’re done, you can grab your bags and get settled in your room.” That would give her time to find Marcus and advise him of the danger.

  Pinching her fingers together while he completed the form, Jules practiced even breathing, trying to hide her growing panic that he’d recognize her and bring up her previously tarnished reputation.

  After he handed the form back to her, he left for his car. She quickly checked his information. He was young, only four years older than her. Too young to have been a reporter on the day of her humiliation. Besides, she’d been known as Julia Grimes back then. Please, God, let my identity be safe from his prying eyes.

  Then she remembered. Son of a—even if he didn’t recognize her, he was bound to recognize Gitta. What a shitty time for her mother to commandeer her home. An even shittier time to need to recover from plastic surgery.

  Visualizing the scene where Alex Dixon discovered the famous actress—and spokesperso
n for a natural beauty line—swaddled in bandages, induced rolling waves of nausea. Cold sweat trickled down her back.

  Footsteps and muted voices outside the office drew her attention. Marcus walked through the door just ahead of Alex. He’d turned his head to say something to the reporter, who laughed in response. Dammit, why did the man’s chuckle have to sound so sexy?

  Marcus walked to the key box at his desk and pulled it open. “Hey, Jules. We’re putting Mr. Dixon in twenty-three, right?”

  “Uh, yes. No, wait.” Twenty-three had an unrestricted view of the cabin where Gitta recuperated. “I think the view would be better across the hall. And the room is bigger. Let’s put him there.”

  The startled look Marcus shot her clearly contained a what the hell? Jules handed him Dixon’s business card.

  Marcus’ eyes widened. He scrunched his brows together as understanding bloomed across his face. He jerked back the key he’d extended toward Alex. His hand shook as he dropped it back in the box. Grabbing another, he clutched it in his fist. “You’re right. I think Mr. Dixon will find the view on that side much better. Why don’t I just show him the way?”

  “Please, it’s Alex. And you can just point me the right direction. I can wrangle my own bag,” Alex said, his tone easy.

  “No, no. Part of the service. We’re all a team here, so we all help.” Jules shooed them toward the door. “Marcus, when you have Alex safely ensconced in his room, could you come back? I’m having trouble with the Wi-Fi connection.”

  As in, the Wi-Fi had to be disabled, and fast. No outgoing communication via the Internet could be allowed. Especially with two entertainment reporters on the property at the same time as her healing celebrity mom. Fortunately, Team Vino was situated in a valley, which meant cell phone communication was spotty at best. But, spotty was still a threat. She needed to get to the cabin and warn Peyton to keep Gitta inside.