The Boy Next Door - Sierra Hill Page 0,3

some shitty life experiences, and have matured.”

When I unexpectedly retired after my Tommy John surgery on my elbow this past summer, I was lost. I considered staying on the bench to finish out my contract, but I couldn’t sit there while watching my teammates play, knowing I may not get out there on the mound ever again. Or be as good as I once was.

Conversations with my agent led me to reconsider my future out on the mound. If I quit, citing issues with the elbow, I could exit gracefully. Or, I could have stayed and continued to play, but I may not have ever been as great as I once was. Although I was told that over fifty-six percent of the major league pitchers who returned after TJ surgery were great and suffered no issues, I wasn’t sure my ego could live with that. And it was my second surgery. The odds were lowered, and I was scared.

So, I left professional baseball altogether. At twenty-eight, it feels like a death sentence. Baseball and pitching were the only things I was ever good at and all I ever wanted to do.

My mother pushed me into buying land and refocusing my energies on something else. I had the money in the bank from years of million-dollar contracts and multi-million-dollar endorsement deals, and I now had the time to figure out the next step.

I hadn’t planned on buying a run-down vineyard or hiring my former next-door-neighbor as the brains of the operation. That was my mother’s influence. She has always been Amelia’s biggest fan and the daughter she never had. She and Lia’s mom, Bev, have been best friends for over thirty years, and we were all like family.

Well, my relationship with Lia was more like a twisted sibling rivalry.

And just as I had assumed, Amelia is making things much more complicated than they need to be.

She scoffs. “Matured. Right. I’ve seen all the references to your playboy ways in the news over the years.”

There’s obviously more residual resentment toward me. I can’t blame her for that.

“Jealous?”

She glares at me. “No, not in the least. I feel bad for those women you used and left behind.”

Oh, boy, here we go. I knew she’d still be pissed with me after what I did to her…

Honestly, I was very reluctant to offer to meet with Lia about this job, but my mother pressured me into it. Assured me that I needed Lia to make this happen. I thought I could win her over with my charm and move on from the past. But the hostility she’s exhibiting has me a bit nervous. I have the sudden urge to remove all the sharp objects from the table in the event she decides to stab me out of spite.

I watch her carefully, the expression on her breathtaking face changing from argumentative to weary, and finally landing on what looks to be an annoyed resolution.

She reaches into a pocket folder on the table and slips out a piece of paper, sliding it over to me like people in the movies do when they’re exchanging drugs and money. As my hand reaches to pick it up, my fingers brush against soft, feminine knuckles, and it sends a lightning-fast ball through my bloodstream.

I glance down at the paper to see it’s her resume, containing all the various and vast experience she has in the wine industry and the knowledge she’s amassed during her jobs after college.

“You ended up USC?” I ask, remembering that my mom was disappointed at the time that we both didn’t end up attending the same college together back then.

But my grades from high school were never good enough to make it there. Lia was much smarter than me by a landslide. The only reason I made it to college was on a baseball scholarship that took me to Sacramento.

Lia straightens in her chair. “Yes. I have a Bachelor of Science degree in Chemistry and a minor in biotechnology. I worked in a lab in San Francisco my first four years out of college and then returned home when my mom got sick. That’s when I started working for Ellington.”

Her voice grows quiet and contemplative.

“Ah, I think I remember Billy Ellington. He was a few years older than us in school. He was such a douche. Does he work for his dad?”

With a brisk nod and a slight purse of her lips, I can tell she’s not happy about that.

“He does, and he’s still one. He’s