“You’re already here.” Marguerite pointed out the obvious to Aracely. “Which means it must be...”
“Do you want me to answer the door?” Aracely asked.
Marguerite thought for a moment. The knocking came again, louder this time. She shook her head. “No. I may be leaving St. Isadore for good, but Napa will always be my home. And if Evan continues to own the winery, I’m bound to run into him either in town or at industry events. Might as well get it over with sooner rather than later.”
And maybe, she thought to herself, maybe Evan had come to his senses faster than she’d thought possible. Maybe Evan was here to tell her she was right, and he was ready to let her in...
But it wasn’t Evan on her doorstep. “Nico. Hi.”
“Hey,” Nico responded, tugging at the strap of the backpack he wore over one shoulder. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure. And Aracely brought enough coffee and cupcakes to fuel an army, so you’re in luck. Come in.”
He closed the door behind him and trailed after her up the stairs. “First, I want you to remember that I’m just the messenger.”
Marguerite waited until he was seated at the table with a chocolate-and-peanut-butter cupcake in front of him before she asked. “What message did Evan ask you to deliver? If it’s about moving out of the carriage house, I’m way ahead of him.”
“What? No,” Nico exclaimed. “Unless you’re moving out to live in the owner’s residence.”
Marguerite’s gaze narrowed. “Evan sent you to ask me to move in with him? I doubt that.”
“Sorry. No. Evan called me shortly after sunrise, woke me up. Said he was leaving this morning for Asia. Something about saving a deal? Finding a new one? I wasn’t very awake. But then he said he left some papers for you and asked me to deliver them.” He opened up the backpack at his feet and took out a folder, then placed it on the table in front of Marguerite. “And I, um...” He shrugged.
Marguerite stared at the closed folder. “You read them.”
“I peeked.” Nico took a quick bite of his cupcake.
Marguerite pulled the folder toward her. And let it sit there.
“Well?” asked Aracely. “Are you going to open it or let me perish of suspense?”
Marguerite took a deep breath. She pulled back the cover of the file.
On top was a legal document. She picked it up and discovered it was a quitclaim deed, transferring ownership of St. Isadore to her. Evan’s signature was bold in black, and he’d even found someone to notarize the document in what had to have been the middle of the night.
“And?” Aracely demanded.
Marguerite handed the deed to her, not sure she’d read it correctly. “I think... I think Evan gave St. Isadore to me.”
Underneath the deed was Linus’s will with her scrawled message on it. And below that was a copy of her employment contract, with a note attached in Evan’s strong, confident script.
Marguerite,
Six months ago, we agreed we would revisit your contract after the Global Leader Summit. Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to owner of St. Isadore. You deserve it for your hard work, and it should have been yours all along. Never doubt how talented and capable you are.
Evan
She turned the pages of the contract. Evan had written “null and void” across each one. There were more papers in the folder, but they were a blur. She thought she had no more tears left after the night before. She was wrong.
Aracely gently removed the contract from her hands and read through it. “There is also a financial overview and a phone number to call for access to St. Isadore’s bank accounts and records. He left you enough cash to cover three years of operations.”
Marguerite shook her head, slowly at first but then gathering momentum. “I can’t accept this. Especially not—” she picked up the sheet Aracely referenced and blinked at the amount Evan had deposited into St. Isadore’s coffers “—the money. Where did he say he was going?”
“He’s on his way to Tokyo. Or maybe Shanghai?” Nico pondered. “He said something about Sydney, too, I think.”
“Never mind. His office will know how to reach him.” Marguerite gathered the papers together. “Neither of you say anything to anyone. I’ll get this straightened out. Even if I have to climb Mt. Everest to find him.”
“Good luck.” Nico polished off the last of his cupcake. “Evan makes it extremely difficult to return his gifts. Ask me how I know.”
“And what happens to St. Isadore in the meantime? Harvest is fast approaching. You, of all people, know what a critical time period this is,” Aracely pointed out.
“But Evan—” Marguerite squeezed her eyes shut. “Evan needs St. Isadore or Angus Horne won’t invest.”
“What?” Aracely sounded truly befuddled.
Nico paused in the midst of peeling the wrapper off a second cupcake. “You don’t get it, do you, Marguerite? This is how Evan shows you he cares. He gifts people things. He’s not going to take it back.”
“I don’t want ‘things.’ Even when the thing is St. Isadore. I made that clear last night.”
“I’m sure you did. But things are all Evan gives. My grandparents used to say he took the wrong lesson from our parents’ death. When he quit MIT to work full-time on his first company, they wanted him to come home and live with us in Boston. Be a family. Instead, he moved to Silicon Valley because, and I quote, ‘Nico’s not going to grow up like I did.’ He sent lots of money, but he was too busy to visit.”
Marguerite stared at Nico, her already-tattered heart falling to pieces. “That’s...awful. Poor Evan.”
“I thought maybe with you, he’d... Never mind.” Nico took a bite and swallowed. “Meanwhile, Aracely is right about St. Isadore. Boss,” he concluded with a smile.
“Regardless of who owns the winery, it is clear you are now in charge,” Aracely added.
Marguerite regarded the papers, then shut the folder closed and shoved it away from her. “I’ll talk to a lawyer on Monday. And if Evan changes his mind, he knows where I am. So for now, pass me a salted caramel cupcake.”
She put a bright smile on her face and even managed to crack a few jokes as the three of them polished off the contents of the bakery box. But while she did her best to maintain a calm and even carefree facade, inside she began to shrivel, one molecule at a time.
For a very long while, owning even a part of St. Isadore had been her deepest desire. Now her lifelong dream had been handed to her on a diamond-encrusted, platinum platter. She should be ecstatic.
She would give it all up for one “I love you” from Evan’s lips.
Maybe Nico was right. Maybe the deed was the closest thing to a declaration of affection she would get from Evan. Maybe it would be enough, ensuring her family’s legacy would continue and under her direction.
Who knew attaining the goal she’d worked toward since childhood would be so devastating?
Eleven
Whoever said April was the cruelest month never met October. Or so it seemed to Evan, lugging his suitcase into an empty, cold house that smelled vaguely of cleaning products and little else. Of course, every month since last July had seemed cruel.
He’d mostly been away the last few months, chasing opportunities for Medevco in Asia or Europe, ever since he left St. Isadore for the last time. Nan kept his place in spotless order during his absences, but she could do nothing about the lack of warmth—and he didn’t mean the heat from the furnace, which was doing its best to combat San Francisco’s foggy, chilled night air. Once Marguerite had opened his eyes to his surroundings, he couldn’t help but look at the rooms through her perspective. He’d made fun of St. Isadore’s faux Victorian vibe, but he had to admit the overstuffed furniture and dozens of knickknacks scattered around gave it a lived-in, cared-for feeling that he only now realized was missing from
this house.
House, not home.
By the time he unpacked and put his things back in their appropriate places, it was time for dinner. Or rather lunch, since he was still on Tokyo time. His housekeeper had left some casseroles in the refrigerator, but they required heating up, and besides, they were large enough to feed a family.
He didn’t have a family.
He had his phone out and was about to order from his favorite takeout restaurant when his doorbell chimed. The security app showed a woman at his front door, her hair covered by a knit cap. His heart jumped while his stomach performed a somersault. Could it be...? Then, with a smile and a wave, the woman looked into the camera stationed over the door, and he could breathe easily again. “Hi, Danica,” he said into the phone, knowing she would be able to hear him via the camera’s speakers. “I’ll buzz you in.”
Evan had always liked Luke’s wife. Blond and petite, she had a bubbly optimism that was the perfect complement to Luke’s reserved practicality. Evan wasn’t sure what she was doing at his place on a weeknight, however, especially since she and Luke lived forty-five minutes south in a tony enclave near Palo Alto. But he could guess. “I don’t suppose you were just in the neighborhood and decided to stop by,” he greeted her when she came in.
“No,” Danica said, removing her hat and unbuttoning her coat, revealing a slightly rounded belly. “Although I am fond of the sushi restaurant at the bottom of your hill. Alas, no raw fish for me for the next several months.”
“I see that. Congratulations. I had no idea you were...”
“Pregnant?” Danica raised her eyebrows. “Yes. I know you didn’t know. Because Luke wanted to be the one to tell you, but you and Luke aren’t talking except through memos.”
Bingo. Evan’s guess was correct. “I appreciate you coming all the way into the city. But this is a work matter. It’ll be resolved eventually. Want something to drink before you return home? I have water—” he checked the refrigerator “—and water.”
Danica followed him into the kitchen. “I’m not here because of Medevco. The company’s future is between you and Luke—”
“And the board of directors,” Evan muttered. In fact, he’d cut his latest business trip short after three weeks because of the emergency board meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning. And he still didn’t have a replacement deal for the one he’d lost by turning down Angus Horne.
“Fine. And the board.” Danica placed her hand on his arm. “I’m here as your friend who is concerned about you.”
He choked on his sip of water. “Me? Why?”
“I get Luke can be bullheaded. I once didn’t talk to him for about a month myself. But this current impasse between you is—” She huffed and threw up her hands. “Luke showed me the numbers. Medevco will survive with or without the investment. It’s in good health. But you’re driving yourself into the ground chasing these deals. I’m afraid for your health.”
“I’m fine.” He picked up the basket of mail his housekeeper had left for him on the counter and started looking through it. Bills, appeals for donations, something from Pia he put aside to read later, renewal notices—
A dark purple envelope, embossed with the St. Isadore logo, with his name and address written in metallic-gold ink.
Danica must have heard his sharp intake of breath. “What’s that?”
He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. But his pulse knocked against his eardrums. He hadn’t spoken to Marguerite since their encounter in the library, although she appeared in his dreams both sleeping and waking. He did speak several times to his lawyers, ensuring his transfer of St. Isadore and its assets was as airtight as possible. Through them, he’d learned Marguerite had tried several times to have it invalidated and returned to him, but he’d held firm.
It was the least he could do.
Danica plucked the envelope from his fingers. “Oh! I know what this is. It’s an invitation to the harvest dinner at St. Isadore. Luke and I received one.”
He took the envelope back from her and shuffled it into the pile of mail discards. “Thanks. Now I don’t need to open it.”
“Evan.” Danica’s brows drew together.
“You’re going to be a great mother. You have the I’m-so-disappointed-in-you tone down pat.”
“I’m not disappointed. I’m concerned. Luke heard you gave the winery away, yet you’re single-mindedly pursuing deals to grow Medevco beyond what is, frankly, reasonable.” Her green gaze met his, soft with worry. “What’s going on? This isn’t like you.”
Danica’s concern was heartwarming, and that was the problem. He didn’t want his heart warmed. He wanted it to remain neutrally cool, uninvolved. “I’m ensuring Medevco is a global success. Maybe becoming a father is making Luke too risk-averse.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Okay. Pretend there’s nothing driving your irrational behavior.”
“Success isn’t irrational.”
“It is when you’re destroying every relationship you have.”
“Not if my actions keep the people in those relationships clothed and fed. Including you and Luke, in the case of Medevco.”
She inhaled, then slowly let out her breath. “Do you think you’re doing this for us? For the other people in your life? Evan, that’s sweet. It’s also condescending as hell.”
“What?” Damn it, he didn’t want to lose someone else from his life. But...
“You’re treating us like inanimate figurines on a shelf, incapable of speaking on our own behalf, while you appoint yourself the sole arbiter of our welfare.”
“No, I’m not. I’m—”
“Doing exactly that.” She unfolded her arms and moved away from the counter, buttoning her coat as she went. “Y’know, Luke and I had high hopes that Marguerite—whom I like a lot, by the way—would open your eyes to the world beyond Medevco. But you gave away the winery, and in doing so, cut Marguerite out of your life, and now you’re cutting Luke out by not speaking to him.”
“That’s not why I gave—” he sputtered.
She shook her head. “If you keep this up, Silicon Valley machinations are all you’re going to have left. By yourself.”
That had to be an empty threat. “Luke’s not leaving Medevco.”
She turned to face him. “Tomorrow? Of course not. And Luke makes his own decisions when it comes to business. I don’t speak for him. But he won’t put up forever with a partner who refuses to communicate.” She yanked her knit cap over her blond curls. “Life is short, Evan. It’s fine to spend it alone if that’s what you truly want—but is it?”
She left without waiting for his answer, the front door closing behind her with a final-sounding click. Evan put down his nearly full glass of water to search for something stronger to drink.
Danica was wrong. He appreciated her loyalty to her husband, but she was wrong. Luke would come around once Evan secured the right deal. He just hadn’t managed to find the best investor yet. And the only reason he gave away St. Isadore was because it wasn’t his to keep.
The liquor cabinet was nearly empty. Maybe there was a forgotten beer in the refrigerator? But when he opened the door, a bottle of St. Isadore Chardonnay, chilling in the specialized beverage drawer, stared back at him. He started to close the door, only for his gaze to fall once more on the casseroles.
Casseroles, big enough to feed a family.
A vision of eating pizza at St. Isadore flashed through his head. Gabi laughing, Nico grinning as he snuck pieces of pepperoni off Evan’s slices when he thought Evan wasn’t looking, and Marguerite—
Marguerite smiling at him, her gaze filled with...
Love. Pure, sincere, true love.
Love for him.
Family had been there, all along, right under his nose. Love, his for the asking.
He shut his eyes. Screwed them tight. Tensed his muscles and stee
led himself as the wave of regret, anguish and not a little anger at his willful blindness rolled over him.
Picking up his phone, he punched the button to call Danica’s cell and then opened the invitation from St. Isadore. The harvest dinner was in a week. That might be enough time.
Danica answered over her car’s sound system, street noise in the background. “I guess you’re still speaking to me.”
“I know you’re driving, so I’ll make this quick. I’m about to hop in my car and head down your way. Can you and Luke meet me in the bar at the Rosewood in an hour? I have a proposition for him, but you should weigh in.”
There was a pause before Danica spoke. “Sure, as long as you buy me as many Shirley Temples as I want. See you then.”
He hung up the phone, grabbed his coat and headed to his garage. Once again, he had a week. But this time he wasn’t sure if he could pull off the miracle, or if he even deserved one. Still, he had to try.
* * *
Marguerite stood on the smooth flagstone terrace of St. Isadore, once more watching as guests began to arrive under the globe lights crisscrossing high overhead. Harvest was her favorite time of the year, and this harvest had been bountiful beyond her initial expectations. The grapes had been sorted and crushed and were fermenting in various tanks. Distributors were eager for the result, with restaurants as far away as Australia making inquiries about featuring her wines on their menus. Tonight was the culmination of dreams she’d spent a long time building. A celebration, in so many ways.
If only she felt like celebrating.
She accepted she was now the owner of St. Isadore. She’d tried various methods and ruses to reach Evan, to get him to recognize he had to take back his gift, but the lawyers were in agreement that the deed had been transferred to her, and Evan...
Well, Evan always sent very polite emails, but short to the point of being terse. And whenever she tried his cell phone, he’d seemed to be either on a plane or in a meeting.
Who's the Boss Now? Page 15