Page 2 of Talk Vino To Me
“We’re just gonna let her talk to me any kind of way, huh?”
He pouts. Actually pouts. Crosses his arms and sticks out his lower lip just enough to make me think about biting it. I’d laugh if his ridiculous attitude wasn’t directed at me.
She shrugs. “You make that bed, friend. Now you have to lie down in it.”
“Fine. I’m not entirely sure I know what you meant by that, but consider your point made.” To me, he turns and barks out a rough “Sorry. Excuse me for being an unfeminist asshole.”
I’m so startled but his apology that I almost miss his next words to Daphne. “What are we doing here, Daph? Surely this isn’t necessary. I don’t need a human ankle monitor.”
“Ian. You know the investors demanded this before they’d agree to fund the project,” she retorts.
“Considering that you managed to remove the last monitoring device you had after you were arrested for trashing that hotel room in London—” I begin.
“That was fifteen years ago!”
“ — it’s not a bad idea for you to have a professional here to help you with a crash course in appropriate behavior and hospitality.”
If looks could kill, I’d be blasted all the way to outer space and back. I make a tsking noise at him.
“Oof. that scowl is going to become permanent if you keep that up.” I say. “Are you sure you really want those frown lines to stay there?”
“Listen here, little girl,” he says, stalking toward me like a panther. “I am a man. Frown lines add to my charm.”
He hovers over me, standing a little too close for comfort. He’s a shade over six feet tall, so this position forces me to look up.
Typical wanna be the boss dude thinks he can intimidate me. Nice try. I’d roll my eyes if it weren’t completely unprofessional. But rolling my eyes would mean I didn’t see the challenge sparking in his. He’s into this.
“One question: were you paying the person who told you that nonsense about the frown lines? Because it sounds like something they told you that to soothe your ego.”
Ian starts to reply, but the sound of the engine drowns his words out. We turn to find his manager has hauled my suitcase out of her SUV and placed it on the ground beside her idling vehicle.
“Ms Peterson?” I call. Is she abandoning me here? This wasn’t quite the plan.
“Daph, what the hell are you doing?”
“You’ll be fine!” She yells, putting the car in reverse. “I’ll be back for you, Dez.. Eventually. Shouldn’t take that long to work out a plan for the winery opening and get yourselves in order.”
She shoots us a thumbs up and drives off. Rocks scatter in the wave of her squealing tires and the fast turn she executes away from the property. Leaving me alone here with the incredibly handsome, unbelievably arrogant man I’ve just ticked off.
Great. Just great. I’m stranded and I’ve kicked the hornets’ nest. Poked the bear, or whatever other country fried metaphors my brain can dredge up. It’s not the ideal situation, to say the least.
I swallow hard. Remind myself that Olivia, my boss, gave me this assignment because she knew I could handle it. She believes in my ability to soothe even this most savage beast. I can’t let her down. This is my chance to prove myself. If I can succeed with a client no one else would even want to take on, I am definitely ready for bigger and better things at Behind Closed Doors.
Plastering on my most professionally charming smile, I turn to Ian with a shrug.
“Well. That was dramatic, but I think it underscores how very much your team wants this to work.”
He folds his arms over his very bare, very muscular chest, and looks at me like he can’t believe the line of bullshit I just fed him. Truthfully, I’m not sure I can either. But I have to try something. This relationship — and my career — depends on it.
“Mr. Worthington-Jones —”
“Ian. Worthington-Jones sounds like my father.” A hint of amusement dances along his mouth. It gives me hope. This is the nicest he’s been since I arrived. I take it as a good sign. After all, he’s got to know I’m just doing my job. The investment team hired me for a reason. Once he realizes that, we’ll get along fine. This doesn’t have to be a combative relationship, right?
“Ian, it feels like we’ve gotten off on an awkward note. I think it’s better if we start again.” Maybe with a little less hostility.
“Forgive and forget, hmm?”
“Something like that.” He stares at me for a moment, so quietly that I’m not sure he heard me. His ability to hold so still, while he seems to peer into my very soul — I don’t know how he does it. But I feel myself wanting to fidget beneath his piercing gaze.