Page 63 of Bitter Rival

“It was never proven,” Beckett says. “It was my father’s paranoia working overtime. He just hated Michael enough to point the finger at him. The feud went on for years with both parties accusing the other.” He waves it away. “A load of nonsense and mostly irrelevant. Let’s focus on selling this place.”

Maybe I should be grateful that he’s finally including me in his plans. But how pathetic that I’m willing to settle for scraps when in reality he should be thanking me for agreeing to all this in the first place.

“We already have an interested buyer but we’re not at liberty to disclose the name.”

My brows shoot up. “We do?”

He gives me that look again, Don’t be so naïve. Of course we don’t have a buyer lined up, Daisy.

“So how do you know he’ll be there today?” I ask.

“Because we’re having lunch with Michael and his wife,” Beckett says like it’s obvious. “We’re leaving here at one o’clock,” he says on his way out of the kitchen.

He’s a stickler for punctuality so when he says one o’clock, he really means quarter to one.

If I didn’t care so much about this vineyard, I would tell him to go on his own. But I want to meet the people he intends to sell to and ensure they’re worthy of owning this place, so I head upstairs to get ready.

The trouble is that when I go through my clothes, I have absolutely nothing to wear for lunch at a winery. Which means I need to go out and buy something for the occasion. And that poses another problem. Finn still hasn’t transferred the rent money like he promised he would. I should have mentioned it on the phone the other night but got sidetracked by his melancholy.

On my way into town, I call Finn, but it goes directly to voicemail. I try again but no luck, so I send a text asking him to please transfer the money.

Then I stash my phone in my pocket and walk into the boutique in my ratty T-shirt and shorts, channeling my inner Astrid.

It’s not what you wear, it’s how you carry yourself. Don’t ever let anyone think they’re better than you.

Twenty minutes later, I leave the shop with a white sundress that isn’t usually my style but seems perfect for today’s lunch.

I was worried the dress was too young and innocent for me and that I’d never in a million years pull it off. But as soon as I stepped out of the dressing room the saleslady clapped her hands together and said, “That’s the one! It looks perfect on you.”

The dress and her compliment made me feel so good that I bought it and immediately drove back to the house to get ready.

I add a coat of tinted gloss to my lips and take a final look in the hallway mirror, wondering if Beckett will like the dress. Then I mentally slap myself for even caring what he thinks.

All that really matters is whether or not I like it.

The white sundress sets off my bronzed skin. My eyes look greener today and my hair flows down my back in loose waves.

I feel good in my own skin. I feel good in this dress. So I give myself a dorky high five in the mirror and laugh at myself.

As I descend the stairs, I kind of feel like Cinderella going to the ball.

Even more so when I see Beckett standing at the foot of the staircase waiting for me, hands tucked into the pockets of his chinos, blue linen shirt sleeves rolled up. Dark hair tousled to perfection. And those blue eyes darkening as they appraise me.

“Is the dress okay?” I ask, suddenly feeling shy, like I’m going on a first date with my high school crush.

“It’ll do.” But his smile gives him away, and I can’t help but smile too.

I think he likes what he sees.

Again, you don’t care what he thinks, Daisy.

And yet my stomach flutters. So I have to remind myself that he called the kiss a mistake and that brings me right back down to earth.

I’m going to approach this as a business deal, which is exactly what it is.

“Okay, so what’s our story?” I ask on the drive. “We love the vineyard but we’re pursuing our own dreams so we can’t devote the time and care it takes to run it full time. Therefore, we want to ensure it ends up in the right hands so that we’ll be free to run the not-for-profit organization that we’ll be setting up?—”

“They don’t need to know all that,” he says.

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