Claiming The Rancher's Heir (Gold Valley Vineyards #2) - Maisey Yates Page 0,1
is no longer the owner. Instead, my sister Emerson, her husband, Holden, and our sister Cricket and I now have ownership.
“This plan is Emerson’s idea. To be clear. As she is the person who oversees our broader brand.” She waved a hand in the air as if to distance herself yet further from whatever she was about to say. “I had to defer to her on the subject. She doesn’t think a rivalry is beneficial for any of us. She thinks we should join forces. A large-scale event where both of our wines are represented. As you know, wine tours and the whole wine trail in general have become increasingly popular.”
“A rising tide lifts all boats and gets more people drunk?”
“Basically,” she said.
“I’m not really sure I see the benefit to me,” he said. “Seeing as everything is going well here.”
“Everyone wants to expand,” she said, looking at him as if he had grown a second head.
“Do they?”
“Yes,” she responded. “Everyone.”
“Well, the way I see it, our business is running well. We have just the right amount of staff, every family member has a position in the company, and it supports us very well. At a certain point, Wren, more is more. And that’s it.”
She looked at him, clearly dumbfounded. There were very definite and obvious differences between the Cooper and Maxfield families. The Coopers might be wealthy, but they liked their winery to reflect their roots. Down-home. A Western flare.
In the early days, his father had been told that there was no way he would ever be successful unless he did something to class up his image. He had refused. Digging in deeper to the cowboy theme was ultimately why they had become so successful. There was no point in competing with fancy-pants places like the Maxfields’. It wasn’t the Coopers’ way.
Joining up with the Maxfields made even less sense than trying to emulate them, in his opinion.
“Come on,” she said. “You’re ambitious, Creed, don’t pretend otherwise.”
And that was where she might have him. Because he didn’t like to back down from a challenge. In fact, he quite liked a challenge in general. That she was issuing one now made him wonder if she was just baiting him. Taunting him.
He wasn’t even sure he cared. All he knew was that he instantly wanted to take her up on it.
There was something incredibly sexy about her commitment to knowing her enemy.
“What exactly are you proposing?”
“I want to have a large event featuring all of the wineries in the area. A wine festival. For Christmas.”
“That’s ambitious. And it’s too early to talk about Christmas.”
“All the stores would disagree, Creed. Twinkle lights are out and about.”
“Ask me if I care.”
“I’d like to do a soft launch, a large party at Maxfield in the next month,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “We’ll invite our best clients. Can you imagine? The buzz we’ll make joining forces?”
“Oh, you mean because everybody knows how profoundly our families dislike each other?” He paused for a moment. “How profoundly we dislike each other?”
It wasn’t a secret. They were never civil to each other.
They never tried to be.
“Yes,” she said. “That.”
“And how exactly do you think we’re going to get through this without killing each other?”
She looked all cheerful and innocent. “Look on the bright side. If I do kill you, you’ll get that dance you wanted so badly.”
“Well. A silver lining to every cloud, I guess.”
“I like to think so. Are you in?”
The only thing worse than giving in to the attraction he had for her would be hurting a business opportunity for it. He didn’t let other people control him. Not in any way.
Least of all Wren Maxfield.
And that meant he’d do it. No matter how much he’d rather roll in a pit of honey and lie down on an anthill.
“How is this going to work? Logistically. I’m not going to roll up to your event in a suit.”
“I didn’t think you would. I thought you might be able to bring your rather...rustic charm.” The way she said rustic and charm implied that she felt the former did not go with the latter.
He smiled. “It goes with me wherever I go.”
“Do you have to wear a hat?” She wrinkled her nose.
“That is nonnegotiable,” he said, reaching up and flicking the cowboy hat’s brim with his forefinger.
“I figured as much.” She sniffed. “Well. I can accept that.”
“You have no choice. We’ll provide the food. Barbecue.”