Mr. Gyles helps his wife with the chair and then he helps me. I’m right across from Miller, but he’s so busy telling jokes to Eva that he doesn’t hear when Tony Giles calls him. As a favor, I kick him on the shin.

Miller glares at me and Tony raises his glass of wine. “We’re thankful that you two were able to work things out. We believe that both companies have what we need to grow our winery.”

“This place reminds me a lot of a family farm I recently worked with,” I say. “We focused the campaign on family and nature.”

“Do you have the campaign with you?” Mr. Gyles asks.

I nod. “Yes, but you’d understand if I share the insight only with you. After all, Mr. Archer is the competition.”

“You need to trust him. He’s your partner in this project, yes?”

“Unfortunately, trusting my competition has set me back a few times.” More like, trusting this man screwed me seven ways to Sunday.

“I don’t need to be privy to the details of your old campaigns. We can work something new. If you’re willing to share…”

“The concepts I have in mind will blow your mind, Miller,” Eva says, and her voice is fucking annoying and flirty, but it’s when she caresses his face that I’m about to explode. “Tony, I don’t see why we need two firms.”

“You’re right, this might be a deal you can’t pass on, Mr. Archer,” I say. “But would you be able to balance everything long enough? A few days wouldn’t cut it.”

“At least, I’ll make sure to fix what’s wrong and would focus on my current client instead of searching for a better option. I’m loyal.”

“To yourself.”

“I don’t run at the first sign of trouble. I fight for what’s right.”

“Sometimes it’s not running away, but self-preservation. A way that will benefit everyone. Fighting isn’t always the answer. Conceding isn’t giving up but being the better person.”

Dinner is served. I feel like having the last word was important. Why does it feel like what I said didn’t matter? Maybe it is the fact that Tony only has eyes for his wife, and I’m staring at my plate, pushing the food and avoiding looking at Eva and Miller flirting.

“Is the food to your satisfaction?” Mrs. Gyles asks. “If you don’t like pasta, we can make you something else.”

“No, I ate something earlier that didn’t sit well,” I say, wiping my lips. “If you don’t mind, I’m calling it a night.”

I’m done making a fool of myself. Chasing an account that’s obviously not what I need. They want my old work, and I’m not that person anymore. My designs have changed, my ideas are different.