Paris
I STOPPED OUTSIDE his office knowing this was going to test all of my willpower.
Spending the day with him and all his charm always did.
Tabitha had given me a pep-talk though, of course, so I was ready. She’d taken me to lunch after our meeting and explained everything that was going on. That the Highway 128 accounts would be frozen, not that there was anything in them. That the shareholder’s families would be notified of the pending management change and the formality of a vote would be extended. And lastly, the financials would be reviewed for any irregularities but that was nothing to worry about.
It was a lot.
However, she reassured me that I would be back in my office at Highway 128 in a month’s time, tops.
What had my father been thinking not updating his will? Clearly, he hadn’t thought much about his legacy since my sister and mother passed away.
Tabitha told me that I had to stay away from the office, but I could go to the house if I wanted. Which I did not.
That settling the debt would be a priority before assets could be distributed. That scared me.
In the meantime, she advised that I work under the terms of the merger and do what I could to keep Highway 128 afloat. That worried me.
Her final suggestion was that I demand equal production time for both brands, and then she added that I had to make certain to resist all of Tyler Holiday’s charm. So much easier said than done.
“Eye on the prize,” she said, and then added, “Remember, Paris, you wanting him to change won’t change him, he has to actually do it. And trust me, showing him what he’s missing out on is the only way.” Yeah, like I said, so much easier said than done.
I fixed my dress and hated that my nipples were protruding when I hadn’t even seen him yet. Resigned to my wayward body, I knocked.
“Come in.” The voice was slow, dripping caramel oozing all kinds of sex appeal.
Damn him.
I pushed open the door and it didn’t take long for my gaze to land on him. He was standing by the table in the corner near the window that overlooked the vineyard. As soon as he saw me, he strode over. “Paris, great, you’re here just in time to meet Buck on the production floor.”
His expensive suit jacket had been removed and his silk tied discarded. All I could see was his pressed white shirt rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned at the top and the impressive muscle tone of his arms and chest beneath it.
That dizziness came back and I dropped my gaze down his dark slacks, landing on his expensive shoes.
“And Paris,” he said, bringing my gaze back to his stunning face. “These are for you.”
The flowers in his hand were magical. Springs of baby’s breath and lavender. Wildflowers and roses and geraniums.
“Don’t accept bribes,” Tabitha had warned.
Eye on the prize.
I took the flowers. “Thank you, Tyler, but these aren’t necessary,” I said, and tossed them in the trash can near his desk.
It killed me to do so.
His perfect features twisted in annoyance but he recovered quickly. “So that’s how we’re doing this?”
I feigned innocence. “Doing what exactly?”
He shook his head. “Why this merger, of course. I got it now, no problem,” he said.
I had to admit—that worried me.
“Come on, Buck is waiting,” he huffed, and stormed out of the office.
“Tyler,” I said, “I think we should start by bottling under the Highway 128 labels.”
“Do you?” he asked.
“Yes, I do. I want equal say around here.”
He stopped in the hallway and turned to look at me. The thing was, he didn’t merely look at me, he devoured me with his gaze. For a long moment, he stared at me that way, then said, “Not a problem. I was going to have you work on the auction and I was going to work with Paulo, but we can switch roles. Have you gotten the Highway 128 recipes to Paulo?”
I shook my head. In truth, I had no idea where the recipes were.
“Okay, I’m sure Paulo can call your former winemaker and have them sent over. While barrel selection and racking are going on, we were thinking of bringing the free-run wines into the lab and working with those, is that okay with you?”
Heat crawled up my neck and to my cheeks. “That will be fine,” I smiled. “But could you please remind me which ones those are, and what label I arranged to use?”
“I can,” he said in a low, husky voice as he started walking again. His strides were quick and when we stepped outside, I had a hard time keeping up in my heels.
“Free-run is the juice that flows from freshly picked grapes during the destemming and crushing processes, prior to the pressing process. When we put the grapes into the winepress, the grapes are stacked on top of each other and the weight of the fruit causes the release of some juice. That’s free-run.”
I tried to picture the entire winemaking process and wished I’d spent more time on the floor before the fire.
The corner of his mouth crooked upward as he glanced over my way. “Are you following me?”
I nodded.
He went on. “Red wines made from free-run juice are rare; only a limited amount of free-run juice is produced during each vintage’s winemaking process. And because of this, we want to sell it under a separate label.”
“Why?” I asked.
He smirked. “So we can get a much higher price point.”
“Oh, right,” I remarked. “Which vintage are we using first?” I asked.
That smirk grew wider. “I think I’ll let you and Paulo decide.”
The production facility was in much better shape than Highway 128 had ever been. “You have solar panels,” I said, pointing to the roof.
He kept walking. “Yeah. Wilhelmina had those installed back before the fires took priority. It was a start to modernization. Someday I hope to make this place state-of-the-art.”
I nodded, taking it all in, and then I stumbled a bit when we entered the production room. The height of the A-frame metal ceiling and the sheer volume of steel tanks dwarfed Highway 128’s.
His hand went to my back to steady me and his voice filled my ear, warm and sensual. “I told you to wear something more practical, maybe tomorrow you’ll listen.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him, squaring my shoulders.
Breaking the rules of our marriage addendum, he swatted by behind. “Good, then I think I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the office preparing for the auction. We don’t have a lot of time.”
Jackass.
Turned out, I wasn’t fine.
Not when I nearly skated across the concrete floor that led to the drain. Or when the overly potent scent of violet from the red wine fermentation process almost caused me to lose my lunch. And especially not when we started working on blends—looking at all of the components, sampling the barrels and performing trials.
I was at a complete loss.
It was close to five when Paulo sat me down to discuss ordering glass, corks, capsules, and labels, and nearly six when he took me out to oversee the framing of the vineyards.
To say my feet were killing me would be putting it mildly. It was more like my entire body was throbbing. Pain radiated upward from my toes and was about to shoot out of the top of my head.
Leave me to it. He’d made it sound so easy.
It was anything but.
Starving, cranky, and exhausted, I pulled in the driveway only to find my temporary husband sitting on the front porch enjoying a cup of coffee just as the sun was about to set.
Bastard.
“How did the afternoon go, Paris?” Again, he made sure to draw out my name and I really hated that rule Tabitha had insisted we add to the addendum.
“Fine,” I lied as I hobbled up the stairs. I eyed the empty rocker beside him and considered taking a seat but feared I wouldn’t be able to get up.
He raised his mug. “Great. I wasn’t sure what time you’d be home, so I went ahead and picked up takeout. There’s some Cashew Chicken for you in the refrigerator.”
I couldn’t help but smile at him. “Thank you, I’m starving.”
He shrugged. “No big deal. It was on the way home.”
Home.
Why did I like the way he said that word so much?
Tyler was fresh from a shower. The ends of his hair still wet. He was wearing a long-sleeved thermal t-shirt with a quilted vest around his torso to keep him warm. His legs were propped on the rail in front of him and crossed at the ankle, the laces of his boots untied.
Damn all of his sexiness.
I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “Did you get the bottles categorized for the auction?”
He set his mug down. “Mostly.”
“What is it?”
“I hate selling them.”
“I wish there was another way.”
“Me too,” I whispered as I watched the sun get lost beneath the horizon.
He leaned back in his chair.
“Where did you get the rocking chairs?” I asked, realizing they hadn’t been there before.
Slowly, he stood. He appeared taller and larger when he stepped closer. The cool air around me suddenly shifted to a tropic-like temperature. “They were in that old storage room in the wine cellar.”
“Oh, you went back down there? Did you find the surveys?”
He stepped closer and oh, God, he smelled so good. “No, they weren’t in there. Lawson is going to go ahead and file a formal complaint with what we have.”
“Should I talk to Tabitha and see what she thinks?”
He placed his hand over mine and opened the door. “Probably not necessary but if you want to, go ahead.”
I stepped inside and wasted no time using the coat closet doorknob as an anchor so I could kick my legs back one at a time and reach back to take my damn shoes off.
One.
Two.
They fell to the ground with a thud.
“Shit,” he remarked, glancing down. “Are you bleeding?”
I twisted to where his gaze was aimed and yep, sure enough, the back of my heels had been rubbed raw and were bleeding through my hose. “It’s nothing,” I lied.
He didn’t believe me. “Do you want to eat or clean that mess up first?”
My stomach rumbled. “Eat. And I can take care of my heels all by myself, thank you very much.”
Once again, he ignored me. “Can you walk okay?”
“Of course.”
But as soon as I took my first step, I felt my knees buckling beneath me, the pain too much to stand. I never should have taken the shoes off until I got to my room. I had to hold my hands out to use the wall as support.
Tyler scooped me up immediately.
“Put me down,” I demanded. “Rule number seven states no touching.”
“Like I ever gave a shit about rules,” he hissed, as he carried me to a stool in the kitchen.
That was definitely one thing we both agreed on.