Probably have one of yourself riding a unicycle tucked away in the back of your closet somewhere. It’s ripped and wrinkled, yet you still haven’t thrown the damn thing away. Well, mine are similar. Only it isn’t the heads of my creations that are exaggerated. It’s the tits. Or the ass. Occasionally the lips, if the mood hit me. You get the idea.

Jonas had recently warned me again about not leaving that shit around the office after a little incident with a woman from human resources who had stopped in unexpectedly and gotten a glimpse.

I snatched the pad from Annalise’s hand, ripped out the page, and crumpled it into a ball. “I doodle to relax. I didn’t realize I’d grabbed that pad. I usually rip the page off and toss it out when I’m done. I apologize.”

She tilted her head, like she was examining me. “You apologize, huh? What exactly are you sorry for? Me seeing them or you sketching characters that objectify women on company time?”

I’m guessing this is a trick question. Of course, I was only sorry she’d seen them. “Both.”

She squinted and stared at me. “You’re full of shit.”

I walked back to my desk, opened the drawer, and deposited the wadded-up doodle page. Closing it, I said, “I don’t think you’re qualified to know when I’m full of shit yet. We’ve spent, what, an hour with each other in total?”

“Let me ask you something. If I was a guy—say one of your buddies here that you probably go out with for happy hour once in a while—would you have apologized to him?”

Of course not. Another trick question. I had to think about the right way to answer this one. Luckily, I’d been through HR sensitivity and sexual harassment training, so I was armed with the right answer.

“If I thought it would offend him, yes.” I left out that it wouldn’t offend any of the guys I socialized with outside of the office…mostly because I don’t hang out with pussies. Figured Jonas would be happy with my restraint if he knew.

“So you apologized to me because you thought it might offend me?”

Easy one. “Yes.”

I hoped that was the end of the discussion, so I took a seat. Annalise followed suit. But she wasn’t letting it go that quickly. “So objectifying women is okay, just not when you think you might offend someone with it?”

“I didn’t say that. You’re assuming I objectify women. I don’t think I do.”

She tossed me a look that called bullshit.

“I think you’re the one who objectifies women.”

“Me?” Her eyebrows jumped. “I objectify women? How so?”

“Well, that drawing was a superhero—the woman had the power to fly. Every day, she leaps from tall buildings and fights crime like a badass. And here you are assuming that because she’s a little on the buxom side she’s some sort of demented fantasy. You didn’t even take into consideration that Savannah Storm has an IQ of 160 and just yesterday saved an old lady from getting creamed by a bus.”

Annalise lifted one brow. “Savannah Storm?”

I shrugged. “Even her name is badass, isn’t it?”

She shook her head, and I saw the splinter of a smile threatening. “And how exactly was I to know what a badass Savannah was simply from your doodle?”

Somehow I managed to maintain a serious face. “She was wearing a cape, wasn’t she?”

Annalise cracked and laughed. “I’m sorry. I must’ve missed that big clue due to the fact that each one of her breasts was larger than my head. I mean, her IQ should have been obvious from the cape.”

I shrugged. “It happens. But you should really watch jumping to those rash judgments. Some people might be offended and think you’re objectifying women.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. Then maybe we can get to the important accounts now—mine.”

Chapter 5

* * *

Annalise

I tried to warn him.

Even last night, when we’d finished going over our accounts together, I again attempted to bring up today’s pitch to Bianchi Winery. But the smug jerk stopped me before I could explain why I knew he didn’t have a shot in hell at landing the account.

So screw it, I hope he wasted his entire morning on a dog-and-pony show that was totally unnecessary.

I mumbled to myself as I pulled down the half-mile-long dirt road and parked by the giant weeping willow. Coming here always brought a wave of calm over me. Being greeted by rows and rows of neatly planted grapevines, swaying willow trees, and stacked barrels let the serenity seep in through my pores. Getting out of my car, I closed my eyes, took a deep, cleansing breath in, and exhaled some of the stress from the week. Peace.

Or so I thought.

Until I opened my eyes and noticed a car parked off to the right, next to the big, old green tractor. And that car was almost identical to mine.

He’s still here.

Bennett’s appointment had been at ten o’clock this morning. I glanced at the time on my watch, double-checking that I wasn’t hours early. But I wasn’t. It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon. I’d figured he’d be long gone by the time I arrived. What the hell could they have been talking about for five hours?

Knox, the vineyard manager, walked out of the small retail shop carrying a crate of wine just as I finished getting my files out of the car. He’d worked at the winery since before the first grape seeds were sowed.

“Hey, Annie.” He waved.

I slammed the trunk shut and swung my leather art attaché over my shoulder. “Hey, Knox. You need me to open my trunk again so you can stash my weekend bottles?” I teased.

“Pretty sure I could stash every last bottle in your trunk and Mr. Bianchi wouldn’t mind.”

I smiled. He was sort of right about that. “Is Matteo in the office or up at the house? I have a business meeting with him.”

“Last I saw, he was walking the fields with a visitor. But they might be in the cellar by now. I think he was giving him the full tour.”

“Thanks, Knox. Don’t let them work you too hard!”

The door to the office wasn’t locked, but no one was inside. So I set my presentation stuff down on the reception desk and went looking for where everyone was hiding. The retail shop door was open, but no one answered when I called. I was just about to turn and head up to the main house when I heard the echoing of voices as I passed by the door leading from the shop to the wine cellar and tasting room.

“Hello?” I carefully navigated the stone stairwell in my high heels.

Matteo’s voice, speaking in Italian, boomed in the distance. But when I reached the bottom, the only person I found was Bennett. He was sitting at one of the alcove tasting tables, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his tie loosened, and a wine glass taster flight on the table in front of him. Three of the four glasses were empty.

“Drinking on the job?” I arched a brow.

He linked his fingers behind his head and leaned back to revel in his smugness. “What can I say? The owners love me.”

I held back my laughter. “Oh, do they? So you haven’t let them see the real you, then?”

Bennett flashed a smile. A gorgeous one. Jerk.

“You wasted a trip out here, Texas. Tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

I sighed. “Where’s Matteo?”

“He just got a call and stepped into the fermentation room.”

“Have you seen Margo?”

“She ran out to the grocery store.”

“What are you still doing here, anyway? Were you late for your presentation?”

“Of course not. Matteo offered to give me a tour so I could see the new vines they planted this year, and then Margo insisted I do a full tasting. I’m like one of the family now.” He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “Although I’m pretty sure Mrs. Bianchi’s into me. Like I said, you got no shot at winning this one.”

I somehow managed to keep a straight face. “Margo…Mrs. Bianchi… is into you? You do know Matteo’s her husband, right?”

“Didn’t say I was gonna try anything. Just calling it like I see it.”

I shook my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

The sound of a door opening and shutting turned both our heads toward the back of the tasting room. Every sound reverberated twice as loud down here, including Matteo’s steps as he walked toward us. He opened his arms and spoke with his thick Italian accent when he looked up and saw me. “My Annie. You’re here. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Matteo embraced me in a warm hug, then held my face and kissed both of my cheeks. “I was on the phone with my brother. The man, he’s still an idiot, even after all these years. He bought goats.” He pinched together all five fingers in the universal Italian gesture for capeesh! “Goats! The moron, he bought goats to live on his land in the hills. And he’s surprised when they eat half his crops. Such an idiot.” Matteo shook his head. “But never mind that. I introduce you.” He turned to Bennett. “This gentleman is Mr. Fox. He’s from one of the big advertising companies you made us to call.”

“Umm...yeah. We’ve met. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you guys because things have been crazy at the office. But, Bennett and I…we work for the same company now. Foster Burnett, the company he worked for when you made the appointment to meet with him a few months ago, it merged with the company I work for, Wren Media. It’s now one big advertising agency—Foster, Burnett and Wren. So, yes, Bennett and I have met. We work…together.”