A soft whine interrupted his musings. He glanced up and saw Max enter the living room. The puppy looked small and lost and scared. When he saw Nic, he whined a little louder.

Nic glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. Aren’t you tired? I could take you back to your room.”

Big brown eyes stared unblinkingly. A shiver rippled through the puppy. Max flopped onto his belly, put his head on his paws and began to whimper.

Nic swung around so his feet were on the hardwood floor and swore softly. “You’re lonely,” he said. “I bet you miss your mom.”

Grumbling to himself, he crossed to Max and picked up the dog, then returned to the sofa. “How do you feel about baseball?” he asked as he settled back on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

Instead of answering, Max sprawled across his belly and sighed with contentment.

“Not a big fan, huh? We’re going to have to change that. I like the Dodgers, myself.”

Max swiped at his chin, then closed his eyes. Nic petted the soft fur on his back while he clicked on the TV and found the game already in progress. As he checked out the score, he closed the diary. He would get to translating it later. After all this time, what did the past, or family, matter?

Two days later Maggie cornered Nic when their meeting broke for lunch. He’d been watching her get more and more annoyed all morning and wasn’t surprised when she grabbed his suit sleeve and tugged him out of the conference room and into her office.

Fire flashed in her green eyes and she looked furious enough to crack him over the head with a swivel chair.

“You object,” he said mildly.

“On several levels. First of all, your consortium is made up entirely of men. There are intelligent women in the financial community. I would be happy to supply you with names.”

He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame. “Low blow,” he told her. “You know I don’t care about anyone’s gender. The takeover target is a traditional, old-fashioned man. Not the type to sell to a woman.”

She crossed to her desk and sat on the edge. “That’s another thing. Why all this sneaking around? Whenever you’ve wanted to buy another company, you’ve simply made an offer. This time you’re creating a false front.”

“My name can’t come up in negotiations.”

“Why?”

“He’d never sell to me.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be buying.”

“Not an option.”

Maggie couldn’t know, but this had been his plan all along. He’d spent the last seven years of his life working toward this one goal. The Marcelli family had cost him everything. He would get his own back by taking away all that they’d ever worked for.

“It’s a clean deal,” Nic reminded her. “I’ve put together an impressive group of buyers. We’ll make a fair offer. When it’s accepted, they’ll bow out and I’ll take charge.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I’m not doing anything illegal. Besides, it’s going to work.”

“I know. Who wouldn’t be impressed by the CEO of a major bank, a senior partner in an investment firm, and the owner of the largest wine distributor on the West Coast all coming together? You do business with them, they like you, so they’re doing you this one little favor. It stinks.”

“Why?”

She straightened and glared at him. “Because you’re not telling anyone the full truth. Not me, not them, certainly not Brenna Marcelli, who…”

He’d been waiting for Maggie to put the pieces together. From the look on her face, she just had.

“That’s why you did it,” she breathed, obviously shocked. “I couldn’t figure out why you would loan someone that much money without at least taking a piece of the action. You made it a callable note, but even if you took everything back, you’d still come up short. The only way to make money on the deal is to have her succeed. But this isn’t about her starting a winery at all, is it?”

He shook his head. “It’s about leverage.”

“Is she his daughter?”

“Granddaughter.”

Maggie sucked in a breath. “You want to buy Marcelli Wines. But you’re a Giovanni. You’d never be allowed to even take a walk on the property, let alone bid on it. To get around that, you put together a group of men that would make any prospective seller get down on his knees and give thanks. You have the cash and the credit to get more, so buying the company isn’t going to be a money issue. What if the truth comes out and the deal goes south? What if there’s a buyer more pleasing to Mr. Marcelli? Not for financial reasons but for personal ones. You can’t risk that, right?”

Maggie had been with him long enough to know how his mind worked. She’d nailed it. “Right.”

She stared at him. “You have to be the luckiest man alive. Because right in the middle of all this, fate hands you an ace. Lorenzo Marcelli’s granddaughter comes to you for a loan, which you give her. Now you have in your possession a one-million-dollar callable note on someone who is very important to him. If he balks, you threaten to ruin his granddaughter. Because it’s not about getting the money back, it’s about reputation. You can make sure Brenna never works in this town again.”

“That about sums it up.”

“Why, Nic? What’s so important about Marcelli Wines?”

A complex question. He would give her a simple answer that didn’t begin to explain the situation. “I want it all. They’re all that’s left to buy.”

“That’s complete crap. There are dozens of other wineries in the valley. Why them?”

“We have a long history. Think of it as my way of ending the feud.”

“It’s personal, then.”

“You know I don’t let business get personal.”

“Then how do you explain this?”

“Next to us, Marcelli is the biggest holding in the valley. They’re everything we’re not. Small, prestigious, almost a boutique winery. We’ll modernize, expand, make a real profit. It’s a smart move.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

That ten years ago when he’d told his grandfather he was in love with Brenna Marcelli, Emilio had been furious. The old man-his only living relative-had forced him to choose. Brenna or his heritage. Nic had chosen Brenna and she’d chosen her family.

Always one to keep his word, Emilio had thrown Nic out and made sure no winery on the West Coast would hire him. Nic had gone to France, where he’d been forced to work as a day laborer in the vineyards.

After a time Emilio had come looking for him. There’d been no one else to inherit Wild Sea. So Nic and his grandfather shared real estate but they’d never reconciled. Emilio had never forgiven Nic for choosing a Marcelli over family, and Nic…he’d learned his lesson. All that mattered was winning.

Maggie walked past him and out into the hall. Once there, she paused and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I don’t doubt that your plan will work perfectly. But let me ask you a question. What about Brenna’s loan? Say you buy Marcelli Wines. Do you call it in?”

He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know.”

“I guess it depends on whether that would be an advantage to you or not.”

“Probably.”

She turned away. “You’re a really smart guy. It’s too bad you have to be such a bastard.”

6

“That’s terrific,” Brenna said, going for a calm, yes-this-is-a-great-deal-for-both-of-us voice when what she really wanted to do was jump up and down, screaming like a teenage girl at a boy-band concert.

“I’ll have a truck there as soon as you’re ready. Absolutely.” She grinned. “I’ll put you down as getting a couple of bottles when the wine is ready. Talk to you soon. Bye.”

She hung up the phone and slapped her hands on the kitchen table. “I love it when a plan comes together.”

Still grinning and bursting with happiness, she recorded the information in the small Palm Pilot she’d bought the day after Nic had told her she was getting the loan. Three nights of cramming on the impossibly small device had brought her up to speed. She quickly entered the details on the Chardonnay grapes she’d just purchased, then cross-referenced them with the information on the Voignier already on order.

Using the calculator function, she estimated tons per acre, based on what she knew about the vineyards in question. Going against conventional wisdom, and her grandfather’s opinion on the subject, she would be taking the first part of the pressing for her cuvée. She wanted her blend to be so spectacular that critics would weep and customers would buy by the case.

“In a perfect world,” she murmured, entering the rest of the information, including how much she’d paid, and tapped in a note on the calendar reminding her to check the status of her grapes in a couple of days. She glanced at her watch and saw she needed to get back to the winery before anyone noticed she was gone.

She was just turning off her Palm Pilot when the back door opened and Katie walked into the kitchen.

“There you are,” her oldest sister said. “Look what I found lurking by my doorstep this morning.”

Brenna laughed when she saw Mia, her youngest sister, burst into the kitchen. As usual the eighteen-year-old was wearing too much makeup, belly-revealing clothes, and a navel ring.

Brenna stood and held open her arms. “Welcome home, Baby Sister.”

“Brenna!”

Mia flew toward her. Brenna braced herself for impact, then staggered back anyway when Mia’s hearty embrace turned into a collision.

“D.C. was so incredibly cool,” Mia said, then kissed Brenna’s cheek and sighed. “I met two cute White House aides, and when I told them about my broken engagement, they were thrilled to help heal my broken heart. Ah, summer love. But now I’m here and it’s great to be home.”

Brenna released her sister and laughed. “When did your heart get broken?”