I miss you. You died too young, Gramps. Sighing, he brought himself back to the conversation, as his grandmother was saying, “you can’t bring her home until you know more about her. I will not have Gina and Daniel put on an emotional roller coaster by this woman. Find out what you can about her and then give me a call. I want to know how much she’s going to cost me. Understand?”

Guy didn’t bother telling her that he had already found out all about her background. She was twenty-nine, single, had been offered a lucrative job in Toronto with her own TV show, on interior decorating. She’d moved a lot in the first eighteen years of her life. Then a few more times but she’d been in the same apartment for the last five years, the longest she’d been anywhere. She seemed like a straight shooter. He hadn’t talked with any clients or friends, because he hadn’t felt the need. His task was simple: find her, tell her and get home.

The only piece to the puzzle he hadn’t figured out was how she came to be with Donna Saunders. That piece was still a bit murky. In the last six months, he’d focused his time on finding her. He still wasn’t quite clear on how his grandmother had found that west coast newspaper article on how she’d helped some poor family remodel their home. She’d given him enough facts to make him curious but not enough to satisfy his curiosity.

“Understand?”

“Yes Gramere. I understand.”

“Don’t call me that. It makes me sound old. And I’m not.”

He jerked the phone away from his head but not before he was grinning from ear to ear. He knew she’d be smiling too. Not that she’d let anyone see her. That didn’t go with the head of the Caspian Wine Company. Not a woman who, against all odds, ran an empire in a man’s world and in a day when a man had been the head of everything.

He admired the hell out of her.

After the distinct click from her phone, he hit the end button on his. Fighting the urge to get out of his car and stretch, he rolled his head around to loosen the tight muscles. The last time he’d slept in a car he was sure he’d been eighteen and drunk, one of the only times he’d indulged himself. If the hangover hadn’t cured him, the disappointment in his grandmother’s eyes had. That was the only time he’d been glad his grandpa hadn’t been alive. Guy didn’t think he could have lived with that.

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