Page 2 of Bourbon Wishes
Ugh. Why won't he crack?
"My sister bought me this tie."
"To strangle you with it?" I uncross and then recross my legs, restless beneath the weight of his stare. I should probably cool it, but…no. That's what he wants. For me to behave. For me to sit right here and not be a problem.
I like being his problem. A little too much, maybe.
His lip twitches again. This time, his jaw joins in on the action, pulsing slightly. But he doesn't even acknowledge what I said. Instead, he glances back down at the content proposal I gave him ten minutes ago. "This is too generic. I can name five other wineries posting the same kind of content right now. We need something fresh and provocative."
He's not entirely wrong, dammit. The proposal does hinge on the tried-and-true. And that's never good enough for him. I've only been here a matter of months, and I already know he expects more. From everyone. All the time.
"If you want fresh and provocative, then I need shots of you, your brother, and your cousins."
He narrows his eyes, trying to follow my line of thought before he gives up with a frown. "Why?"
"Uh, have you looked in a mirror lately?"
The furrow between his brows deepens.
I sigh, pretty sure I'm probably going to live to regret this.
"There are what? Thirty different wineries in the immediate area?" I ask and then wait for him to nod his confirmation. "About half of them are family-owned. One third have their own restaurants. You know the one thing they don't have?" I point at him, smirking. "You and your cousins."
"I don't follow, Constance."
"You're all hot as hell, Bastian." I roll my eyes at him. "And you're fun, down-to-earth, and relatable." I pause. "Mostof you, anyway." His lip does that twitching thing again, and I know he knows he's the problem even if he'll never admit it. "People don't just come here for the wine, as good as it is. They're here for you guys,your family. So, why not give them what they want?"
His lips purse into a hard line. "We aren't a circus sideshow. We're running a business."
"So run it," I say with a shrug. "And let me sprinkle images and videos of you guys running it throughout your social media channels. Trust me, they'll speak for themselves."
"We're selling wine, not ourselves."
"We both know that isn't how social media works. There are only so many ways you can pose a bottle of wine. It's the people who make it that sell the brand, Bastian. And you and your cousins are gorgeous. You're fun. You have stories and traditionsthat are unique to this winery. Why not capitalize on the things that make this winery what it is? I'm not asking you to strip down and pour wine down your abs." I make a mental note to revisit that particular image later, when I'm alone with my trusty little rabbit. "I'm just saying, if you want fresh and provocative, give them more than wine."
"That's what Ridley's alcohol line is about."
"Yes, but if you want people to view that line as something they absolutely have to have instead of as a passing curiosity, you need to make it about more than just the alcohol. If it's exclusivity you want to sell, they need to invest in you and your family first. Give them a reason to want to be in that exclusive club. They can't do that if the only one of you they know anything about is Jareth." His twin lives an odd double life. Most days, he's a vintner. Sometimes, he's a rockstar, too. And somehow, he's still the normal, approachable twin. Weird.
Bastian stares at me for a long moment before mumbling something under his breath. Judging by the look on his face, it's probably a curse. He is not a happy vintner.
"Fine," he growls anyway. "Take your pictures and your videos. Ask them about our traditions. I'm sure they can give you all sorts of stories you can use." Before my smile can fully form, he holds up a finger. "But the first time I see a shirtless photo of one of my idiot cousins, there will be hell to pay, Constance."
An amused laugh tumbles from my lips as I rise to my feet, smoothing my skirt. "How's that different than any other day?"
He narrows his eyes, glowering at me again. "I mean it. I don't want any of them posing shirtless for you. They keep their goddamn clothes on."
"Is this your way of offering to pose for thirst traps for me?" The taunt is out before I even think it through. I'm not entirely sure what I expect once it's out there, but the way his hands clench on top of his fancy-ass desk, the muscles in his armsbulging like he's two seconds away from hauling himself out of his seat, has my stomach turning flips.
His eyes lock with mine, something absolutely wicked roiling in the depths. That look hits me like a hammer blow, stealing my breath. All I can do is stare at him, praying to God I don't whimper.
Do I? I have no fucking clue.
I want him to stomp around the desk and yank me into his arms. I want to mess up his perfect suit. I want him to bend me to his will and break me, dammit all.
He doesn't. He doesn't even move.
Not until I'm stumbling toward the door on heels that suddenly feel a little bit too big, anyway. I'm nearly through it before he finally speaks.
