Page 1 of Bourbon Wishes (Wine Country Alphas #3)

Constance

" N o."

My hands ball into fists as Bastian Grayson, my pain-in-the-ass boss, rejects yet another of my proposals with a casual flick of his wrist. He doesn't even look up at me. Instead, he flips to the next page, his green eyes scanning intently across the page.

Yet another rejection falls from his lips approximately two seconds later.

"Definitely not."

"Murder is illegal," I mutter.

He glances up at me, his penetrating gaze boring into mine. And for a split second, I forget that the man is completely infuriating. All I remember is the way he gripped my hair in my dreams last night while he was driving into me.

That's it, Constance. Work your hips just like that for me.

I woke up with the sheets twisted around me and his name falling from my lips. Kind of like it wants to do every time he looks at me like I'm the most interesting thing he's seen all day.

Bastian is a mystery to me. The man is beautiful, brilliant…and a total nightmare. But sometimes when he looks at me, his eyes soften for a split second, and he almost seems human. Approachable.

I am not crazy enough to fall for it. Even his own family thinks he's a holy terror with a stick up his butt the size of a redwood.

They aren't wrong. He could give an actual dictator a run for his money, and the only thing he's running is a vineyard.

A ridiculously lucrative vineyard, but my point remains. The man is out of control.

I think he was born with that domineering attitude and that unholy glower fully formed.

It's hot as hell, don't get me wrong. Actually, everything about him is gorgeous, from the way his dark hair swoops over his brooding forehead to the reading glasses perched on his Roman nose to his full lips and angular jaw to the way his impeccable suit stretches across his muscular body.

He's got the face of an angel and the body of a warrior god.

The disposition of Satan should ruin the effect, but apparently, perpetual grump is my type, and bossy as hell is my kink. You learn something new every day, right?

I certainly didn't know I had a type before I took this job three months ago. And if I had known, I don't think my boss is who I would have pictured. The man is my exact opposite in every way.

I'm short and curvy. Leggings and oversized sweaters are my happy place, and comfort is the name of my game. I think complete world domination is his.

I live for sunshine, good vibes, great wine, and easy .

He's surly times one thousand.

I don't think I've ever actually heard him laugh. He smiles sometimes. Usually, when he's doing something that he knows his brother and cousins will freaking hate. I think he gets off on making them dance on his strings.

Which is just further proof that, even if my subconscious hasn't gotten the memo, the two of us would never work. Forget about the fact that he's my boss. He's a literal terrorist of fun.

And something about that makes me desperate to add a little chaos to his neatly ordered world. I want to flip it upside down, spin it inside out, and push every button he has. I am dying to make this man crack.

Just so we're clear, that isn't a good thing.

I actually love my job here. I don't want to lose it because he makes me homicidal and horny at the same damn time, and sleeping with my boss has disaster written all over it.

"What was that?" he asks in that voice that's somehow smooth as whiskey and as rough as sandpaper at the same time. It's deep, dark…sexy as hell. He speaks, and my clit tingles. It's that kind of deep.

"Nothing," I say sweetly. "I was just contemplating the legalities of strangling you with your own tie."

And that's the other reason the two of us could never, would never work. My mouth and the things that come out of it. I have a filter. Sometimes, I even use it. But it checked out about the time he glowered at me the first time.

Honestly, I don't know why he tolerates my mouth. But I'm pretty sure his entire family has forbidden him from firing me because they love me—or they love that I stand up to him—so I push my luck all day, every damn day. It keeps me from day-drinking the fancy wine we sell here.

His impenetrable gaze flickers to the tie in question—silk as black as his soul—and then back to me.

He doesn't say anything for a beat, and then his lip twitches.

It's not a smile. It's that thing he does when he wants to bend me to his will but holds back.

He does that a lot…holds back. There's always a rough retort right on the tip of his tongue.

It's right there in his eyes—the desire to make me behave the way he thinks I should.

It makes him crazy that he can't control me like he does everything else in his muscadine kingdom. But he never says a word.

I think I could tell him to go fuck himself with a rusty pole, and he'd just…look at me like he is right now. Like he's dying to get his hands on me and spank my ass until I swear I'll be a good little employee. But that would be against the rules. And Bastian Grayson never breaks the rules.

Ugh. Why won't he crack?

"My sister bought me this tie."

"To strangle you with it?" I uncross and then recross my legs, restless beneath the weight of his stare. I should probably cool it, but…no. That's what he wants. For me to behave. For me to sit right here and not be a problem.

I like being his problem. A little too much, maybe.

His lip twitches again. This time, his jaw joins in on the action, pulsing slightly.

But he doesn't even acknowledge what I said.

Instead, he glances back down at the content proposal I gave him ten minutes ago.

"This is too generic. I can name five other wineries posting the same kind of content right now.

We need something fresh and provocative. "

He's not entirely wrong, dammit. The proposal does hinge on the tried-and-true. And that's never good enough for him. I've only been here a matter of months, and I already know he expects more. From everyone. All the time.

"If you want fresh and provocative, then I need shots of you, your brother, and your cousins."

He narrows his eyes, trying to follow my line of thought before he gives up with a frown. "Why?"

"Uh, have you looked in a mirror lately?"

The furrow between his brows deepens.

I sigh, pretty sure I'm probably going to live to regret this.

"There are what? Thirty different wineries in the immediate area?" I ask and then wait for him to nod his confirmation. "About half of them are family-owned. One third have their own restaurants. You know the one thing they don't have?" I point at him, smirking. "You and your cousins."

"I don't follow, Constance."

"You're all hot as hell, Bastian." I roll my eyes at him.

"And you're fun, down-to-earth, and relatable.

" I pause. " Most of you, anyway." His lip does that twitching thing again, and I know he knows he's the problem even if he'll never admit it.

"People don't just come here for the wine, as good as it is.

They're here for you guys, your family . So, why not give them what they want?"

His lips purse into a hard line. "We aren't a circus sideshow. We're running a business."

"So run it," I say with a shrug. "And let me sprinkle images and videos of you guys running it throughout your social media channels. Trust me, they'll speak for themselves."

"We're selling wine, not ourselves."

"We both know that isn't how social media works.

There are only so many ways you can pose a bottle of wine.

It's the people who make it that sell the brand, Bastian.

And you and your cousins are gorgeous. You're fun.

You have stories and traditions that are unique to this winery.

Why not capitalize on the things that make this winery what it is?

I'm not asking you to strip down and pour wine down your abs.

" I make a mental note to revisit that particular image later, when I'm alone with my trusty little rabbit.

"I'm just saying, if you want fresh and provocative, give them more than wine. "

"That's what Ridley's alcohol line is about."

"Yes, but if you want people to view that line as something they absolutely have to have instead of as a passing curiosity, you need to make it about more than just the alcohol.

If it's exclusivity you want to sell, they need to invest in you and your family first. Give them a reason to want to be in that exclusive club.

They can't do that if the only one of you they know anything about is Jareth.

" His twin lives an odd double life. Most days, he's a vintner.

Sometimes, he's a rockstar, too. And somehow, he's still the normal, approachable twin. Weird.

Bastian stares at me for a long moment before mumbling something under his breath. Judging by the look on his face, it's probably a curse. He is not a happy vintner.

"Fine," he growls anyway. "Take your pictures and your videos.

Ask them about our traditions. I'm sure they can give you all sorts of stories you can use.

" Before my smile can fully form, he holds up a finger.

"But the first time I see a shirtless photo of one of my idiot cousins, there will be hell to pay, Constance. "

An amused laugh tumbles from my lips as I rise to my feet, smoothing my skirt. "How's that different than any other day?"

He narrows his eyes, glowering at me again. "I mean it. I don't want any of them posing shirtless for you. They keep their goddamn clothes on."

"Is this your way of offering to pose for thirst traps for me?

" The taunt is out before I even think it through.

I'm not entirely sure what I expect once it's out there, but the way his hands clench on top of his fancy-ass desk, the muscles in his arms bulging like he's two seconds away from hauling himself out of his seat, has my stomach turning flips.