Texting with the Enemy: Digital Dating, #1

By Delancey Stewart and Marika Ray

She's texting him her heart. But she's got the wrong number…

 

When Isabel "El" Watson applied for a sales job with her company, she had no idea a jelly donut would explode on her blouse, or that her grumpy boss would practically laugh her out of the interview. Accountants could be salespeople, she was sure of it, even if that jerkface didn't think so.

 

So when a lady at the local wine festival offers her a sales job on the spot at a new boutique winery, El jumps at the chance. She also jumps at the chance to text with the guy who danced with her at the festival. Life was finally looking up.

 

Boston's friend, Chad, never should have given Boston's number to the girl at the wine festival as a joke, but the damage was done. When El sends Boston a text later that night, believing he is Chad, he's too nice to hurt her feelings by telling her the truth. But there are a few other truths Boston might have thought about:

Truth #1: He's her boss

Truth #2: She just accepted a job at his mother's new winery

Truth #3: He's always had a crush on her

 

Even though Boston is no longer El's grumpy boss, they still work together at his mom's winery. And while sparks are flying as they get to know each other for real, El's kind of sweet on the guy who always seems to know just what to say via text too.

 

Obviously, things will come to a head.

 

Will Boston come clean about the flirty texts being from him? Or will El figure out on her own that she's been Texting With the Enemy?

 

From two USA Today bestselling authors, a RomCom so sweet you'll want to hug your kindle and never look at texting the same way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Delancey Stewart
• Release date: Jan 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224621576

Delancey Stewart

Delancey Stewart writes contemporary romance. Stewart has lived on both coasts, in big cities and small towns. She's been a pharmaceutical rep, a personal trainer and a direct sales representative for a French wine importer. But she has always been a writer first. A wife and the mother of two small boys, her current job titles include pirate captain, monster hunter, Lego assembler and story reader. She tackles all these efforts at her current home outside Washington D.C. Find her at www.delanceystewart.com

Book preview

1

BOSTON

If cringing was an Olympic sport, I’d be medaling right now. Silver at least. Probably gold.

That was what happened whenever Mom decided to forget her woes and responsibilities—and the fact that she was nearing sixty—and ‘live every day fully.’ It was also what happened when she’d had too many tiny plastic glasses of wine. 

Your mom is killing it, my friend Chad observed at my side. 

The DJ was playing Uptown Funk, a song I wasn’t sure Mom had ever actually heard before, and she was doing some combination of what looked like the Funky Chicken and a pantomime of being trapped inside a box. My brother Dalton was out in the middle of the grassy lawn with her, encouraging her insanity with his own ridiculous moves. 

That’s one way to put it, I muttered, swallowing down what was left in my own tiny plastic glass. She really needs to get back to her table, I said, glancing around at the steadily growing crowd of afternoon food and wine lovers gathering in the grassy park where the annual North Valley Wine Mixer was in full swing. 

She’s having fun, man. Let her blow off some steam. She deserves it. Chad threw back his own wine like a shot and then slipped a flask from his back pocket and refilled with something that clearly wasn’t wine. Hooch? He offered, holding the flask out to me. 

I could feel my brows lower as I glared at him. Who brings ‘hooch’ to a wine event? 

Who’s got two thumbs and loves a good roll in the hay with a random chick I’ll never see again? Chad returned. 

Right, I said as Chad slipped his flask back in his pocket and indicated himself with both extended thumbs, managing to keep hold of his cup in the process. 

For me, this was a work event, and I couldn’t really afford to get hopped up on whatever Chad carried in his flask or lose my mind (and my self-respect) out on the dance floor with my mother. The crowd was full of customers, and as one of the biggest wine distributors in Northern California, I needed to spend the day schmoozing, not partying. 

I need to have a couple meetings, I told Chad, confident my buddy would be fine without me. Chad and I had been best friends since elementary school, which was the only reason I put up with a lot of his more douchey behavior now. In high school, he’d morphed from awkward skinny kid to All-American blond football god and gotten a little big headed with all the sudden attention from the ladies. In the meantime, I’d stayed just about the same, but then I’d never had a tough time with girls. My singlehood was a choice, not a problem. 

And work didn’t leave time for dating anyway. 

I wove between the bodies moving around the grassy makeshift dance floor to where my mother and Dalton continued embarrassing the family, now doing some kind of one-on-one limbo competition even though the music playing was a country ballad. 

Hey, I said, taking Mom gently by the arm. Let’s go grab something to eat, and then we can spend a little time letting some people taste your wine. As I talked, I steered her off the dance floor and toward a shady table covered with mini-charcuterie trays. 

Party pooper! Dalton called from behind us. 

Honey, I was just having fun. I’m working too, Mom said, shaking her arm free of my grip. She picked up a little tray and a bottle of water and walked at my side back to the Cunning Ham Winery table, which she’d basically deserted to go dance with my little brother. 

Mom, you can’t just walk away from the wine, I pointed out, seeing her back to her spot behind the tasting table we’d set up for her fledgling winery. 

She looked around as if searching for someone. Well, I didn’t. I left your brother here. 

You were just dancing with him. 

Not that one. Lincoln. Where’d he go? 

Who knew where Lincoln had gone? The guy was so easily distracted—he was not a safe bet if you needed to rely on someone. Perform some complicated math? Sure, Linc was your man. Explain in ridiculous detail how the latest Mars lander worked? You bet. Figure out the exact heritage of some desiccated grapes hanging on the vine? Definitely.

I shook my head and helped Mom tidy up the tasting table. 

Maybe it’s time to hire some real help here, she said. I’ll need someone in the tasting room anyway. 

That’s true, I agreed, straightening the sign hanging off the edge of the table. Mom was learning to make wine, which was going to take some time. We’d traded capital and space with a guy named Jacques who’d arrived from the Rhône Valley looking for a place to make wine. We were the money, he was the talent. I wondered if he regretted the deal now that he’d figured out Mom had no idea how to act as his assistant. Maybe we should try to find some candidates next week. I’ll talk to a few people, see if I can find anyone. I think you really need someone who can handle sales too though, not just the tasting room. 

But that’s what I have you for, Mom smiled broadly at me, and I felt my chest tighten. 

You do, I agreed. 

Her face fell without me saying a word. You’ve got way too much on your plate, Boston. I do know that. Hiring someone would be as much a help for you as for me. 

She wasn’t wrong. Since Dad had died suddenly last year, I’d been running the family business and helping Mom launch her fledgling winery. And it was a lot. 

I’m okay, Mom. And we’ll get you some help. It’ll all be fine. I’d been telling myself that all year. If we could get a Cracker Jack salesperson in to handle some of Mom’s needs, maybe even help out at West Wine Distributors, then maybe I could take a day off. 

Go have some fun, Boston, Mom said, putting on her I’m-a-professional expression. I’ve got this covered. I won’t leave the table again. 

I turned and looked around the scene. 

It was a perfect day. The sun shone, the grass glistened at our feet, and a cool breeze was trundling in intermittent wisps over the green hills in the distance, carried off the Pacific by a generous breeze. The event was in full swing, and every boutique winery in Solano Valley had a table set up. My job was to taste the wines and offer distribution to the very best, taking a cut when I managed to sell their wines into the high-end restaurants around the Bay Area. 

‘Sup bro? My little brother Dalton stepped near, grinning at me and then winking at our mother. 

You know, just working, I told him, emphasizing the w word. 

You work too much, Dalton said. 

I just told him that, Mom agreed. 

Who works too much? Lincoln appeared from nowhere, taking up a spot on my other side. 

Oh, you guys, Mom’s voice went high and warbly and her hand went to her chest as she smiled at us. Seeing you all together here like this. It just makes me miss your dad so much. And Dillon too. I wish they were both here. 

Dalton pulled his phone out of his pocket, and within seconds had his twin brother Dillon on screen. Mom misses you, he shouted at the phone over the escalating noise of the festival. 

Dillon, honey! Mom shrieked. When are you coming home? 

We couldn’t hear what Dillon said, but the answer was undoubtedly the same as always—soon. But Dillon hadn’t gotten the family-business gene, evidently. He’d moved down to San Diego and stayed there despite Mom’s constant efforts to bring him back. 

Okay, I said, taking a deep breath and preparing to extricate myself from the usual Cunningham family chaos. I really do need to get to work. 

Hey, Lincoln said, dropping a big hand on my shoulder. Who’s Chad with? Doesn’t that girl work for us? 

I followed Lincoln’s gaze across the crowd to the dance floor, catching sight of Chad twirling someone around the space, wearing his trademark girl-getting grin. It was hard to get a good look at the girl’s face since Chad kept turning her around, but I could see that she had a fantastic body—curves for miles. As they finally stopped spinning, her arms reached up to his shoulders, no doubt to stop herself toppling over from dizziness, and my heart leapt into my mouth as I figured out who it was. 

El. She definitely did work for us. Her full name was Isabel, and she worked in accounting at West Wine. She was an excellent accountant. And she was hot in a carefree and spontaneous way that drew me to her for no explicable reason. I was organized and polished—you had to be in sales. And yet, there was something about El that had me running totally unnecessary trips into the accounting office, dropping off empty folders and delivering pointless messages just so I had an excuse to walk by her desk. Her always messy, totally haphazard and scattered desk. 

She does work for us, I confirmed. I’d stepped away from Mom’s table, moving nearer to where Chad had El in his arms, and I was marveling at the strange uncomfortable feeling rolling around inside me as I watched them together. El was smiling that wide happy smile that I’d seen many times before, the one that made me feel like maybe she knew something about the world I hadn’t figured out yet. 

She’s about to get Chadwicked, Lincoln observed. 

My stomach turned over at the thought and I regretted that last tiny glass of Chenin blanc. I didn’t like thinking of her with Chad. He was too slick for her, too much of a player. El was a nice girl. Kind of a crazy mess, but a nice girl. 

I knew she didn’t think I was very nice at all, unfortunately. 

Could you just help Mom? I asked him, turning away from him and from the dance floor as unwanted memories of my most recent interaction with El flew to the front of my mind. 

She’d interviewed for a sales position, and since I was the director of sales now that Dad was gone, I’d been the one she had to talk to. I didn’t understand why she’d want to be in sales in the first place. She was genuine and sweet, the kind of person who lived her life right out in the open, messy bits and all. To be a good salesperson, you had to be buttoned up, pulled together. And you had to keep whatever insanity was boiling over inside you covered up, tucked away. Sales was about appearances. 

So when I had tried to explain to El why I didn’t think she’d be a good fit in sales, I’d managed to insult her multiple times in the process, which was not what I’d hoped to do. 

I’d actually thought maybe I could convince her what an amazing accountant she was and tell her how much we needed her to stay there. And then I’d thought maybe I would ask her to coffee or something. But by the time she was leaving my office, I was pretty certain she hated me. 

No, beautiful carefree El Watson and I would not be having coffee together. Not now, not ever.

2

ISABEL

I should kill you for making me wear this bra, I muttered, trying to wiggle and tug just right to get the girls to settle into the strapless bra that was currently trying to stab me in the ribs. Bras without the harness straps were for girls with a C-cup or less. That was, like, a golden rule or something.

You’ve got the goods, you need to show them off. You’ll thank me when Mr. Forever notices you today, Ashley said as she stood patiently by the back bumper of her car waiting for me to get my outfit to cooperate.

The snort I gave her was not feminine. You mean when he falls eyeballs first into my cleavage and forgets my name? No thanks.

You’re always saying those guys you date don’t take you as a real prospect. Show them you’re more than just a female friend they can rely on for really tasty chocolate chip cookies.

Or for doing their tax returns for free every year, I grumbled, reaching back into the car for my crossbody bag. It cut across my boobs and made them look like well-shaped missiles in this bra.

Ashley came around and laced her arm through mine, tugging me away from the safety of the car and into the mob of people lingering around the wine festival. I figured I should probably be attending simply to support the company I worked for as an accountant, but Ashley had visions of me finding a suitable boyfriend amongst the posh wine-drinking set. According to her, it was either this or sign up for online dating if I wanted to be married and spitting out children by the time I turned thirty. I thought that as my best friend, she was just supposed to listen while I complained about a lack of suitable dates, not actually do anything about it. Ashley thought differently.

Listen. You’re the full package: the body and the brains. Let’s find you a man who appreciates that kind of double threat. Ashley pointed to a guy standing at a bar set up off to the side of the dance floor that was currently hopping with gyrating bodies. My bra trembled in fear. How about that one?

I wanted to play along, I really did, but a thorough once over told me he wouldn’t do. Ash, he’s got Sperrys with no socks and he Nairs his legs. Absolutely not.

Ashley guffawed. He manscapes. Is that a crime? At least you know he won’t go dad-bod before he’s actually a dad. You might get a few good years out of him.

She kept walking toward the thick of the dance floor, but I managed to steer her away from the guy who’d make me feel bad for not shaving my legs daily in winter. A girl couldn’t marry a guy who had higher personal maintenance standards than she did.

How about we get some liquid courage first? I asked. Goodness gracious, my armpits were getting swampy just envisioning sidling up to a guy and asking him to dance.

Ashley started skipping in happiness as she tugged me with her. I can agree on that!

I glanced around at the many tables and tents set up in multicolor rows surrounding the dance floor. Sadly, though I worked for a wine distribution company, I knew very little about the actual nuances of wine. I was an accountant. I just needed to be able to add properly. Oh! How about that one? The little piggy is so cute!

Ashley snorted enthusiastically and I took it as a yes. As we approached the winery with the cute pig logo, an older woman with a broad, happy smile stood up from her chair behind the table. 

Happy afternoon, ladies. Welcome to The Cunning Ham, where the wine tastes good and is also a lot of fun. The woman stuck her hand out and we both shook it. I might need to work on that elevator pitch.

I liked this woman already. 

I’m Isabel and this is my bestie Ashley. I formally introduced us as Ashley perused the wine offerings on the table. 

And I’m Pam. Are you a wine lover?

I blushed. Can I be honest, Pam?

I wouldn’t have it any other way, she said with a wink.

I work in the industry, but I don’t really know much about the wines. I know what I like, but I couldn’t tell a chardonnay from a viognier.

Her laugh was the kind that made you immediately want to smile too. Well at least you can pronounce it correctly so you’re halfway there. She stepped down the table and I followed. How about we start with a white wine? You tell me what you smell.

Pam handed me a glass and I gave it a swirl before putting it to my nose. I smelled grapes.