Paris
I WAS SIPPING my second cup of Sanka and munching on the last of the stale cookies when Tyler came striding in the room.
“Did you send everything?” he barked, tossing my phone and a brown bag at me.
Setting my cup down, I picked the bag up and peered inside. The mouthwatering smell of grilled cheese from my favorite diner in St. Helena wafted in the air beneath my nose. There was also a fruit cup and a bottle of mineral water.
As I brought the sandwich to my mouth, I saw the way he was looking at me, and I set the sandwich aside. “I already ate.”
He smirked at me. “Is someone still suffering a hangover from too much champagne last night? The same champagne you told me not to uncork.”
Picking up my pen, I squeezed it so I didn’t reach out and squeeze him—around the neck. “I am not hung over.”
“Fine, whatever. Did you send everything or not?”
I smiled widely at him at batted my lashes. “Yes, sir, I did. Everything you asked me to. Anything else I can do for you? Wax your car? Take the stick out of your ass? Send you on a long trip?”
Unamused, he strode over to my desk and nabbed his laptop, which happened to be under my storyboard for the ad campaign I was working on. “Save the sir for the bedroom.”
“Hey,” I protested. “You could ask nicely. Keep it up and I’ll be headed to divorce court.” But I did like the idea of sir in the bedroom. That sounded like fun.
His eyes raked down my body and they took their time climbing back up.
I flushed, squirming in my chair. “Earth to Tyler. Did you hear me? That’s my hard work you’re tossing aside like trash.”
Flicking his gaze down, he glanced at the marketing materials spread all over my desk and spoke as he did. “Read your contract, Love. You can’t divorce me until the marriage is consummated.”
What? No!
He had to be joking.
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“Fine print. Rule number one in business. You should always read the fine print.”
My blood started to heat. “Then I’ll get an annulment,” I said through clenched teeth.
He laughed.
Laughed!
Wickedly.
His gaze was still roaming the campaign I’d been working on tirelessly since I started at Highway 128 when he spoke. “I believe that’s addressed in the clause following the one about consummation and the terms surrounding it. I can have Brick the Prick send you the full executed copy if you’d like to re-read it.”
I threw him a disgusted look but said no more about any of that since I was in quite a pickle with Highway 128 and really did need his help.
While his gaze was trained on my work, mine was on him.
Why did he have to smell so incredibly good? And look so good. Gone was the Armani suit and hello to what took its place, and it was almost as scrumptious. He was wearing dark jeans and a black shirt that hugged his muscles in all the right places and those combat boots that screamed badass. “You changed out of your lawyer clothes.”
His lip curled up. “My lawyer clothes?”
“Yes, your suit. Why?”
Again, his hot gaze racked over me. “Because, unlike you, I’m a professional and dress like one when I leave the house to go to work.”
“I beg your pardon.”
Ignoring me, he went on. “However, since today,” he paused, stuck my pen behind his ear, and yanked my drawer open, exposing my Winemaking for Dummies book, “is lesson number one for the girl running a million-dollar business without the first idea how to make wine, a change of clothes was in order. Does that answer your question sufficiently?”
Mortification slowly crept up my exposed neck and around the collar of my plaid shirt. “Yes, I think it does.”
His lips curved into a sexy smile, turning me on against my will. “Good,” he said almost sardonically.
Lesson number one.
Lessons.
We’d had lessons before, but they had nothing to do with work.
Feeling heated, I closed the drawer. “For the record. The book is just for reference.”
“Noted.” That arrogant grin was one I wanted to slap right off his face.
When he leaned against my desk, his fine ass was right in my line of sight. I was just about to reach up and grab my pen back when he plucked it from his ear and pointed to the storyboards. “Now, Love, tell me about these.”
Feeling somewhat smug myself, I squared my shoulders and cleared my throat before I started talking. I had more than a half-dozen marketing campaigns mapped out for Highway 128. The thing was, not a single one called to me, which was why I was still working on them.
I was searching for the one.
Like the one in front of you, my brain said. Oh, great, now my mind was short-circuiting along with my body.
“Anyway,” I went on. “I want a campaign that will forge ahead and include a striking new visual identity, be impactful at the point-of-sale, and I want to include a new brand website and digital content which will bring to life the mindset, methods, and wines of Napa Valley.”
“Go on,” he said.
“To be truthful, I’ve been considering changing the company brand name or adding to it. Starting new. Forging a new sign-off line even, with a fresh perspective to harness the optimistic forward-thinking spirit of the Millennials.”
“Not bad,” he mused, “But I believe that one is taken.” He picked up the top storyboard and tossed it aside before moving to the next. “I really like what you’ve done with the coloring and font on this one. It’s attractive to the eye. You should hone in on this one a little more. Sharpen it up.”
Hone in?
Sharpen it up?
Creativity didn’t work that way.
Jackass.
When he grabbed the one I’d been recently working on, it must have really caught his attention because his eyes widened like saucers. “Where did you get these renderings?”
Still fuming, I pulled out the topographic maps I’d found this morning, and retrieved once I’d finished his assignment, and shoved them in his direction. Marketing was where I excelled after all. And for him to sit there and toss my hard work aside, well, it made me mad and drove me wild at the same time. Why did he have to be so freaking attractive when he took control?
“Where did you find these?” he asked.
“In my father’s old records. By using the old maps, I thought I could put a fresh face on Highway 128.”
His eyes studied the maps, and he was ignoring what I was saying. “Let’s take the box with us. Tonight I want to compare them to the surveys I copied from the St. Helena County Clerk’s office.”
I smacked my lips. “Sounds like a super-fun night. Too bad I have plans to go out to the club and then meet up with my vibrator.”
The atmosphere between us turned dark, stormy, and all out hot. “The only plans you have are with me. And for the record, the only one getting in your pants will be me. Do we understand each other?”
I leaned back in my chair, flushing at the idea of him in my pants. “Gee. Relax. I was only kidding.”
His lustful expression cleared, but the air still crackled dangerously around us. In order to avoid the feeling, I grabbed the paper bag and pulled out the grilled cheese, offering him half.
Taking what I offered, he bit into the sandwich. I stared at him, watching the way his mouth moved, the way his tongue snuck out to lick at the corner of his lips, the way his throat bobbed in the sexiest way, and wondered how it was I went from hating him so much to wanting him?
Every. Single. Minute. Of. The. Day.