Page 17 of The Sweetness of Life

“Nothing.” He doesn’t need to know the war that’s going on inside my head.

“We need a plan,” he says.

A plan.

I’m good at making plans. I’ve made them my entire life—plans to get me into the college of my choice, plans to get me in the NFL, and plans for the future of this winery. Hell, on a simpler level, I’m best at making game plans, plans to defeat the other team. There’s a reason I was the top pick for linebackers during the draft; I’m excellent at strategizing and executing a plan.

Most people think the way to win a game falls to the offensive side, but they’re wrong. It’s the defense that prevents the opposing team from gaining yardage, and best-case scenario is that defense has a turnover and recoups the ball. Although she’s a woman, when the same strategies are applied, how different can it really be?

Strategy.

So, when it comes to strategies, in defense there are three: run defense, pass defense, and a blitz. If I focus on these three things, I can’t lose. She’ll leave here in two weeks thinking we’re the nicest people she’s ever met and our wines the best ever. I personally may not know the ins and outs of her blog, but I had heard of it outside of Lexi, which says something about its popularity and devoted followers. Between the Food Network Magazine article and her blog, maybe we can eradicate more of the negativity attached to our name.

So, strategy number one: run defense. This is when we add more players to the line of scrimmage to get to the guy handling the ball more quickly. I can do that, but I’ll need some help. I know Kyle is in. He sees my wheels turning, and he’s smiling so widely it’s almost comical. I’ll have him talk to Michelle, and maybe I’ll even call in a few of our devoted locals who will just so happen to be at the tasting bar at the same time she is. We’ll surround her, suck her in, and make her feel so welcome she’ll think she was born here.

Strategy number two: pass defense. This is one-on-one, man-to-man coverage of the guy carrying the ball, such as the wide receiver, or it can be coverage of an area. The objective is to take the ball away. I am going to follow her around as much as possible and study the ins and outs of her blog to learn all of her favorite things. Every time she turns a corner, I’m going to be there. She doesn’t know it yet, but we’re going to become best friends, and by the end of the two weeks, any doubt she had because of me will be eliminated and she’ll think she’s a silent partner in the business.

A shiver runs through me. Being forced to spend time with her was not part of the deal, but unfortunately, there’s no getting around this one. It’s my winery, my family’s name, so I have to suck it up and do it.

Strategy number three: blitz. This is when the defensive players charge the line of scrimmage in an attempt to tackle the quarterback before he has a chance to pass or hand off the ball to someone else.

Tackle. The. Quarterback.

The feeling of Shelby’s body flush against me while having her backed against the wall heats through me. Just thinking of her curves and her lips has my blood pumping a little faster. Nothing happened, but damn if that wasn’t hot. For a split second, the idea of tackling her doesn’t sound so bad, but then I remember who she is.

Switching tactics, I decide I’m going to tackle her brain. I’m good at reading people, so this shouldn’t be too hard. I will ask indirect questions to figure out her thought process when it comes to writing her posts and then play right into her moves.

I need to beat her at her own game.

I have to be in control.

I can’t let her walk out of here in two weeks without the most stellar impression of us.

I can do this.

I never lose.

Kyle leans forward and places his arms on my desk. “Tell me, boss, what’s the plan?”

Excitement courses through my veins. This is the first time in a long time that I’ve felt like myself. Maybe this is what we’ve needed all along—a plan, and now that we have one, I can almost taste the victory.

Chuckling to myself, I remember how yesterday I said I’d do anything short of selling my soul to the devil. Well, as it turns out, my soul is about to get real friendly with the devil—a she-devil, that is.

Key Lime Pie with Gingersnap Crust

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, Meg. He’s a complete pompous ass.”

She giggles, which only makes me even angrier.

After picking up the hand towel lying next to the sink, I begin drying the last of this morning’s dishes. Not even a minute after Zach stormed out of the cellar, I snuck out a side exit and bee-lined toward one of the empty golf carts they keep parked under the tree. I drove it straight back to the cottage where I stayed the rest of yesterday and so far today.

“Why are you laughing?” I yell at her.

“Because it’s funny, that’s why.” In the background, I hear the familiar sound of her chopping. Knowing Meg, she’s been at the restaurant prepping for four hours already, and it’s only ten in the morning.

“You think it’s funny that I’m here and everyone hates me.” I return the bowl I had been drying to its place in the cabinet and toss the towel down.

“They don’t hate you,” she drawls. She only uses this voice when she thinks I’m being irrational about something, but she has no idea. There were no subtleties yesterday. No, he has been very vocal about how I am his problem and my being here is a problem, although I still don’t understand why.