Extraits

** Extrait offert par Jennifer Hayward **

1.

Si la vie avait été le verre de cabernet qu’elle tenait à la main, un cépage à l’arôme particulièrement riche et puissant, Alex Anderson l’aurait bu d’un trait, jusqu’à la dernière goutte. Juste pour voir, par défi. Dans son métier, si un challenge lui semblait impossible à relever, elle en éprouvait un frisson intense qui l’excitait et la poussait à réussir. Par contre, elle ne faisait pas la différence entre un zinfandel de Californie et un merlot… Après tout, elle avait grandi dans un trou perdu de l’Iowa au milieu de paumés qui ne buvaient que de la bière. Du moment que le vin avait bon goût et l’aidait à supporter l’ennui de l’interminable cocktail donné par les viticulteurs de la Napa Valley pour collecter des fonds au bénéfice des sans-abri…

Elle s’avisa que l’homme qu’elle était venue rencontrer, Gabriele De Campo, venait de faire son apparition, l’air encore plus renfrogné que de coutume. Pour ce visionnaire, responsable de la branche viticole du groupe De Campo aux Etats-Unis, ses vignes étaient une obsession — voire une raison d’être.

Dès qu’Alex l’aperçut du haut de la mezzanine surplombant la salle, son sang se chargea d’adrénaline. Elle allait jouer son avenir face à cet homme, et celui de l’agence de communication qu’elle dirigeait. Depuis une heure et demie qu’elle observait tous ces professionnels du vin, tentant de repérer qui était qui et d’imaginer comment assurer le succès de la campagne de De Campo, elle avait à peine touché à son verre. Avec un frisson d’anxiété, elle avala une gorgée de cabernet. N’avait-elle pas tort de se lancer dans une entreprise aussi ambitieuse ?

Tout avait démarré le matin même, à New York. Katya Jones, la directrice du marketing de De Campo, l’avait réveillée à 6 heures, visiblement en panique. Alex avait émergé avec difficulté : la veille, lors d’une soirée entre filles, elle avait un peu abusé du martini… Elle avait recouvré instantanément ses esprits quand Katya lui avait appris que Gabe venait de virer l’agence de communication qui devait assurer le lancement du dernier produit De Campo, le Devil’s Peak. Trois semaines et demie avant les deux événements phares prévus presque simultanément à Napa et à New York, sous prétexte qu’il trouvait leurs idées « atroces ».

Si Alex n’avait pas perdu, quelques jours plus tôt, un client à trois millions de dollars, jamais elle ne se serait tirée du lit de si bonne heure pour se donner une chance de travailler avec le beau-frère de sa sœur. Mais Anderson Communication, son agence, venait juste d’emménager dans la Cinquième Avenue et, si elle ne trouvait pas au plus vite un nouveau client de taille, elle allait devoir fermer les portes avant même de les avoir ouvertes. Elle avait donc annulé ses rendez-vous et sauté dans le premier avion pour San Francisco afin d’assister à ce cocktail. Avec en point de mire un contrat à deux millions de dollars !

Katya ne connaissait pas le lien familial qui l’unissait à Gabe, sinon elle ne lui aurait pas téléphoné. En effet, celui-ci s’était toujours refusé à travailler avec un membre de sa famille, bien qu’Alex ait souvent tenté de le convaincre de déroger à cette règle.

Cette fois-ci, elle devait réussir, se dit-elle en ramenant dans son chignon une mèche échappée de ses longs cheveux noirs. La tête haute, elle se dirigea vers l’escalier qui menait à la salle. Les doigts crispés sur la rampe, elle descendit avec une lenteur délibérée. Au milieu de la foule, Gabe conversait avec le président du bureau interprofessionnel, à qui il semblait accorder toute son attention. Pourtant, à un moment, comme averti par un sixième sens, il releva la tête et écarquilla les yeux, visiblement surpris de la voir.

Alex eut l’intuition que Katya ne l’avait pas averti de sa présence à San Francisco. Elle chercha à se convaincre que la surprise pourrait jouer en sa faveur. Néanmoins, en atteignant la dernière marche, ses genoux faiblirent. Peut-être l’effet de ce costume qui mettait merveilleusement en valeur la silhouette élancée et puissante à la fois de Gabe…

Selon certaines femmes, c’était sa chevelure sombre, un peu longue mais parfaitement disciplinée, qui lui donnait cet air sexy ; pour d’autres, c’était sa fossette au menton. Ce qu’Alex préférait, c’étaient ses yeux vert forêt, une forêt où l’on avait envie de se perdre.

Il l’attendait au bas de l’escalier et murmura « Alexandra » d’une voix de velours qui la fit frissonner et mit tous ses sens en émoi.

— Je ne savais pas que tu étais sur la côte Ouest, ajouta-t-il.

— Ton radar interne ne t’a pas averti que j’approchais ? plaisanta-t-elle, la gorge sèche cependant.

— Le signal a dû se brouiller.

Elle se raidit en percevant son odeur — fumée et terre — quand il se pencha pour lui effleurer la joue.

— Qu’est-ce que tu fais ici ? s’enquit-il d’une voix rauque. Jamais je n’aurais imaginé te rencontrer dans ce cocktail professionnel.

— Tu n’as pas eu l’occasion de parler à Katya aujourd’hui ?

— Katya Jones ?

— Oui. Elle devait t’appeler, répondit Alex en le fixant droit dans les yeux. Elle vient de m’engager. Pour m’occuper de votre campagne du Devil’s Peak.

Le regard de Gabe s’assombrit.

— C’est impossible.

— Tu n’as même pas regardé tes e-mails ? Elle t’en a forcément envoyé un à ce sujet.

— Je n’ai pas eu une minute à moi, aujourd’hui.

Elle se força à afficher un sourire confiant.

— Gabe, dans trois semaines et demie, le lancement débute par deux événements importants. Katya sait que je suis la seule à pouvoir vous tirer d’affaire. Elle m’a donc appelée à l’aide.

— Tu sais pourtant que je refuse de travailler avec un membre de ma famille !

— Tu n’as plus le choix.

— J’ai besoin d’un verre, déclara-t-il d’un air crispé.

— Dans les quarante-huit heures, je trouve le thème de ta campagne, dit-elle en le suivant en direction du bar. J’ai vu ce que te proposait ton ancienne agence et je suis d’accord avec toi, c’était atroce. J’ai des idées.

— Alex, lâcha-t-il en s’accoudant au bar, ce n’est pas toi qui mèneras cette campagne.

Elle grimpa sur un tabouret pour mieux le défier du regard.

— Katya m’a engagée. Dans mon domaine, je suis une pointure. Et tu le sais.

— Ce n’est pas le sujet, répondit-il en s’asseyant à côté d’elle après avoir passé commande au barman. Je sais que tu es la meilleure, Alex, et tu aurais déjà travaillé pour De Campo si tu n’étais pas de la famille.

Une vague de désespoir la submergea.

— Tu as misé sur la mauvaise agence, et te voilà dans le pétrin. Mettre en place en si peu de temps deux campagnes et deux événements, à Napa et à New York, à une semaine d’intervalle, c’est quasiment du suicide. En dehors de moi, je ne connais que deux professionnels dans tout le pays qui en soient capables. Le premier est en train de descendre le Nil avec sa femme. Quant au second, il organise un événement gigantesque à Houston.

Gabe fit glisser un verre de vin sur le bar en direction d’Alex.

— On se débrouillera, dit-il en haussant les épaules. Pas question de déroger à la règle que je me suis fixée.

Dans la vie, Alex n’avait qu’une certitude : dans son domaine, elle faisait partie des meilleurs.

— Tu as donc envie que ton lancement échoue lamentablement ? Alors que tu te bats depuis huit ans pour faire triompher De Campo à Napa et respecter tes crus californiens ? Comme tu veux, Gabe…

Il reposa son verre en jurant à mi-voix. Jamais Alex ne l’avait entendu prononcer un mot aussi grossier.

— Laisse-moi t’aider. J’en suis capable, reprit-elle en lui posant la main sur le bras.

En sentant un frémissement courir de sa paume à son estomac, elle retira vivement sa main et la posa sur sa cuisse. Entre eux, comme toujours, ce courant quasi électrique…

— Tu ne crois pas que c’était un peu précipité de sauter dans un avion sans connaître ma réponse ? demanda-t-il.

— Katya m’a engagée.

— Et moi, je peux très bien te virer.

— Tu ne le feras pas. Je me tiendrai à l’écart. Je deviendrai tellement invisible que tu ne te rendras même pas compte que je suis là.

— Tu n’en es pas plus capable qu’un coquelicot dans un champ de blé.

Il leva la main pour saluer des gens, derrière elle.

— Il faut que je parle à quelques personnes. Ensuite, j’ai une tonne de travail qui m’attend chez moi. Reste ici, je te ramènerai à ton hôtel. On parlera pendant le trajet.

Elle aurait aimé lui répondre qu’elle n’était pas un petit chien qui obéit au doigt et à l’œil, mais elle devait lui prouver qu’ils pouvaient travailler ensemble.

— Très bien. Je t’attends ici.

— Dix minutes, pas plus.

Elle l’observa tandis qu’il s’éloignait. Sa haute silhouette dominait la foule élégante. Le gratin de la côte Ouest, aussi différent des gens qu’elle avait l’habitude de fréquenter à New York que le jour de la nuit. Elle avala une gorgée de vin en se demandant comment appâter cet homme de fer qui exprimait si rarement la moindre émotion, capable de traverser un immeuble en flammes sans froisser son costume Armani. Et pourtant, ce soir, il paraissait à la fois anxieux et hostile. Difficile à cerner.

Il lui fallait ce contrat, à tout prix. Durant les huit dernières années, elle avait travaillé quatorze heures par jour dans une énorme agence de communication de Manhattan pour des marques qui l’ennuyaient à pleurer. Aujourd’hui, Anderson Communication était son bébé. Il était hors de question de ne pas réussir.

Elle laissa son regard errer sur la foule pour mieux analyser sa future cible. Soudain, son regard se fixa sur un quadragénaire grisonnant. Son cœur s’arrêta de battre. Pas possible… Et pourtant si, le seul homme au monde qu’elle appréhendait de revoir était là.

* * *

Grand, mince et élégant dans son costume sombre, Jordan Lane conversait avec une spectaculaire beauté blonde. A quelques cheveux blancs près, il n’avait pas changé. Alex se leva et fendit la foule sans savoir où elle allait, uniquement préoccupée de lui échapper.

Comment avait-elle pu ne pas anticiper cette rencontre, alors que tous les gens qui comptaient dans l’industrie du vin étaient là ? se demanda-t-elle. Et Jordan dirigeait la plus grosse entreprise de vins et spiritueux des Etats-Unis…

Une main se posa sur son épaule.

— Alex ?

Elle se retourna, le cœur cognant dans la poitrine.

— Jordan, balbutia-t-elle. Quelle surprise !

Son ancien client. L’homme qui lui avait fait commettre la pire erreur de sa vie. L’homme qu’elle avait tant aimé et tant haï. Il lui prit la main pour la porter à ses lèvres.

— Tu es superbe. Plus belle encore que naguère.

Quand elle l’avait connu, à vingt-deux ans, elle était bien trop naïve pour manœuvrer un homme dans son genre. Gagnée par la colère, elle retira vivement sa main. Jordan avait profité de son inexpérience pour la modeler à sa guise, au gré de ses envies. Son charme était toujours aussi opérant, mais désormais elle lisait clairement l’instinct du prédateur dans ses yeux bleus.

— J’accepte de le prendre comme un compliment, lâcha-t-elle entre ses dents serrées. Mais tu ferais mieux de retourner à ton flirt. A-t-elle seulement la moitié de ton âge ?

Le regard bleu de Jordan s’obscurcit soudain.

— Pourquoi n’en discuterions-nous pas autour d’un verre ?

— Non, merci.

— C’est un entretien professionnel que je te propose.

— Même si tu étais le dernier client de la planète, je refuserais.

— J’ai un travail pour toi. J’ai confiance en toi.

Alex se raidit. Elle redressa la tête pour le fixer droit dans les yeux.

** Extrait offert par Jennifer Hayward ** (VO)

If life was a glass of Cabernet, Alexandra Anderson wanted to live right in the lusty, full-bodied center of it. The thrill of the chase was paramount-the stickier the challenge, the better. If she wasn't sure she could do it- that's where she wanted to be. That's when she got even better. That's where she thrived.

As for the intricacies of that particular varietal versus California Zinfandel and Merlot? For a girl who'd grown up in the backwaters of Iowa tossing back beers with the undesirable crowd, it wasn't something that kept her up at night. Who gave a toss as long as it tasted good and did something to alleviate the interminable boredom of yet another cocktail party that was all work and no play?

Certainly not the sentiment of the man who'd just strode into Napa Valley's annual industry fundraiser for the homeless, a massive scowl on his face. Those grapes that made bubbly go fizz for her were an obsession for Gabriele De Campo, the visionary behind De Campo Group's world-renowned wines. His raison d'être.

She stood watching him from her perch on the balcony overlooking the mezzanine of the Pacific Heights hotspot Charo, where the event was being held, with only one goal in mind: to indulge in one of those adrenaline-seeking ventures she so loved. To convince Gabriele De Campo to let her PR firm handle the two massive upcoming launch events for De Campo's most important wine in a decade. It was her chance to finally win a piece of the internationally renowned winemaker's communications portfolio, and she didn't intend to fail.

She took a sip of the glass of wine she'd been nursing for an hour and a half while she'd schmoozed every key player in the California wine industry, doing every piece of reconnaissance she could to learn who was who, what made these people tick and what would make a knockout launch for De Campo.

A warning shiver snaked up her spine. Was she crazy to even be attempting this?

It had all happened in a rather mind-numbingly quick fashion. This morning she'd been sleeping off one too many martinis from her girls' night out in Manhattan when she'd been woken at 6:00 a.m. with a panicked phone call from Katya Jones, the head of De Campo's marketing department. An old colleague of hers, cool-as-a-cucumber Katya had sounded unusually flustered. Gabriele De Campo had just fired the PR agency handling his Devil's Peak launch for its "atroce" ideas three and a half weeks before simultaneous kickoff events in Napa and New York. "I need you," Katya had groaned. "And I need you now.'''

Alex might not have been so inclined to drag her sorry butt out of bed for a chance to work for her sister's brother-in-law if she hadn't just lost her three-million-dollar-a-year diamond client this week in a hostile takeover. It had been a huge blow for Alex's fledgling PR firm that had just taken over a ritzy new space on Fifth Avenue. If she didn't find another big client soon, she'd be closing her doors before she even got started. So she'd shaken off her fuzz, canceled her appointments and jumped on a plane to San Francisco in time to make this party.

There was only one problem with the whole scenario. Katya didn't know Alex's relationship to Gabe. Didn't know he had a strict no-working-with-family policy he'd never bent from, no matter how much she'd tried to convince him to give her De Campo's business. Didn't know she and Gabe were like oil and water. Always. When Gabe said white, she said black. It was just the way it was.

Which had no bearing on the here and now, she told herself, tucking a wayward strand of her long, dark hair back into her chignon, squaring her shoulders and starting for the winding staircase that led down to the mezzanine. Her combative relationship with Gabe was inconsequential when a two-million-dollar contract was on the line. When her future was on the line.

She curved her hand around the mahogany banister and took a deep, steadying breath. Her steps down the staircase were slow and deliberate, designed not to attract attention. Gabe was in the middle of the crowd, speaking to the head of the local farm workers union, his attention immersed in his subject as it always was-that single-minded focus his trademark. But as she continued her descent, that familiar awareness flickered across the air between them, charged, electric. Gabe's head came up. His gaze froze as it rested on her. His eyes widened.

As if he was surprised to see her.

Oh, Lord. Katya had told him she'd hired her. Hadn't she?

She started to get the awful feeling that no, somehow her old colleague had not passed along that crucial piece of information as she descended the second flight of stairs, her heart thumping in tandem with each step. Gabe's thick, dark brow arched high, his gaze not leaving her face. Surprise. Definitely surprise.

This was so, so not good.

Or maybe, she countered desperately, as he broke off his conversation and strode over to stand at the base of the stairs, it was actually a very good thing. Having the element of surprise over control freak Gabe could work in her favor. Allow her to slide in some sound reasoning before he brought the gavel down.

Her knees, as she descended the last flight and took him in, felt a little too weak for a woman facing a man who was essentially family. Which might have been due to the superbly tailored suit that fit Gabe's tall, muscular body like a glove. Or his black-as-night hair worn overly long with perfectly cut sideburns.

Some women pointed out the sexy indentation in the middle of his chin as outrageously hot. She preferred the drown-yourself-in-them forest-green eyes. His formidable self-control she was fairly certain would come crumbling down for the right woman…

She pulled in a breath as she negotiated the last step and stopped in front of him. Utterly to die for. Utterly off-limits. Get a hold of yourself, Lex.

His mouth curved. "Alexandra."

The rich, velvety texture of his voice stormed her senses, sending goose bumps to every inch of her skin. His use of her full name was formal, his gaze as it rested on her face probing. "I had no idea you were on the West Coast."

Dammit, Katya. He really had no idea. She swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat and tipped her head back to look up at him. "Your internal radar didn't signal I was close?"

His mouth quirked. "Something must have been scrambling the signal."

She braced herself against the smoky, earthy scent of him as he bent to brush his lips across each of her cheeks, but his husky "ciao" decimated her composure.

"What are you doing here?" he murmured, drawing back, his gaze lingering on her face. "I can't imagine anything less your style than an industry party like this."

Hell. She lifted her chin. "You haven't spoken to Katya yet today, have you?"

"Katya Jones?"

"Yes, she was going to call you. She-I-" Alex planted her gaze on his and held on. "She hired me, Gabe. To do the events."

His eyes widened, then darkened. "That isn't possible. I approve those decisions."

"I'm afraid it is," she said calmly. "Have you checked your messages? She must have left you one."

He scraped his hair out of his face with a tanned, elegant-fingered hand and scowled. "I haven't had two seconds to think today, let alone check email."

And there you had it. She plastered a breezy, confident smile on her face. "You have coast-to-coast launches in three and a half weeks, Gabe. Katya knows I'm the only one who can pull them off at this point, so she called me in to help." She waved a hand at him. "I'm here to save you."

"Save me?" His frown deepened. "You know I have a firm policy against working with family."

"I don't think you have a choice."

He screwed up his aristocratic, beautiful face and sliced a hand through the air. "I need a drink."

Excellent idea. So did she.

"So, I can have a theme to you in forty-eight hours," she said brightly, trailing along behind him to the bar. "I looked at the ideas the other agency put together for you and I agree, they're crap. I've got some much better ones."

"Alex," he growled, slapping his palm on the bar, "you are not doing these launch events."

She slid onto a stool, her chin tilted at a mutinous angle. "Katya hired me. I'm brilliant at my job. You know I am."

"That is irrelevant." He barked a request for drinks at the bartender, then sat down beside her. "I know you're the best, Alex. I would have hired you already if you weren't family. But you are, and it's not happening."

Desperation surged through her. She rested her elbows on the bar, locked her gaze on his and went for the jugular. "You backed the wrong horse, Gabe. You chose the wrong agency and now you're in too deep. Executing two massive back-to-back launch events in Napa and New York with this little prep time is an almost suicidal assignment. There are only two PR people besides myself in this country who are even capable of pulling it off. One," she emphasized, "is presently sailing up the Nile with his wife. I know because I just got a postcard from him. The second is in Houston doing an event with five extra staff she just hired to make it happen. You will not," she pronounced, "be getting any personal service there."

He slid a glass of wine across the bar to her, his broad shoulders rising in a dismissive shrug. "We'll figure it out. I'm not breaking my rule."

Fire singed her veins. There were a few things Alex was sure of in life. One was the fact that no one was better at their job than she was. Hands down. He needed her. "Do you want your launches to fail?" she demanded. "You've spent eight years, eight years getting De Campo to this point in Napa, Gabe. Eight years gaining the respect you deserve for your Californian vintages. You have one chance to make a first impression with this wine. I can make sure it's the launch of the year."

He set his glass down and cursed under his breath. Alex stared at him. She had never, ever heard Gabe say that word.

"Let me help you," she murmured, reaching out and laying her hand on his forearm. "I can do this."

A current of electricity zigzagged its way from her palm to her stomach. She pulled her hand away and tucked it under her thigh. It was always this way between them, a gigantic pulse-fluttering awareness of each other that defied reason.

"You didn't think it was a really bad idea jumping on a plane before you had any idea if I was going to take you on?" Gabe muttered with a dark stare that was equal parts frustration and something else entirely.

"Katya hired me. As in gave me the job, Gabe."

"I can unhire you."

"You wouldn't."

He shrugged. "You know it's a bad idea."

"It's fine." She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. "I'll stay out of your way. I'll be so invisible you won't even know I'm there."

"That," he murmured, wry humor flashing in his eyes, "is a physical impossibility for you. You're like a fireengine-red poppy in a sea of Tuscan green."

"Gabe-"

He held up a hand, his gaze flicking over her shoulder. "I need to talk to a couple of people, then I have a ton of work to do at home. Sit here, wait for me and I'll drive you back to your hotel. We can talk on the way."

She wanted to retort she wasn't a dog, that she didn't take orders, but this was the part where she needed to prove he could work with her.

"Fine," she murmured sweetly. "Here I sit, waiting for you."

He narrowed his gaze on her face, looked as if he was about to say something, then shook his head and stood. "Ten minutes."

She watched his tall, imposing figure cut through the crowd. Holy hell, Katya. Really?

The chicly dressed West Coast crowd buzzed around her, drawn to the shining mahogany centerpiece of a bar like moths to a flame. She settled back on the stool, enjoying the relaxed, chilled-out vibe that was so far from the New York scene she was used to, it was like night and day. Sipped her wine and wondered how to approach this Gabe she wasn't familiar with. He rarely got into a mood, he was iron man, the man most likely to walk through a burning building unscathed, his Armani suit intact. Yet tonight he was antagonized, edgy. Harder to predict.

The only thing to do was stick to the end goal, she told herself. Get the job. She hadn't spent the last eight years slugging it out in a big, prestigious Manhattan PR firm to go back to working fourteen-hour days on brands that bored her to tears. Functioning like a corporate robot to pad someone else's bottom line. Anderson Communications was hers. Her ticket to complete financial independence and security. She was not going to fail.

For her, freedom was everything. Misplaced testosterone had no part in it when her future was on the line.

She ran her gaze over the crowded bar with a restless energy that contrasted with the easy vibe. Continued cataloging the attributes of her target audience. A fortysome-thing salt-and-pepper male on the other side of the bar caught her eye.

It couldn't be.

It was.

The one man she'd truly hoped never to see again.

Her heart stopped in her chest. Tall, lean and sophisticated in a dark gray designer suit, chatting to a quirkily beautiful blonde, he looked exactly the same. Except, now he had the gray where before he hadn't and there were visible lines around his eyes when he smiled. That smile he knew dropped a woman at fifty paces.

It had her.

She whipped around on the stool, but not before he saw her. The shock on his face rocketed through her, made her dizzy, disoriented. She got unsteadily to her feet and walked blindly through the crowd, destination undetermined, anywhere that was far, far away from him. The faces around her blurred into a haze of polite laughter and bright lights. Of course Jordan would be here tonight. He was the CEO of the biggest spirits company in the U.S. Everyone who was anyone in the wine industry was here….

Why hadn't she anticipated it?

A hand came down on her shoulder.

"Alex."

She spun around, her heart jump-starting and racing a mile a minute. Jordan Lane. Her former client. The man she'd made the biggest mistake of her life with.

The man she'd loved and hated in equal measure.

"Jordan." She forced the words past her constricted throat. "What a surprise."