“All that trouble for me? I don’t think so.”

He chuckled. “All right. I have a meeting with several foreign distributors later this afternoon. I figured jeans would put them off.”

Not if they were women, Brenna thought before she could stop herself.

“So you’re expanding again,” she said instead.

“Always. Be the biggest and the best.”

“You’re certainly going to win on volume.”

“Don’t they say size matters?”

“Only those who don’t know how to use what they have.” She remembered her vow not to argue with him about eighteen seconds too late.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

He raised his eyebrows. “For disagreeing with me? There’s a first. Now I’m even more intrigued.” He grinned and leaned forward. “All right, Brenna. You’re here, you’re wearing a suit, and you’re carrying what looks like a thick stack of papers. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

So they were going to get right to it. She cleared her throat and set her portfolio on his desk. At that moment her brain hiccupped and every single intelligent, logical, financially sound sentence she’d practiced flew out of her head.

“I’m one of the best in the business,” she began, then hesitated, wondering if that sounded too arrogant.

At least he didn’t break into hysterical laughter. “I’ll admit that I wouldn’t want to go head to head with you in competition,” he admitted.

The compliment boosted her confidence and made her want to wiggle in her seat. She satisfied herself with a slight smile. “As my grandfather says, aside from him, I’m the only one in the family with a passion for wine. I’ve lived it most of my life.”

He started to say something, but she rushed on. There was no way she was going to let him remind her of the ten years she’d spent away from Marcelli Wines. Ten years she’d spent being an idiot.

“My grandfather has put me in charge of the winery. I know what’s needed to take our success to the next level.”