“He keeps begging me to wear elf ears,” Hannah says, smirking at River like he’s the biggest dork she’s ever seen, yet still wants to bone him.
“I have a vision, that’s all.” River pulls her close, then brushes one of her curls behind her ear.
“An elven vision, though?”
“You’d be such a hot elf, baby.”
Hannah rolls her eyes but gives him a kiss before joining me at my side again.
“You’re not really going to wear elf ears, are you?” I ask under my breath.
“Maybe on the honeymoon. If he asks reaaaaal nice.”
I make a face, and she grins like the imp she is. We all walk back to the winery, listening to River’s less eccentric ideas for the wedding, like the beautiful arched canopy he’ll build for the ceremony, and Bowie’sideas for slides around the property. Bowie’s got a point—a rustic, wooden playground that doesn’t scream plastic in loud primary colors would definitely draw families in, if our budget can go that far. I’m so excited to see what River does. This wedding will benefit us in a big way, with River building all the outdoor infrastructure needed for his vision that we can then use to win over theEveryday Bon Vivantteam and bolster our wedding business going forward.
The sharp snip of pruning shears makes me stop short, and I whip my head around, looking for the source. There, two rows away, is Laine, busily hacking off all but two buds from each of the Seyval Blanc vines.
My eyes widen. “Laine! Stop!”
She doesn’t hear me thanks to a pair of absurdly large headphones hugging her head. I run toward her up the hill, panting, waving my arms and cursing my abysmal cardiovascular health. When her eyes meet mine, a weariness surfaces that’s unmissable. It stings, a little. We haven’t seen each other much since the tasting a few weeks ago, but when we do, it’s a run-in in the truest sense of the word. My will seems to collide with hers at every turn. No matter what request I make, or how gently I broach it, it always resolves into bickering. It’s been disappointing honestly. While the tasting got off to a rocky start, I thought I’d gotten through to her about the showcase and that she was finally onmy team, but that comes with conditions, apparently.
The main one being I donottell her what to do.
“STOP. PRUNING!” I yell, punctuating each word until Laine finally slips off her headphones. With a stubborn twist of her mouth, she cuts off another precious bud, and we both watch it fall to the ground.
“Why?” she asks, a sullen edge to her tone.
“Because,” I say, still panting a bit, “we aren’t past the last of the frosts yet. We’ve got to keep insurance buds, enough to make sure that at least two will survive until the weather stabilizes.”
“Oh, so now you’re gonna tell me how to farm, too?”
I know she’s thinking of how I busted in on her bottling the whites last week, forcing her to consult the checklist Dad made instead of whatever she was doing. But she doesn’t seem to get that a vineyard our size lives season to season. A single mistake could be our last, and this is one of the worst ones she could make.
“I’m not telling you how to farm, Laine, I’m telling you how to farmhere. Our weather dictates different techniques, that’s all.” I frown, wondering where the confident, astute Charlaine of my youth is right now. She was always eager to learn, improve, excel.
This Laine just wants me to shut up.
I put a hand on her arm. “It’s okay not to know everything, you know,” I say softly.
“I know enough for this rundown vineyard.” Her eyes flash to where my hand is, and I drop it as though burned. She shakes her head and raises the shears to snip another one, but I reach out again and grab her by the wrist, nothing soft about it this time. Because this time,I’mangry.
Does she not believe me?
Or does she not respect me?
“I said,stop!”
The challenge in her eyes beams at me like a laser, cutting through my calm, professional demeanor with searing precision. If I didn’t need Laine to keep Bluebell operational, her ass would be so out of here. She’s rude, condescending, and her belittling opinions feel like an attack onme.Myvineyard. Which is basically my family.
My grip on her wrist squeezes tighter. “Now you listen tome. Ask any vineyard in Blue Ridge—nobody’s pruning all the way down to two yet. It’s too soon!”
Laine stops and pretends to think, positively swelling with that big vintner energy. “Let me get this straight: you’re director of operations,marketing, and sales; bottling manager; and now you’re the fucking chief viticulturist, too?”
“Don’t forgetyour boss,” I say, my voice dropping low and dangerous, redirecting the challenge right at her. “I’m also very muchyour boss.”
Laine’s face hardens, hot fury sliding beneath it. She lifts her chin, leveling the full weight of that destructive gaze on me. Heat floods up my back, enveloping every nerve ending with crackling energy. I stand my ground as she steps into my face, vaguely aware I’m still clutching her wrist. My fingers can’t seem to let go.
“Areyou my boss?” she breathes down at me, her frame filling my entire field of vision. The words are laced with pure sexual dominance, and it’s so surprising, my jaw drops open even as every string in my core writhes, aching for the pressure of her thumbs against my hipbones, that chin smashed against my pussy.
