Okay. This guy is pompous, sure. But apparently he’s smart too.

Wickedly smart.

Electricity thrums between us as I hold his gaze. He towers over me, at least a foot taller and twice as broad.

“They’re not my stories,” I say. “They belong to everyone. And this business is going to go under if we don’t differentiate it from others in the area. Which we do by creating not just a farmer’s market, but a destination that has a real sense of place. A real respect for history.”

“Profit,” he says, crossing his massive arms.

“Preservation.” I cross my arms, too, just to fuck with him. “The extra time and money is always worth it in the long run.”

His gaze moves to my arms. “When was the last time you looked at a P&L statement?”

“When was the last time your greed didn’t suck the life out of a priceless historical structure?”

“Julia, it’s a barn.” He glances at Luke. “Meaning no offense. But let’s not forget we’ll be selling grits and organic produce here. This isn’t Harrod’s.”

“No, it’s not. It’s a barn that I’m going to turn into the south’s preeminent farmer’s market and gathering place,” I reply, taking a step forward.

“We,” he corrects. He doesn’t move forward. But he does lean toward me. Close enough for me to see the pink flush creeping its way up his neck. “We are going to do that. Where do you think the money for this work is coming from?”

“If we do the renovation right, we can rent the barn out for events—weddings, rehearsal dinners, concerts. It’s a mess now, but if you had any imagination, you could see the possibilities for so much more.”

I don’t mention that I already have a wedding lined up for the space. Olivia and her fiancé Eli are getting married, and they said they’d love to have the reception here.

Greyson’s eyes flick down, then back up. “I have plenty of imagination.”

Doubt it.

“Why are you so involved all of a sudden?” I say. “You weren’t around for the Holy City Roasters project.”

“Simple. We were juggling six other projects at the time, so I put Ford on Holy City Roasters. I’ll be your point person going forward. I can be hands on when the occasion calls for it.”

“I’m sure you can. Though I doubt it’s as satisfying an experience for those involved as you think it is.”

“It’s what I do for a living.”

“Condescend?”

He smirks. “Satisfy.” I catch a whiff of his aftershave. Smoky. Bergamot, maybe? “I’m very good at it.”

“You know when you pay people to tell you these things, they don’t count, right?”

“As a matter of fact, Julia, most people pay me. Literally. I’ve raised a hundred and seventy-five million dollars from investors this year alone.”

Shit he’s good at this. Sparring. Spiting.

Bragging about how much money he has.

So arrogant.

But damn, that cocky grin he’s wearing is so wicked.