“Honestly? I don’t think I can move.”
“Then I’ll do all the moving for you.”
His lips reached down for mine and my fingers threaded through his hair. I watched him turn and walk away, admiring the swagger he held in his step. That man walked with a confidence I’d never understand. A confidence I’d never felt in my life.
Well, unless I was wrapped around him.
I pulled myself from bed and decided to tidy up the house a bit. I didn’t start my job at the diner until tomorrow evening, and it sounded like Grayson would be gone for a few hours. I made up the beds and cleaned the dishes, putting them away so I could fill the dishwasher again. The broken glass on the porch had been cleaned up, but I hosed it down just to make sure there were no shards left. I pulled some weeds in the backyard like I used to do and tended to the flowers out front, and once I’d worked up a decent sweat I went inside to get a drink.
One glass of water led to two, and soon it was almost lunch time and I hadn’t eaten. It was twelve thirty and my stomach growled ferociously before I felt dizzy. I needed something quick. Something easily ingested so I could stand and make myself a decent meal. I opened the pantry and scanned the shelves, eyeing a package of chips on the floor.
Leaning against a box full of wine.
I bent over and picked it up, hoisting the heavy thing onto the kitchen counter. I bent over for the bag of chips and opened them, then popped a few into my mouth. The saltiness helped with the dizzy spell I was experiencing, but my eyes were studying the wine box in front of me.
It was from a place called Still Valley Vineyard.
Huh.
Sounded a lot likes ‘Stillsville’.
I reached in to pull out a bottle to see what it looked like. Was this the wine from our date night? My lips slid into a grin as I thought back to the night before. I guess he expected us to do a lot of drinking if he ordered six bottles of wine to be shipped in.
But instead of my fingers hitting a bottle, they grazed against a piece of paper.
Furrowing my brow, I pulled it out of the box. It was a handwritten letter addressed to someone named ‘Boss-man’. My eyes scanned the letter as my hand grew weak around the bag of chips. I looked at the logo on the wine box and read out the name again, then re-read the letter quickly.
Still Valley Vineyard.
Stillsville.
“Boss-man,” I said with a whisper.
He was the owner of the vineyard?
That couldn’t be right, and I knew a quick internet search would clear that up. I set the letter back into the box and went in search of my phone, my hunger falling to the wayside. I dug through my things and found it, cursing that the battery was almost dead. I sat by the charger and plugged it in, then typed in the name of the vineyard.
And fuck if Grayson’s face didn’t pop up along with it.
But it wasn’t just the vineyard. Things about the NFL popped up as well. Games. Tackles. Wins and losses. Pictures of him with insanely-huge men. Pictures of him on a practice field. Interview after interview with him talking into a microphone with sweat pouring off his brow.
Grayson MacDonald!?
I wasn’t a sports fan. Not by a long shot. But everyone knew who Grayson MacDonald was. One of the best in his position to ever grace the field—that was who he was. I read through the articles on the injury that took him off the field and out of the sports arena. I flipped through pictures and combed through headlines as blood drained from my face.
I flipped back to the vineyard and began looking at pictures of it. Taking in its sheer size, its beauty, and the sprawling mansion that sat on the hillside.
My heart fluttered so fast in my chest I thought I was going to pass out.
Why in the world had he not told me any of this? Why hadn’t he told me the delectable wine we had over dinner was his? Did he think I was going to try and attach myself to him because of his money or something? Steal his fortune and run off with it? What kind of woman did he think I was? I searched for his net worth. The internet had every piece of information I could’ve ever wanted to find on a man like him. Maybe it wasn’t what I was thinking. I couldn’t be. There was no way Grayson could be—.
My eyes bulged at the number.
Four billion dollars?
Grayson’s net worth was four billion dollars!?
My phone slipped from my hands and my dizziness came back. I stalked back out to the kitchen and picked up the chips I had spilled all over the floor. I pulled the letter back out and looked at the bottom, trying to discern who it was from.