“Trust me, coming here wasn’t my idea at all.” She leans a little closer, leaving us only inches apart, and I’m hit with the sweet scent of honey and vanilla. “I would have never picked this winery.” She about hisses the words at me.
What the fuck?
Her words are like a slap to the face, and unconsciously, I take a step back. Her chest is rising and falling at a rapid rate, and her skin flushes pink. Pink turns to red. All I see is red. I love this winery more than this girl will ever understand, and I’m officially done with this conversation.
Regret slips across her face and then it disappears. She drops her gaze to the floor and then locks it back on me with renewed defiance. A piece of her hair slips over her shoulder, and I hate that I notice it.
Breaking the stare down between us, I turn to Michelle. Her eyes are narrowed at Shelby, her lips are pinched together, and she looks madder than a wet hen.
“Michelle.” She shifts her attention to me, and her expression softens. “Will you please show Ms. Leigh to her accommodations? We’re done here.” She nods and slides a hot tea and an ice pack across the counter. Without another glance in Shelby or Kyle’s direction, I pick up the items, and walk out, leaving the football on the bar.
How in the hell did I get myself into this situation? Any sliver of hope I was feeling disintegrates, and the wind feels completely knocked out of me.
A chef they said.
A journalist I thought.
A critic . . . never.
I settle into my desk chair and press the ice pack over the throbbing spot. God, I hate these headaches. I never thought I’d hate anything or anyone as much as them, but after seeing her again, I may be wrong.
What am I going to do with her here for two weeks? Two. Weeks. That’s how long the magazine expects her to spend here while she’s cooking in one of our kitchens. “Photos. Lots of photos,” they said. Damn it. I’m going to have to be in those photos with her.
Part of me wonders if I would have agreed to the assignment if I had known she was the one they were sending, but reality is Wolff Winery needs the exposure. Our assignment is to work together to come up with delicious, easy, Southern farm-to-table food pairings to go with my wines. She’s to work the farm, learn all about us, and a crew from the magazine will be following and documenting it all. At the end, she will be the one who writes the featured article.
She’s to write the article.
Shit. Maybe I should have been a little nicer.
Maple Bacon Pecan Brittle
I hate him.
And I don’t hate anyone.
Watching him walk away without even so much as a nod goodbye causes every cell in my body to go up in flames. He’s dismissing me as if I’m not even here. I swear I’ve never met anyone so rude! He’s lucky I don’t take my very pointy-heeled shoe off and chuck it at his head . . . his gorgeous head. And that’s what makes this so much worse—I’ve also never met a guy as good-looking as he is.
When Zach walked into the room with the other guy, I was struck speechless. At the event, he was wearing a tuxedo, which can make anyone seem more appealing. Here on a regular Monday morning, he’s dressed down, wearing dark blue jeans that look worn and soft, a perfectly fitted gray T-shirt with the winery logo stamped across the front, a pair of trendy running shoes, and he was holding a football. In my haste and anxiety on the drive here, I’d briefly forgotten that he was a former football player, but everything about his tall, muscular build screams the part.
Closing my eyes, the excitement over being selected for this project falters and disappointment and embarrassment fill me. I’m so out of my element. I feel stupid even being here, and I don’t understand what it is about him that causes this extreme, visceral reaction in me. All it took was one look, and his expression shifted from playful with his friend to a scowl at me. Maybe I should have declined the project.
No.
No, that’s ludicrous. I should not have. Aside from my father, he’s the only person who has ever made me feel like less than who I am, and I refuse to put up with that—job or no job. Squashing the unwanted feelings, I remind myself that this is my project. My. Project. I was chosen for this and I’m going to write a damn good article.
“Ms. Leigh?”
My back straightens as the girl standing across from me raises her hand in a small wave. I turn to face her, and she’s frowning at me.
“Yes?” I frown back, feeling every bit of what that expression means: angry, sad, and disappointed. She has no idea how much he makes me want to run out the door and never look back. But I won’t. I won’t because this project puts me one step closer to my dream, a dream that means more to me than anything.
“If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your cottage.”
Cottage. Well, at least that sounds nice. I’m extremely relieved to hear that I’m not staying in the same house with him. God, I can’t even imagine. The thought of randomly running into him makes my stomach turn sour.
“That would be great. Thank you.”
Bending down to pick up my bag, I spot the other guy in the room studying me. It’s bad enough that I have to spend two weeks here working with that asshole who hates me, I don’t want the rest of the staff to hate me, too. So, after I sling the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I walk over to him and hold out my hand.
“Hi, I’m Shelby.” His eyes are unreadable, but he slips his hand into mine and shakes it. He’s handsome in a young Harry Connick Jr. kind of way.
“I gathered that. I’m Kyle. I oversee general and wholesale distribution for Mr. Wolff, and that’s Michelle. She runs front end operations.” I glance at Michelle, and she gives me a strained smile.
I take a step back and release a deep sigh. Flashes of my interaction with Zach and the words I said to him increase my humiliation. I understand their skepticism. I would be wary of me, too. I may always try to be kind and courteous, but I was as bad as Zach was in our little exchange.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” I look between him and Michelle. “That must have sounded pretty bad.” Heat climbs up my neck and into my cheeks. I really don’t know what came over me, and now that the anger has dulled, I’m thoroughly embarrassed.
“I’m not actually sure what that really was,” he says, pointing between the door Zach left through and me. He looks concerned and confused, but really, I find that hard to believe.
I don’t know why I thought Zach would be civil when I got here. Maybe because he agreed to the project knowing I would be his partner on it, or maybe because we have a mutual friend, I don’t know, but I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and really hoping that night last fall was a fluke. Apparently, it wasn’t.
How is it possible that he didn’t know it was me coming today? He. Didn’t. Know. I guess he just thought so little of me before, from the benefit, that he forgot my name.
Forgettable.
“It is what it is,” I say, shrugging and trying to release the stress that’s built up in my shoulders. “I’m here to do the assignment. I’ll stay in the kitchen and out of the way, and then I’ll be gone.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable under their separate gazes, and Kyle’s phone dings with an incoming text, breaking the silence.
“All right then. It’ll be easiest if you follow me.” Michelle tilts her head toward the front door as she walks out from behind the bar and spins a key ring full of keys around her finger.
Michelle is a pretty girl. There’s something about her that’s very girl next door, the kind everyone wants to be best friends with and secretly envies at the same time. Her smile is bright, and her eyes are kind and unjaded. I can see why she runs the consumer side here, especially if the alternative is Zach. The thought of his name has me grinding my teeth.
“Michelle, text me if you need anything. I’ll be in the barn,” Kyle says, glancing up from his phone. He smiles at her, winks, and then heads off in the other direction. She blushes, and I fee
l a pang of jealousy.
Jealousy. My stomach drops—I’ve officially hit a new low.
I don’t even know these people, and I don’t want anything to do with the responsibility or obligations that come with a guy; yet, I’m suddenly wishing I had someone who’d look at me with flirty eyes like he just looked at her. I was fine before I came here. I’m independent, driven, successful, and I love what I do. I have rules in place, I don’t mix business with pleasure and I never involve the heart. I’ve also stuck to the plan—career first, guys later—and I shouldn’t care that this guy, a guy who I’ve met twice, isn’t interested in me.
So, why do I?
I don’t know.
I hate this. I hate him.
Following Michelle outside, the sun warms my skin and I’m struck with how beautiful it is here. I’d been so focused on getting here and through the first reintroduction with him that my mental tunnel vision blocked everything around me.
The winery sits on the outskirts of a town called Dahlonega, in north Georgia at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Living in a coastal town, I often forget how close and how remarkable the mountains are. The hills around the winery seem to roll and lush grapevines and orchards are in neatly pruned lines. It’s easy to see why the network producers chose this place—it’s exquisite and a backdrop dream.
“Have you worked here for a long time?” I ask Michelle as I turn back to take in the essence of the winery.
The building looks like an old stone mansion, or a small castle, and it’s made up of polished ivory stone and rocks. Each window is ornately shaped, there are two towers on both sides of the wooden double front door, and an east and a west wing. In many ways, it looks out of place with this part of the country, but at the same time, it doesn’t look like it could belong anywhere else.
I look past the large circular drive with an ornate fountain in the middle to the windows of the west wing, which fall in the direction Zach stormed off. Is he staring at me right now? Is he laughing or scowling? Not that it matters in any way, and actually, from what I know of him so far, he’s probably forgotten I’m even here.
Forgotten.
My heart sinks. I abhor that his indifference bothers me so much.
“I’ve worked here for about five years, and I love it.” Her answer is short and clipped. She shoots me a look that screams “loyal”. Not that I want any gossip about this place, but a friend might have been nice.
“Does it get crowded on a typical weekend?” I ask her.
“It really depends on the weekend. Obviously, harvest season is the most popular, but the surrounding towns often hold festivals throughout the year that bring in tourists as well. Plus, we host a lot of larger events and weddings.”
“I do love weddings.” I smile at her, and she gives me a genuine smile back.
“Me, too,” she says, and her tone is a little warmer. Maybe I’ll end up with a friend here after all.
“I love your boots, by the way. My best friend and I have a thing for shoes.” I kick up my left foot, showing off my most recent purchase: a pair of strappy, camel-colored Jimmy Choos. “But I’m thinking these might not have been the best choice to wear here.”
She laughs. “Thanks, and yeah, if you’re going to be working here for two weeks, I’m hoping you brought something a little more . . . flat.”
“I did, thank goodness.” A few years back, I bought a pair of rainboots and had my initials monogrammed on the front. I love them. They’re very Southern, and I figured they’d be perfect for walking around here.
“All right, I’m gonna take a golf cart.” She points to designated parking under a tree off to the left where there are three carts. “You follow me. The cottage is behind the main house, but it’s far enough that I don’t want to walk back.”
“Sounds good, thank you.” She throws me another smile, this one definitely less guarded and more open.
Driving down the gravel path and through the vineyard, a sense of calm settles over me. The vines, which are full of new grape clusters, are taller than the car, and the sweeping views of the hillside are breathtaking.
Too quickly, we pull up to the cottage, which is far enough away to feel secluded but still close enough that I can see the main house in the distance.
Stepping out of my car, Michelle comes to stand next to me as I stare in awe of my home and studio setting for the next two weeks. “This place is beautiful. I had no idea the property looked like this before I got here.”
“It really is. This cottage is the original home to the Wolff family. The main house up the hill was built in the twenties, just before the Great Depression. Of course, the cottage has been updated and modernized over the years, but it still has a quaint charm that everyone loves. Everything is set up for you inside—pretty standard, like a hotel room. I made a peach pound cake for a snack and stocked the kitchen for you since I heard somewhere you like to cook.” She grins at me. “Hopefully, you’ll have everything you need, but if not, give me a call at the main house. Oh, and there’s also an herb garden on the back porch you can help yourself to.”
I squeeze my hands into fists to try to contain my excitement. “I really have no words. This is incredible, and I feel a little guilty—it’s like work and a vacation all in one.”
She laughs at my enthusiasm and holds out a key. I take it from her and roll it over in my hand. It’s an ornate key. On one side is the winery’s logo and on the other is a vintage-looking bee.
I love bees, and I love honey.
Michelle watches me as I collect my bags from the trunk of my car, and I can tell she’s waiting to say something.
I turn to face her. “Is there anything else?”
“Actually, there is.” She bites down on her lip, as if she’s worried, and then walks back to the golf cart, leans against it, and crosses her ankles. “I don’t know what your deal is with Zach, but I’ve never seen him react to anyone like he did to you.” She pauses and looks back at the house. “Shelby, he’s a really great boss and a great guy, so try to go easy on him while you’re here.”
She may not have ever seen him behave this way before, but I have. And the fact that she’s insinuating I’m the problem makes me angrier than I’d like to admit. I understand her wanting to defend him; after all, they’re probably friends, but this doesn’t have anything to do with her, and it doesn’t matter what I say, she’s team Zach.
Taking a step away from her, I move closer to the door. “Seems to me he can take care of himself.”
She frowns at my tone. “Oh, he can without a doubt . . . but . . . well, never mind.” Concern flashes across her face and then disappears.
“But what?” I’m curious to know what kind of concessions she feels he needs.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head and smiles at me as she slides back into the golf cart. “Call me if you need anything.” And with one final wave, she’s gone and dust floats through the air in her wake.
Turning back to the cottage door, I unlock it, step inside, and drop my things in the entryway. This is the most tranquil home I’ve ever seen. The entire downstairs is one large great room, and I’m overwhelmed by all the details. The floors are made of large stones, and there are several huge gray shag rugs. The walls are white and the windows are covered with sheer white curtains. There is a stone fireplace on one wall, and the gray furniture is accented with yellow and lavender pillows and throws. In the back of the room is the kitchen. The cabinets are distressed, there’s a large center island, a rustic wooden table, and French doors leading out back.
Twirling around, everything is perfect, and sure enough, there on the kitchen island is a large bouquet of wild flowers, a pound cake wrapped in plastic wrap, and a bottle of white wine chilling next to it. My stomach growls.
If there’s one thing a chef never misses, it’s a meal. And right now, it’s lunchtime.
I hunt down a fork and a plate and then cut off a piece of the cake, which is delicious. Seems to me M
ichelle has her own culinary skills hidden up her sleeves. Deciding that it’s five o’clock somewhere, I uncork the wine and pour myself a glass.
Raising a toast to myself, I repeat Meg’s words, “You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar.”
I can do these two weeks. It’s not as if we’ll have to see each other a whole lot. I’m here to learn and cook, and smile for the camera, neither of which have much to do with him. The first sip of wine sets my taste buds tingling. Different flavors burst over my tongue, and I’m delighted by how smooth it is.
Picking up the bottle, I read the label, which declares it a chardonnay reserve, The Queen Bee. It’s one of their wines, and it’s very good. This confuses me, because if they’re all as delicious as this one, I’m not sure why they received four wilted grapes. I’ve never tasted their wines before, but maybe I was wrong assuming they were below average.
From across the room my cell phone rings. Hoping it’s Meg, I race to dig it out of my purse, but see it’s a local number instead.
“Hello?”
“Shelby, this is Zach.” The timbre of his voice slides over me. He sounds every bit as good over the phone as he does in person. Wait, what? No! Nothing about him is good!
“How did you get my number?” I snap.
“How do you think?” Irritation leaks out between his words.
Silence ticks by.
“Well, what do you want?” If he called to antagonize me, it’s working.
He chuckles as if he knows what he’s doing to me. “Tomorrow at eleven thirty, someone will pick you up and bring you to the main house. The magazine wants to interview us at the beginning and end of the assignment.”
“Together?” Please say no. Please say no.
“Yes.”
A sigh escapes me. So much for not having to spend time together. “Fine, I’ll be ready.”
The Sweetness of Life (Starving for Southern Book 1) Page 3