At His Service: Flirting with the Boss. Rebecca Winters
reached the shade near the old olive press. He stared down at the woman looking so intently at him with her uncovered eye. He rubbed the back of his neck absently.
“Aside from two chance encounters, I haven’t seen him since the day my wife ran off with him two years ago.”
Jillian felt like someone had just run her through with a Toledo sword, the kind tourists paid a great deal of money to possess.
How did anyone recover from such a profound betrayal?
Much as she wanted to comfort him the way he’d comforted her over the last few days, she knew he would see it as a gesture of pity. Since she despised being the object of that horrid emotion, she kept her hands and arms to herself.
“You did ask,” sounded a voice, so dark and hollow, it could have come from an underground cavern.
“That’s me,” she muttered in self-deprecation. “Fearless.”
Without waiting for him she began walking again. He followed at a short distance until they reached the barn. She wished she were alone. Right now she was bleeding all over the place and there was nowhere to hide.
“I’ve had a year longer than you to deal with my emotions, Jillian.”
That was meant to reassure her? If she’d had a sister who decided to run off with Kyle …
She swung around to face him, trying to imagine his anguish. “The difference is, up to the minute I lost my husband we were very happy, and I still have my brother w-while your bro—”
Jillian couldn’t go on. She couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of his pain. How did anyone handle that kind of hurt? Without conscious thought she moved inside the spacious barn where she attempted to recover her composure. He was pacing.
“Were you married a long time?”
He stopped. “Ten months.”
Such a short time … What woman in her right mind would leave Remi? As far as Jillian was concerned, neither his brother or his wife were worthy to breathe the same air he did.
“Were you and Javier in business together?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“Si, Senora.”
In that case it wasn’t the drought problem alone. Remi had been forced to recoup his father’s losses without Javier’s help while at the same time dealing with the bitterness and heartache of losing the woman he’d married. She’d gone away with his own flesh and blood—It was too awful.
Jillian sucked in her breath, wishing she hadn’t asked him if he had brothers. The answer had torn her apart. To delve any deeper into his personal life could only bring him more grief. It was time to change the subject.
She hugged her arms to her waist. “Now that we’re out here, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
In the semidarkness she could feel his eyes scrutinizing her. “Much as I dislike the idea of doing anything other than what I know, I need to safeguard the future of the estate with another source of income.” After a pause, he said, “Needless to say it won’t be crops.” He was talking as if she weren’t there.
Jillian had already gathered that. She lifted her head and waited.
“It’s strange that on the same day my accountant again brought up the subject of my diversifying, you happened along with your request. I’ve been mulling it over in my mind ever since.” His hands slid to his back hip pockets. “Tell me something. How many people are on your tour buses at a time?”
“Twenty-eight including the driver and two tour guides.”
One dark brow quirked. “I thought they were double that size.”
“Most of them are, but our company believes a luxury tour must begin with less people to give them more one-on-one attention. A group of twenty-four, twenty-five tourists is much more manageable.”
He nodded, then looked around the interior. “This mill house, the barn and olive press house were built to last, but they’ve been standing vacant and unused for years. I’ve been thinking …”
So had she!
From the moment he’d given her the tour yesterday her mind had leaped with ideas that had prevented her from falling asleep.
“They would be perfect,” she whispered without realizing she’d spoken.
Remi folded his arms. Maybe it was a trick of light but she thought she saw his lips twitch. “I haven’t said anything yet.”
She chuckled. “Forgive me if I’m several leaps ahead of you.”
“I’d like to hear what goes on in that mind of yours during one of those leaps.”
She shook her head, embarrassed. “Please finish what you were about to say.”
“Muy bien. I was going to ask a question. How many times during the summer would you anticipate one of your tour groups stopping here?”
“That would be entirely up to you. There’s such a huge call for Spanish tourism all year round, I can conceive of as many tours as you could handle.”
“Give me a number.”
“Using Madrid or Toledo as the hub, I can envision hundreds within a year.”
“That many?” He sounded surprised.
“It’s easily possible if you did four a week. EuropaUltimate is one of the biggest on the continent. Tourists want everything from a grand tour of five weeks down to an overnight excursion. The lure of visiting the Soleado Goyo olive groves would be one of those unforgettable highlights.”
“Your company has the perfect ambassador in you, Jillian.”
“Thank you.” She was inordinately pleased by the compliment. “Before we go any further, let me give you a ballpark figure of what you could make in a year with say a hundred and fifty stops. Depending on the scope of your financial goal, it should tell you if a venture like this would be worthwhile.”
She told him and then held her breath waiting for a reaction. He was quiet so long she said, “Isn’t it even close to what you’d need?”
He studied her features for a moment. “On the contrary. It would supplement things very nicely.”
Her heartbeat sped up. “But—” She’d heard one in there somewhere. He had to have many reservations.
“I’m thinking of the winter months during the harvest.”
“After what I learned from you yesterday, I factored that in. Naturally you can’t be worried about tourists at such a critical time. The figure I quoted was based on nine months, leaving out December through February.”
His intelligent eyes flashed her a glance that said he was impressed. And interested. She was jumping out of her skin with excitement. He really was considering it.
“Will you show me inside the mill house?”
“Do you read minds, too?” His unexpected question provoked a smile from her, which he returned. She was thankful for that. Minutes ago his austerely handsome face had been a study in pain. “I was about to take you inside.”
They moved in companionable silence toward the building with its attached storage shed. He opened the heavy wooden door. A heavy giant oak beam ran the length of the rectangular room. The millstones were still in place.
“Oh—This is fantastic!” Ideas were pouring into her head faster than she could contain them.
“If you’re this taken with it, then you’ll like our next stop. Come with me.”
She followed him to the other house with its unique tower and charming mullioned windows. Once inside, she marveled over the ancient olive press. It was still