Page 28 of Twin Babies For The Grump

“You’re thinking about Grapefest, too,” says Tess. Realization dawns in her expression, eyes widening slightly. “You think that it’s going to cause an issue, if we’re doing something like this.”

“I don’t know about the issue,” I say, “But I think that it’s going to have people talking. Rumors get twisted fast, and with the cameras around, they’re going to get broadcast further and faster than I can stop them.”

Tess catches her lower lip with her front teeth. It’s a nervous habit of hers, I’m fairly certain, but that doesn’t make the look any less endearing. God, this is going to be hard. She’s fucking perfect. Funny, great in bed, drop-dead gorgeous—and she knows the business.

Doesn’t just know it. She loves it. That’s the kind of girl that doesn’t come around every day. Not even counting the fact that everything is pointing that I’m meant to be with her.

Tess nods. “You’re right. The cameras are going to be all over us. I don’t know what the judges are like, either.”

“Calthrow is a jackass,” I tell her. “And he didn’t like my father.”

“So he probably doesn’t like you, either,” says Tess and lets out a bit of a sigh. “Alright, so… We don’t have any more drunken trysts. I think that’s manageable.”

She sounds about as thrilled about it as I feel, but the subject is well enough settled. We finish our coffee and have a light breakfast—sliced deli meats and cheese, with a few walnuts and fresh grapes on the side—and then start out to work.

Tess stops at the door, Blanc and Tipsy sit down in front of it, patiently waiting for it to open, so they can go bother the other employees and find sunny spots to bask in.

“You know,” says Tess. “Speaking of the cameras, and work in general.”

I pause, lifting my brows at her in question. “Mhm?”

“You can always try and take it a little easier on the staff,” says Tess, the words exhaling out together. She pauses and then, more confidently, adds, “They aren’t bad, and they aren’t skipping out on work. Thomas was a lot more laid back with how he ran things. It’s what they’re used to.”

“My father doesn’t run the place anymore,” I say, that spike of irritation flaring to life a second time. It sits heavy in my chest. “And I know how to run a business, Tess. I’ve done more than just manager work, in case you’ve forgotten.”

That comes out sharper than I mean it to.

I can practically see the way that Tess pulls herself slightly back, looking me over again. It’s not a God, he’s so hot kind of look.

It’s more of shit, he’s kind of a prick sort of look.

I try to soften the sting of that comment by adding, “When there’s a change in ownership, they need to know that the new guy is serious. Otherwise, we’re going to have all kinds of problems.”

“That might be how it is with advertising,” says Tess, reaching past me to push open the door. She steps out onto the front walk of the estate house, a whole lot of thinly controlled fury in a small, gorgeous package. Her eyes flash with anger, and she has to look up at me to say, “But this isn’t advertising. This isn’t San Francisco. This is a winery, in Napa Valley, that’s spent the last forty-some years running the same way.”

“And we’re starting to run it a different way this year.” I follow her out. The two dogs take off running, gleefully vanishing around the bend and heading for the winery. At this time of morning, Adela is probably the only one down there. I’m certain she brings them sausage rolls in the morning.

“You can do that without being a jackass to everyone,” says Tess. “And you’d get a lot less pushback that way, too.”

Without waiting for me to say anything in response, she turns and stomps down the stairs, following the same path that the dogs had just taken. I know that she’s pissed, but I still can’t help but notice how great her ass looks in those tailored slacks.

Then I’m back to the present, to what she said. Am I handling things the wrong way?

Bale Enterprises was my baby. I built it from the ground up. I know how to run a business, and how to make it successful.

Running a winery can’t be that different.

Right?

Chapter Twelve

Tess

“Thereportersarehere,”says Macy, sticking her head into the room. She’s a tall, lovely woman with hair so bleach blonde it’s nearly white, and a penchant for wearing the single darkest shade of red lipstick that I have ever seen. She somehow always manages to keep it perfectly applied.

“Shit, already?” I grab a rag and wipe down my hands, then reach up to the side of my face. Fingers slide through my still pulled-back hair. “How bad do I look?”

Macy winces. “Not great.”

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