“I sealed up the boxes and put them in the garage, next to my grandfather’s fishing gear.” She extended her toes closer to the floor fan that blew out cold air. “It’s rather sad putting them away like that, but it’s for the best.”
He gave her an indecipherable sideways look that said volumes about her keeping her shoes.
It was definitely time to lighten the mood. “You brought your platinum credit card, right? I had fantasies about spending your money all morning long.” Her overactive imagination had tried to fantasize about other things, like Slade’s perfect lips test-driving her own, but thoughts like that were career ending, so she’d stuck with the thrill of a cash register beeping.
Clearly bored with the conversation, the girls put on headphones and started watching a movie from a screen that came down from the ceiling just behind Christine’s seat.
“I know why you came to the park this morning,” Christine said. What a bluff that was. First thought when she saw him, instantly rejected? A bit of male possessiveness. Me, Tarzan. You, Jane. She couldn’t shake the expression on his face when he saw her in her black swan evening gown. But who was she kidding? Slade was her boss. To him, she was an investment of his time and money.
Second thought, instantly accepted? He knew Mayor Larry did naked yoga and wanted to see if she bared herself. Not that he wanted a peep show. It was more likely that sly sense of humor Slade had was looking for an opening, questioning whether or not she knew Mayor Larry did naked yoga, guessing she’d be embarrassed and he’d bear witness.
“Really?” He pulled onto the two-lane highway leading to civilization.
“Yep. When you’re a female winemaker in a mostly male wine-making world, you learn quickly how to spot a setup.” She poked his shoulder with one finger. “You knew about Mayor Larry’s naked yoga and you were hoping I didn’t.”
Slade’s stoic expression was almost unreadable. He’d be a deadly competitor in a poker game. His face gave little away—anger, disappointment, and, sadly for her, male interest. But there was a crack, a lightning flash of a dimple like Faith’s—here, then gone.
She laughed. “You are so busted.”
“I admit nothing.”
They didn’t speak for several miles. Christine looked out the window at the fields of golden wild oats, tall corn, and the occasional untended vineyard. Plenty of land to buy if you had some extra millions lying around. “If you guys are all millionaires, why do you even have a budget?”
“We could be saving up to buy an island in the Caribbean.”
“Really?” Grace whispered from the backseat.
“No,” Slade said. “Go back to your movie, honey.”
When Slade didn’t explain, Christine prodded, “Aren’t you going to tell me why?”
He was paying far too much attention to the road, which was straight and empty. It took him too long to begrudgingly admit, “It’s a matter of principle.”
“Not telling me or the whole budget thing?” She liked ribbing him. He tried so hard to pretend she was an annoyance. Mostly, he failed.
But the topic must have been a sore spot, since Slade shot her a dark look. “A budget is a promise. People’s emotions get all tied up in their money. That’s why they go crazy when they get overcharged five bucks on their cable bill.”