Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
I actually love my job here. I don't want to lose it because he makes me homicidal and horny at the same damn time, and sleeping with my boss has disaster written all over it.
"What was that?" he asks in that voice that's somehow smooth as whiskey and as rough as sandpaper at the same time. It's deep, dark…sexy as hell. He speaks, and my clit tingles. It's that kind of deep.
"Nothing," I say sweetly. "I was just contemplating the legalities of strangling you with your own tie."
And that's the other reason the two of us could never, would never work. My mouth and the things that come out of it. I have a filter. Sometimes, I even use it. But it checked out about the time he glowered at me the first time.
Honestly, I don't know why he tolerates my mouth. But I'm pretty sure his entire family has forbidden him from firing me because they love me—or they love that I stand up to him—so I push my luck all day, every damn day. It keeps me from day-drinking the fancy wine we sell here.
His impenetrable gaze flickers to the tie in question—silk as black as his soul—and then back to me. He doesn't say anything for a beat, and then his lip twitches. It's not a smile. It's that thing he does when he wants to bend me to his will but holds back. He does that a lot…holds back. There's always a rough retort right on the tip of his tongue. It's right there in his eyes—the desire to make me behave the way he thinks I should. It makes him crazy that he can't control me like he does everything else in his muscadine kingdom. But he never says a word.
I think I could tell him to go fuck himself with a rusty pole, and he'd just…look at me like he is right now. Like he's dying to get his hands on me and spank my ass until I swear I'll be a good little employee. But that would be against the rules. And Bastian Grayson never breaks the rules.
Ugh. Why won't he crack?
"My sister bought me this tie."
"To strangle you with it?" I uncross and then recross my legs, restless beneath the weight of his stare. I should probably cool it, but…no. That's what he wants. For me to behave. For me to sit right here and not be a problem.
I like being his problem. A little too much, maybe.
His lip twitches again. This time, his jaw joins in on the action, pulsing slightly. But he doesn't even acknowledge what I said. Instead, he glances back down at the content proposal I gave him ten minutes ago. "This is too generic. I can name five other wineries posting the same kind of content right now. We need something fresh and provocative."
He's not entirely wrong, dammit. The proposal does hinge on the tried-and-true. And that's never good enough for him. I've only been here a matter of months, and I already know he expects more. From everyone. All the time.
"If you want fresh and provocative, then I need shots of you, your brother, and your cousins."
He narrows his eyes, trying to follow my line of thought before he gives up with a frown. "Why?"
"Uh, have you looked in a mirror lately?"
The furrow between his brows deepens.
I sigh, pretty sure I'm probably going to live to regret this.
"There are what? Thirty different wineries in the immediate area?" I ask and then wait for him to nod his confirmation. "About half of them are family-owned. One third have their own restaurants. You know the one thing they don't have?" I point at him, smirking. "You and your cousins."
"I don't follow, Constance."
"You're all hot as hell, Bastian." I roll my eyes at him. "And you're fun, down-to-earth, and relatable." I pause. "Most of you, anyway." His lip does that twitching thing again, and I know he knows he's the problem even if he'll never admit it. "People don't just come here for the wine, as good as it is. They're here for you guys, your family. So, why not give them what they want?"
His lips purse into a hard line. "We aren't a circus sideshow. We're running a business."
"So run it," I say with a shrug. "And let me sprinkle images and videos of you guys running it throughout your social media channels. Trust me, they'll speak for themselves."
"We're selling wine, not ourselves."
"We both know that isn't how social media works. There are only so many ways you can pose a bottle of wine. It's the people who make it that sell the brand, Bastian. And you and your cousins are gorgeous. You're fun. You have stories and traditions that are unique to this winery. Why not capitalize on the things that make this winery what it is? I'm not asking you to strip down and pour wine down your abs." I make a mental note to revisit that particular image later, when I'm alone with my trusty little rabbit. "I'm just saying, if you want fresh and provocative, give them more than wine."