Worth Every Cent (Worth It 2)

Chapter 1

Grayson

The sun crept behind the hills of my multi-million dollar estate. It was my favorite moment of time with my vineyards. At least, it used to be. Now, everything felt lame. Long and boring, like the rest of my days. Empty. Ghostly, after my time in Stillsville. I sat there on the terrace, sipping a glass of my newest creation as I jotted down a few notes. Things I wanted to change. Earthy and fruity notes I wanted to try for the next batch. Things I enjoyed about this batch that I wanted to keep as our signature taste.

Trying to keep my mind off the horrors of my hometown.

The sun cast colors along the sky that would have sank anyone to their knees. Many women had sank to their knees for it, for me. I used to come out onto the terrace and watch the sunset to clear my head. To arrange my next week’s affairs, or even to remind myself how far I’d come. How lucky I was to be in the position I found myself, despite my upbringing. But as I sat there and sipped my glass of wine, the only thing I wondered was how everything had turned to shit.

I closed my eyes and replayed that last day in Stillsville over and over again in my mind. I’d memorized it, and I could quote it. If I concentrated hard enough, I could even smell it. I had been upset with Michelle before I had ever walked through that door, but I hadn’t been angry at her. I’d been angry at Andy for causing such a scene. The only thing that even remotely was targeted at Michelle was how devastated I’d been to figure out that Andy was her bullshit ex.

Why the fuck had I unleashed on her like that?

She had been equally upset. She sat there with her poised expression and Maria’s letter poking out of that damn box. I knew I should’ve gotten rid of it. She cornered me, wanting to know all my secrets without spilling any of hers. She had no right to that information. Especially since she had been so damn secretive herself. And after watching her scoop up my money off that damn kitchen table and walk out without another word, part of me still wondered if she was just another one of them. Another useless woman in a quest for my wallet instead of me. Who didn’t care enough to stick around unless I shelled out money to make it worth their while.

But in the grand scheme of things, I didn’t bother sticking around either.

I’d locked up Anton’s house that night, turned in my rental car, and took off on my private jet. I soared back to Napa Valley without a second thought and left all those questions and all that shit in my rearview mirror. They could kiss my ass for all I cared. I owed that damn town nothing.

And yet, my mind still migrated back to Michelle whenever I fell asleep.

A loud sound on my terrace table made me jump and I looked over to see what the hell had happened. A familiar face came into view, with deep brown eyes that swam with wisdom, and that wispy black hair piled high on her head. Maria slammed a stack of folders down onto the table beside me, before taking up the only other chair that overlooked the vineyard at night.

“It’s after hours,” I said.

She giggled and shook her head as she leaned back into the chair.

“A billionaire entrepreneur’s work is never finished,” Maria said. “Plus, I needed to get these to you.”

“What are they?”

“Last month’s sales tallies. Customer reviews. I highlighted the ones that keep repeating themselves, but the others are funny to read. My personal favorite is ‘this wine tastes like my grandmother’s ass.’ What I want to know is why that person can draw such a conclusion.”

A grin spread across my cheeks as I set my empty wine glass down onto the table.

“The newest brew?” she asked.

“Mhm.”

“How’d it turn out?”

“I’m making some notes.”

“So, not good.”

“Not great, but not terrible,” I said.

“These top four folders are from the men were you supposed to meet with.

I finally got their attention with that threat of yours, and they sent me over the information I needed so you could make your decision without a face-to-face meeting. But if you want my opinion, two of them are massive football fans.”

“Ah,” I said.

“Exactly. So now you have the information you need to make your decision without two football fans drooling over your existence. Grayson?”

“Mhm?”

“What did I just say?” she asked.

“Wine, folders, football fans, something about drooling on people.”

I felt her turn into my direction and knew she was shifting roles.