“Say it again?”

“That we need to talk?”

“That you bought Grayson Wines. No. Wait. Don’t say it again.” She pressed her index fingers into her temples.

“Lauren….”

She put up a silencing hand to him. “Just tell me this is one of your sick jokes? Tell me that you aren’t the owner of Grayson.” Lauren stepped back. Her foot bumped her opened toolbox stopping her retreat.

“I am.” He said gently.

Her eyes flipped up. She locked on his admission. They narrowed with suspicious indignation. Here it comes. Dylan expected a tantrum: a screaming, shouting, bitch fit. It’s what Chet predicted. It’s what Marsha predicted when he finally came clean and revealed his reasons behind the costly investment of the stubbornly resistant Grayson Wines. He made the owner of the company an offer he couldn’t refuse, more capital than he’s sunk in any other venture. Everyone predicted his doom. But he was a gambling man. That’s how he made his fortune in just six years. There was something about Lauren Bishop that made him want to roll the dice. Buying Grayson may have been extreme, intensely irrational, but so was the two years of the insufferable rejection he’s received from her. She treated him like a pariah. He wasn’t exactly a stranger.

Lauren continued to glare. In fact she just stood there, silent, expressionless. Each passing second ticked on like an eternity. Silence wasn’t something Dylan expected. He didn’t know what to do with a silent Lauren Bishop. The last time they locked horns she damn near tried to castrate him. Maybe he was right? Maybe he wouldn’t be seen as the devil. Maybe even she had to admit that she needed his help. He stepped toward her, his hands shoved down the pockets of his slacks. “It was an investment that could save you…”

Lauren abruptly walked out. Dylan grabbed his travel bag and ran after her. “Lauren! Lauren, wait!”

Lauren whirled on him. The spark of defiant confidence in her smirk stopped him in his tracks. Was she angry or glad? He couldn’t tell. Several of her day laborers heading to the fields stopped to stare. Then she made her feelings clear. “I don’t know what you think you’ve done, but I’ll tell what you haven’t. You haven’t defeated me. Not by a long shot!”

“Defeat? You don’t understand…”

“I understand Dylan.” She crossed her arms. The sun behind her, added luminance to her dark wind swept hair, and made the brown of her flawless skin bronze. Two years hadn’t aged her a bit. In fact she looked fresh, young, alive. Things he couldn’t accomplish by spending 12 hours a day behind his desk. Lauren wore faded blue jeans and a short sleeve cotton shirt with grease stains to the front. Her tennis’s were caked in dirt around the soles. Dylan put every detail of her radiance to memory. Chet was right. He was fucked. The woman had him out of his head, and he couldn’t explain why.

“Hello!” she snapped her fingers in his face to bring him out of it.

“Hear me out.” He swallowed. “This was about helping not hurting you. I tried to meet with you.”

“Really?”