The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

she sat in the chair in front of the cluttered desk.
    So far so good. The tug in the pit of her stomach was mostly memory, she told herself, a response to remembered passion. It had nothing to do with the man in front of her now. “You’ve done wonders with Louret Wines.”
    “Eli is the wonder worker. I’m just the bottomline man. How’s life been treating you? You’re looking good.”
    “My life’s been full of the usual ups and downs, thank you. How’s yours?”
    “Busy. You’ve made a name for yourself. Congratulations.”
    A laugh sputtered out. “This will teach me to make a big deal out of things. You wouldn’t believe how I’d built up this meeting in my mind. Now, afteronly a couple of quick jabs, we’re exchanging polite compliments.”
    He quirked an eyebrow. “You’re disappointed.”
    “No. Well, maybe a little.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not as if I wanted to be treated to that frigid way you have with people you don’t like. You can do cold better than the North wind’s granny.”
    Something flashed in his eyes, but his smile was easy. “I’m a warm, lovable guy these days. Mellow.”
    That made her grin. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
    “You’ll be here a few days, I understand.”
    “Poking my nose into everything. That’s how I work.”
    “Hmm.” He leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been compared to Maxwell and Rockwell—not in terms of style, but recognition. I’m wondering how we can afford you.”
    Dixie let herself look amazed, which wasn’t hard. She’d had no idea he’d paid attention to her career. “Didn’t you read the contract?”
    “For some reason Mercedes wanted to handle everything herself,” he said dryly.
    “Well, you’re buying reproduction rights to my paintings, not the paintings themselves. They’d cost you a good deal more.” She planned to give one to Mercedes, but that was friendship, not business.
    “So you’re not doing this as a favor to Mercedes?”
    She shrugged. “That’s part of it.”
    At last he stood. “Would you like that tour now?”
    “Let’s go.”
    Cole waved for Dixie to go down the stairs first, which left him looking at the top of her head. It shouldn’t have been an enticing view, but her hair had always fascinated him. Dirty blond, she’d called it. Sand colored, he’d thought. A dozen shades of shifting sand falling fine and straight, like sand poured from an open hand.
    “Mercedes will have told you in general what we’re looking for,” he said as they reached the short hall at the bottom of the stairs. “We’re planning a series of ads in some of the upscale magazines and want a painterly look for them, nothing high-tech or mass-produced. We want them to convey the handson, personal quality of our wines.”
    “She did.” Dixie had a slow smile, as if she liked to take her time and enjoy the process. “She also said you gave her a hard time about some aspects of the concept.”
    “You can see who won. You’re here, even though it’s winter—not the best time for pictures of the vineyard.”
    “But I’m not painting the vineyard. I’m painting the people.”
    “She said something about that, but I don’t see how a picture of Eli fondling the grapes will sell wine.”
    “She also said you don’t listen to her.” Dixie shook her head. Her hair swayed gently with the motion. “There are thousands of good wines out there. Yours may be the best, but how do you show that in an image?”
    “Wine, grapes, the vines themselves—they’re strong images. A good artist could make them memorable.”
    Her eyebrows lifted. “I could paint you a picture of grapes that would make teetotalers weep for what they’re missing. But everyone’s seen beautiful pictures of grapes. One more, no matter how well done, won’t identify what’s unique about Louret. Your ads shouldn’t sell wine. They should sell Louret.”
    “I’m familiar with the idea of branding,” he said dryly. “But why pictures of people?” He’d heard Mercedes’ reasons—and they were good, or he wouldn’t have signed off on the idea. He wanted to hear Dixie’s take on it.
    “Because with a boutique winery, it’s all about the people. You’ve established yourself with your pinot noir and merlot. Your cabernet sauvignon wins awards routinely. But the reds come from your grapes, your soil, unlike the new chardonnay. You want people to understand that they aren’t just buying great grapes when they buy