Boardroom Rivals, Bedroom Fireworks!

That was supposed to convince him he wanted to own half a winery? “I don’t need the money.”

Brenna shrugged. “Good. I’ll buy new tanks instead.”

So much for polite conversation. “You just bought new tanks.”

Brenna spun in her chair, sputtering. “Are you questioning—?”

He shouldn’t prod her, but he just couldn’t stop himself. “Yeah, I am. You just bought new tanks. Italian ones. Very expensive. I saw the invoice.”

Bren straightened her spine, and she seemed to be trying for a lofty, all-business tone. “I’m slowly trying to replace all the old ones that desperately need it, and the best tanks come from Italy. Since the best equipment lets me make the best wines, it’s money well spent.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, why are you poking around in my invoices? I thought you didn’t care about this place.”

“I don’t. But since I now own half of it…” he loved the way her eyes narrowed every time he reminded her of that fact “…I have to make sure it’s running properly. It’s in my DNA, remember?”

“You know nothing about this business, so I think the silent partner idea is best.”

“I don’t do silent. Until I sell my half…” He let the sentence trail off and let her fill in the blanks.

It only took her a second to make the leap, and her hackles went up again. “Are you seriously planning to buck me on every decision I make around here?”

“Of course. Weren’t you listening earlier?” Brenna’s eyes widened, and he was lucky looks couldn’t kill. “But you know it would be really easy to get me away from your books. Sign on the dotted line, Bren, and I’m out of your hair.”

Brenna rolled her eyes and turned back to her computer. She started to type, then stopped as she leaned her head against the chair-back. “First you threaten to drive my winery into the ground. Then you threaten to drive me insane. To think Max used to say how good you’d be for this place.”

“There’s a simple solution, you know.”

“It’s not simple at all.” She moved her chair slightly, turning her profile his way. Her eyes were closed, and her throat worked as she rubbed her hands over her face.

“It’s a lot easier than you’re making it, Bren. You don’t want me in your business, and you know it. Sign off on the sale and I’m gone.”

“I’ve already said no. Come up with a new idea.”

Lord, the woman was stubborn. “There are no other ideas.”

“You’re going to tell me that the great Jack Garrett doesn’t have a Plan B?”

He swirled the drink in his glass. “I don’t need a Plan B.”

Brenna turned to face him again, and her voice turned conciliatory for a change. “Max wanted Amante Verano kept as a small family business. He didn’t want outsiders involved.”

“And what, exactly, are you?”

Brenna pulled back as if she’d been hit, and he regretted the harshness of his words.

“That’s unfair, Jack. We were a family, and this is a family business.”

“Brenna—”

She held up a hand. “Wait. Just—Just—” She took another deep breath and faced him across the expanse of Max’s desk. “I don’t want to fight any more. Especially not with you.”

“Then don’t fight me. Neither of us wants to be in this situation.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it and chewed on her bottom lip for a moment while she thought. “You’re right, you know. I don’t want you around anymore than you want to be here. But…” She took a deep breath. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she turned to meet his eyes. “I need you.”

The desire that slammed into him with those three simple words nearly caused him to drop his glass. Oh, part of him knew she was still talking about the damn winery, but his body was reacting to that throaty whisper—she’d whispered those words in his ear countless times as she’d wrapped herself around him.

Need. She’d always referred to him as a need. He’d nearly forgotten, but the response of his body proved those six months they’d had weren’t as deeply buried as he’d thought. He shifted in his chair, attempting to bring the reaction under control.

Brenna seemed not to notice. “Max was the brains behind the business. I’m sure you know that. And I could learn, but Amante Verano would suffer in the meantime. I know that’s why Max put us in this partnership—he always said the Walsh women made great wine, but they needed Garrett men to make it profitable.” She folded her hands in her lap, squeezing her fingers together as she talked. “It took me a while to figure out what he meant—beyond the MBA-approved business model, at least. The Garrett name opens a lot of doors.”

“You should know that from experience. You were a Garrett for a short while.”

She paled a bit at the reminder. “Don’t go there, Jack. What I mean is that as long as there’s a Garrett behind Amante Verano I can do business. Get loans to expand, for example. A small winery is a bank’s nightmare—unless there’s a Garrett on the books, of course, and then we’re golden. I just need you to back me—in name, if not spirit—for a few years. That’s all I’m asking.”

“You ask a lot.”

“Why? How? You don’t have to do anything.”

He just looked at her.

She nodded. “Except deal with me. And you hate that more than anything else.”

He’d never heard Brenna sound so flat, so lifeless. He’d almost prefer her anger to that toneless resignation. “I don’t hate you, Bren. But I’m not going to be your partner either.”

She cocked her head. “Once bitten?” she challenged.

“I’m not afraid of your bite.” In fact, the thought of her teeth on his skin brought back a slew of sensual memories. Unwilling to circle this topic again or battle with his body any longer, he stood. “Decide what you’re going to do. I’ll leave the sale paperwork in the kitchen.”

Brenna’s jaw dropped at his words, then she spun her chair back to her computer. He heard her mumble something under her breath as he turned to leave.

He doubted it was a compliment.

Chapter Three

“I SWEAR, Di, it’s frustrating. I just want to scream. Or something,” she muttered. Brenna positioned her clippers and separated the grape cluster from the vine with a satisfying, overly forceful snip.

“Picturing Jack’s neck, are we?” Dianne teased from the other side of the row of vines. Chloe napped peacefully in a carrier strapped to Dianne’s chest, her hat with its embroidered Amante Verano logo shielding her fat baby cheeks from the early-morning sun.

“It’s cathartic.” She snipped two more clusters and added them to the bucket at her feet. “And safer for Jack.”

“What are you going to do?” Dianne asked the question casually, but Brenna knew everyone in the vineyard was on edge, waiting to see what would happen next. Jack’s plan to sell would affect everyone in some way.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I’m open to ideas if you have any.” She’d been up most of the night, tossing and turning as she tried to figure out her options. There weren’t many.

“I wish I did.”

“Stubborn. Arrogant. Domineering. Jerk.” She punctuated each comment with a snip of the clippers.

“Max could be like that sometimes. He’s his father’s son; that’s for sure.”

Brenna laughed. “Oh, I dare you to tell him that. It’ll really get his goat.”

“I don’t think antagonizing Jack further is really the best idea right now, do you?” Dianne was always so calm, so unflappable. So annoyingly right most of the time.

“I was trying to be nice last night. Trying to be reasonable. That didn’t work out so well.”

“Because you have a history with Jack.”

“Ancient history,” Brenna clarified.

“Still, it complicates things.”

No kidding. She’d seen the papers in the kitchen this morning; she’d even glanced through them while she waited for her coffee to brew. Turn over fifty-percent of the vineyard to the highest bidder? She’d been tempted to feed Jack’s stack of papers into the shredder and leave a bag of confetti hanging on his doorknob.

For the thousandth time, she wished she had the money to buy Jack’s share. But while the banks would be happy to loan her barrels of money as long as Jack was a co-owner, no bank in the world would loan her the money to buy him out. It still wasn’t an ideal solution—buying Jack out only solved one problem while causing a whole slew of others.

In the small hours of the morning, though, she had realized how much of their current problem was rooted in their heated, reckless past. She needed to recognize it and figure out good ways to move past it. Dianne wasn’t the only one realizing that. “That knowledge—however truthful it may be—doesn’t make the situation suck any less.” It certainly didn’t make her feel any better. She was drowning—in anger, frustration, guilt, worry, and a dozen other emotions she couldn’t quite name. The painful knot in her stomach was bordering on debilitating.

Dianne nodded understandingly, then looked at her watch. “I hate to harvest and run, but I need to shower so I can get the shop open in time. Plus, I think Chloe is waking up.” Dianne cooed at the baby as she stripped off her gloves.

“I appreciate the help. And the company, of course. Getting up at dawn goes above and beyond the call of duty.”

“But it’s fun—at least for the first couple of hours,” she added, as Brenna raised an eyebrow at her in disbelief. “Do you think you’ll finish today?”

“Marco brought a full crew, so if not today definitely tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ll see you at lunch. Tuna salad okay with you?”

“That’s great. You’re the best.”

“I know,” Dianne tossed over her shoulder as she left.

Brenna had enjoyed the company—having Di to talk to had been a nice distraction, one that she missed as she fell back into her rhythm and her mind started to wander.

There had to be a solution. She just needed to find it. If she’d only known Jack would carry such a grudge…

It wasn’t all her fault, she thought as she carried the full bucket of grapes to the bin at the end of the row and emptied it. He was just as much to blame for their disastrous relationship and the fallout as she was. The early days had been fantastic—the type of thing romance novels were written about. The boss’s handsome son, descending from the city to sweep the winemaker’s daughter off her feet. Picnics in the vineyard; stolen kisses behind the barrels of Merlot. Making love under a canopy of Cabernet vines, then feeding the ripe grapes to each other in the afterglow.

It had been everything she’d ever dreamed of. Romantic and passionate and all-encompassing. Jack had made her feel like the center of his universe—beautiful and sexy and interesting. It had been too easy to fall in love.

But, while opposites attracting worked great in movies, the reality hadn’t been dreamy at all.

While it had all gone to hell later, she did have fond memories of being eighteen and head-over-heels in love. Jack had been different then, too: more carefree, with a smile that melted her knees even in memory.

The old Jack would be more reasonable and much easier for her to deal with. The old Jack wouldn’t want to sell her winery out from under her, or ruin everything she’d worked for simply out of spite. He’d changed so much in the last ten years. He’d become more reserved, harder and colder. Sometimes she wondered if he was really the same man.

She missed the old Jack. The one she fell in love with. The Jack who didn’t hate her.

She shook off the reverie and the sinking feeling. She had to deal with this Jack. And quickly—for the good of Amante Verano and her own mental health.

“Daydreaming on the job, boss?” Ted grinned at her as he upended his overflowing bucket into the bin. “You seem pretty far away.”

“Trust me, I’m here. Just sending up quick prayers that the pump doesn’t die again.”

“After the way you cursed at it yesterday? It wouldn’t dare.”

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