Page 8 of Taken With You
Enough of that.
“Welcome back to chaos, partner.” Amanda wiped her hand with a dishrag and turned her mind to business. “I tested the grapes on the east slope yesterday. They’ll be ready for harvest within days. I need to hire some workers.”
“Okay.” He glanced around the place, stopping as he noticed her cot, unmade, shoved against a wall. “Hire whoever you need.”
She said, “It’s going to be tough this time of year—”
“Call UC Davis.” Maggie bounced on her toes, and her hair bounced in synchronicity. “There are always students willing to work the harvest for pizza money. You know that, Amanda.”
“Right.” Garrick turned the full force of his attention on her. “When you get a chance, come up to the cabin. We’ve got business to discuss.”
“Now?” She was dirty, disheveled, and strangely reluctant for another face-to-face encounter. “But I haven’t finished the temperature readings—”
“Oh, I’ll take care of that.” Maggie lifted the thermometer she’d just finished drying. “You’re paying me well for a hard day’s work, Amanda. Go talk to your partner.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Garrick nodded at Maggie and then turned on a heel, pulling off his tie as he strode away.
Maggie swirled as soon as he left, clutching her chest to fake a swoon. “Oh. My. God. No wonder you’ve been holding back.”
Amanda shrugged. No hiding the truth. Garrick was pure, cut-to-ribbons hotness. It was a relief not to have to hide that tidbit from her friend. “You can’t tell anyone, Mags.”
“Tell anyonewhat? That the new owner of Cedar Ridge is a smoking-hot billionaire?”
“You don’t know he’s a billionaire.” Butshedid. She’d done a Web search as soon as she got home from the interview. She’d learned lots of interesting tidbits about Garrick Kane, including his financial worth and his taste in beautiful, often-famous women. “I mean his name. You can’t tell anyone his name, Mags.”
“I only know his first name. And that he has an office in New York.”
“Stop. This is important to me. You can’t leak any information.”
“Don’t worry.” Mags sank against the counter, clutching her arms. “I can’t think past the fact that you’ll have both Miguel Reyes andthatcreature all in one small winery. My ovaries would explode.”
“Lovely.”
Maggie leaned in. “He stared at your legs, you know.”
Really?Not possible.“Such an imagination you have.”
“Lightning arcing,” Mags said, tracing an arc in the air. “I saw it.”
“You should get that checked.” Amanda tried for stony cold, even though that never quite worked. “You may have had a visual migraine, Mags.”
“Ha-ha.” Maggie poked her in the chest with the end of the thermometer. “Go. See. Him. I’m perfectly capable of taking temperature readings while you lunch with a demigod. I demand every detail when you get back.”
“Not a chance.”
Maggie grinned. “We’ll see.”
After splashing her cheeks with water and scrubbing under her nails in the employee bathroom, Amanda took the switchback stairs built into the side of the hill that led between the winery and the cabin. She wished she’d brought a change of clothes for the meeting. Talking with Garrick in denim cutoffs and a T-shirt streaked with oil put her at a distinct disadvantage, even if this was her usual workday wear.
Heck, he’d better get used to it. This was who she was. Not some plane-hopping bicoastal billionaire, but a Massachusetts farm girl.
The cool air inside the house caressed her bare legs when she stepped in. Garrick was in front of the stove, his suit jacket and tie flung over the back of one of the chairs. He’d rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows and stood over an egg mixture sizzling in a frying pan.
Stop staring at his forearms.
He said, “Have you had lunch?”
Her stomach growled. The antique brass clock hanging above the sink revealed that it was already two o’clock.
