The Villa

shot his cuffs, smoothed his hair, then walked to the door prepared to begin negotiations.

 
    PART TWO
    The Growing
    Not a having and a resting, but a growing and a becoming,
    is the character of perfection as culture conceives it.
     
    —MATTHEW ARNOLD
    ~•~

CHAPTER NINE
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    " I don't know why we had to come back here."
    "Because I needed a few more things." She could have put it off, Sophia admitted. But no reason to waste a trip into San Francisco without stopping by her apartment. Hadn't she taken pity on Ty and driven Eli's SUV instead of her convertible?
    "Look," she continued. "I explained that at the beginning I'm going to have to spot-check the offices. Kris is going to continue to resist the new feeding chain. She needs to see you and me together, a team."
    "Some team."
    "I'm managing." She pulled into her parking slot, set the brake. "I think we should call a holiday truce. At the moment, Ty, I just don't have the time to fight with you."
    She climbed out, slammed her door, jammed her keys in her briefcase.
    "What's the problem?"
    "I don't have a problem. You're the problem."
    He walked around to her side, leaned on the fender. She'd been edgy for two days, he thought. Long enough for anybody to stew. He didn't think it was about their incident at the Christmas party. She'd come out on top of that one.
    "A team, remember? Are you still upset about the angels?"
    "No. I took care of them, didn't I? Good as new."
    "Yeah, you deal, all right. So what's the problem now?"
    "You want to know the problem? Fine. I hate getting up at the crack of dawn every day, tromping around the fields in the cold. But I'm doing it. Then I go back and do the work I'm trained to do. But I'm obliged to juggle it from the villa and the offices here, where I have a second-in-command who's not only slept with my father but is ready to mutiny."
    "Fire her."
    "Oh, that's an idea." She tapped a finger to her temple, while her voice dripped disdain. "Why hasn't that occurred to me? Could it be because we're weeks into a reorganization, in the middle of a huge and intense and vital promotional campaign and I have no one qualified to take over her work? Yes, you know, I think that might be the reason I haven't kicked her bitchy, cheating ass out."
    "Look, brat, you got sand in your shoe, you shake it out."
    "I don't have time," she snapped and, to prove it, yanked out her Filofax. It bulged. "Would you like to take a look in here, see my schedule for the next six weeks?" She jammed it back in her briefcase.
    "So you're pressed." He gave a little shrug. "Take the mornings off to do what you have to do. I'll carry you in the vineyard."
    The look she gave him shot like a bullet.
    "Nobody carries me, MacMillan. But you're damn right I'm pressed. I'm supposed to be training my mother, who has little to no interest in public relations. I've had to cancel three dates with three very interesting men because I'm buried in work. My social life is going down the toilet. I haven't been able to get through goddamn Rene for two days to contact my father, who hasn't been to his office. And it's imperative I speak with him about one of our top accounts within the next forty-eight hours as someone—who unfortunately won't be me—is going to need to fly to San Diego for a meeting in approximately forty-nine hours."
    "What about Margaret? I thought she was taking over most of the major accounts."
    "Do you think I didn't try that? Do I look stupid?" Tired, frustrated and fed up, she stalked to the garage elevator and stabbed the button. "She left for Italy yesterday afternoon. Neither she nor her office is fully updated on the Twiner account because it's always been my father's baby. Since I don't want the people at Twiner to know we've got a hole in the loop, I've been tap-dancing with them for days."
    "Nobody carries you," Ty pointed out. "But you're carrying Avano."
    "No, I'm through carrying him. But I'll carry Giambelli, and that's why I'm covering for him as long as I can. I don't like it, I'm pissed off and I have a stupid headache."
    "Okay." He surprised them both by reaching up to rub her stiff shoulders when they stepped onto the elevator. "Take some aspirin, then we'll work it through a step at a time."
    "She's got no right to block me from speaking to my own father. Not on a personal level or a business one."
    "No, she doesn't." That, Ty assumed, was the real headache. "It's a power play. She won't get her kicks unless