The Villa

work, MacMillan?"
    "I think you know how to sit behind a desk or on a first-class seat on a plane. That superior ass of yours isn't going to find life so cozy for the next year. Giambelli."
    She saw the red haze at the edges of her vision, a sure sign temper was taking over and she was about to do something foolish. "Side bet. Five thousand dollars says I'm a better winemaker than you are executive at the end of the season."
    "Who decides?"
    "Neutral party. David Cutter."
    "Done." He reached over and gripped her slim hand in his big, hard one. "Buy yourself some rough clothes and some boots that were made for work instead of fashion. Be ready to start your first lesson tomorrow, seven A.M."
    "Fine." She set her teeth. "We'll break at noon, head down to the city for your first lesson. You can take an hour out to buy some decent suits that have been tailored in the last decade."
    "You're supposed to move here. Why do we have to go to the city?"
    "Because I need a number of things in my office, and you need to be familiarized with the routine there. I also need things from my apartment. You've got a strong back and your ass isn't bad, either," she added, smiling thinly. "You can help me move."
    "I've got something to say."
    "Well, goodness. Let me prepare myself."
    "I don't like your mouth. Never did." He jammed his hands in his pockets because when she smirked, as she was doing now, he really just wanted to pop her one. "But I've got nothing against you."
    "Oh, Ty. That's so… touching."
    "Look, just shut up." He dragged a hand through his hair, jammed it back in his pocket. "You do what you do because you're good at it. I do what I do because I love it. It's all I've ever wanted to do. I got nothing against you, Sophia, but if it looks like you're going to cost me my vines, I'll cut you out."
    Intrigued, and challenged, she studied him from a new angle. Who'd have thought the boy next door could be ruthless? "All right, so warned. And same goes, Ty. Whatever I have to do, I protect what's mine."
    Blowing out a breath, she looked down at the contracts, then lifted her gaze back to his. "I guess we're on the same page here."
    "Looks that way."
    "Got a pen?"
    "No."
    She walked to a server, found two in a drawer. She offered him one, flipped through her contract to the signature page. "I guess we can witness each other's." She drew a deep breath, held it. "On three?"
    "One, two. Three."
    In silence, they signed, slid contracts across the table, witnessed.
    Because her stomach was churning, Sophia topped off their glasses, waited for Tyler to lift his. "To the new generation," she said.
    "To a good season."
    "We won't have one without the other." With her eyes on his, she clinked glasses. "Salute."

CHAPTER FOUR
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    The rain was razor-thin and mean with cold, a miserable drizzle that sliced through the bones and into the spirit. It turned the light blanket of snow into a mire of mud and the dawn light into a gloomy smear on the sky.
    It was the sort of morning when a reasonable person snuggled in bed. Or at the very least lingered over a second cup of coffee.
    Tyler MacMillan, Sophia discovered, was not a reasonable person.
    The phone woke her, had her sliding a hand reluctantly out of the covers, groping for the receiver, then dragging it under the warmth with her. "What?"
    "You're late."
    "Huh? I am not. It's still dark."
    "It's not dark, it's raining. Get up, get dressed, get out and get over here. You're on my time now."
    "But…" The drone of the dial tone made her scowl. "Bastard," she muttered, but she couldn't dram up enough energy to put any punch into it.
    She lay still, listening to the hiss of rain on the windows. It sounded as if it had ice around the edges. And wouldn't that be pleasant?
    Yawning, she tossed back the covers and got out of bed. She might have been on his time now, she thought, but before long he'd be on hers.
     
    The rain dripped off the bill of Ty's cap and occasionally snuck under his collar to slide down his back. Still, it wasn't heavy enough to stop the work.
    And a rainy winter was a blessing. A cool, wet winter was the first crucial step toward a rare vintage.
    He would control what he could control—the work, the decisions, the precautions and the gambles. And he would pray that nature got on board with the team.
    The team, he thought, hooking his thumbs in his pockets and watching Sophia trudge through the mud in her five-hundred-dollar boots, that had