by Jen Talty
Malbec tossed the paper across the office. “No fucking way. You can’t do this. You’ve lost your fucking mind.”
“That’s no way to speak to your mother.”
“I don’t give a shit.” He raked a hand across his head and turned to face his mom. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Exactly what that contract states.”
“Why the fuck are you doing it? She’s not family. She means nothing to any of us, and you’ve made your damn point. I’m here. I’m listening. I’m even considering moving home.” He paced in front of the large oak desk in the center of the office. He ran a hand across his jaw and shook his head. It wasn’t like she’d done this to spite him for having Taubet Liquors show up in town. She’d just found that out, and that contract had been created at least a day ago.
“If you don’t calm down and stop swearing, I won’t continue with the conversation.”
He closed his eyes and counted to five before blinking. “Why are you giving her a percentage?”
“You don’t think it’s fair to give her a piece of her label.”
He planted his hands on his hips. “I’m fine with her having a stake in her label. It’s the stake in the vineyard that I’m struggling with.”
“Too bad. What’s done is done.”
“Is she holding something over your head? Does she know the secret? Is she blackmailing you with something? Because I can’t imagine you doing this out of the kindness of your heart. It makes no sense.”
“She’s not holding anything over my head. This was my idea. And it doesn’t have to make sense to you.”
“I can’t believe Dad drew those up and didn’t say a damn word to me.” Oh, but he could. His dad disagreed with Weezer, but he didn’t often go against her. That was either because he knew the cards wouldn’t play out as she expected.
Or he knew something the rest of the family didn’t.
This didn’t feel like either and it left a bad taste in Malbec’s mouth.
“It wasn’t your business.” Weezer swiveled back and forth in the big leather chair with her arms folded across her chest. “I didn’t plan on telling you until after I had the chance to go over the contract with Eliza Jane and we both signed it, though.”
“Jesus, Mom. You’d do that? To me? Or all of us kids?”
“I’m not doing anything to you,” his mother said. “That girl hasn’t a single family member left in this world—”
“So, you decided it’s our responsibility to adopt her or some weird shit.”
“This doesn’t change anything.”
“Are you crazy? It changes everything. And not just for me, but for all of my siblings. Do they know what you’ve done?”
“No,” she said flatly. “And you’re not going to say anything to them until that contract is signed. If you do, there will be hell to pay.”
“You should have waited until after Eliza Jane put her John Hancock on it, because now that I know you’ve literally lost your marbles, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you can’t give away what rightfully belongs to my siblings and me.”
His mother jumped to her feet. “It’s not rightfully yours. I don’t have to leave you a penny if I don’t want to. What your generation fails to understand is that inheritance isn’t a right. It’s a privilege. And if I choose to leave this to Brooklyn Wilde or the church down the street, no one could stop me.” She poked herself in the chest. “This is my winery. Not yours. Not your father’s. And not your siblings’. It’s mine. And I’ll do with it what I see fit. If you have a problem with that, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” She pushed past him, pausing at the door and glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, wait. You’ve already done that, and you got kicked in the ass.” She disappeared down the stairs.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Well, I guess I don’t have to redeem myself after all, because Eliza Jane isn’t going to like me after I tell her to get the hell out of my cottage.”
Eliza Jane
Eliza Jane paused at the main gate to the winery and stared at her cell.
Malbec: Meet me at the cottage. I need to speak with you. It’s urgent. I’m there now. I’ll wait.
Well, crap. That couldn’t be good.
She suspected that Merlot or Chablis or both had gotten ahold of Malbec in the last half hour and said something that bothered him a great deal.
Eliza Jane: Can it wait? I have work to do.
What she really needed was to find out if Weezer had the contract, and if it was ready to sign. Once that was out of the way, it didn’t matter what any of the River kids had to say.
Bile smacked the back of her throat. She didn’t like feeling as though she were an underhanded bitch. Maybe if her father were still alive, she wouldn’t feel the need to put down roots in one place.
Especially this place.
Memories bombarded her brain.
“You’d love The River Winery,” her father said. “It’s got rolling hills and beautiful sunrises. They are like nothing you’ve ever seen. And the grapes are crisp and full of flavor.”
“But you’ve never tasted the wine.” She sat on the floor with her legs crossed as her father rocked back and forth in his big recliner. He always enjoyed telling her about his travels, especially when it included visiting wineries and vineyards.
“Oh, but I have. It was a long time ago when the vintage was much better.”
“Is the wine no longer good?”
Her father shook his head. “I’m sure it’s fine. The grapes are superb.” He leaned forward. “But someone like you could do it much better. You have your great-grandfather’s gift.” Her father sighed. “Your grandfather never had the passion, and while I’ve always wanted to be really great at winemaking, I just don’t possess the talent.”
“You make a really nice bottle,” she said.
“You’re so kind, my lovely child.”
She always enjoyed it when her father called her his child, even as an adult. It reminded her of when she used to go apple or strawberry picking with him and they’d make jam or pie. In those moments, she never once missed her mom.
He’d been her everything, and she missed him so much. Her biggest regret in life was not understanding all the little nuances between her father and her grandfather. Their relationship was different. They obviously loved each other and had a halfway decent working relationship.
But they also had demons. Ones she couldn’t comprehend. Maybe if she had, she’d understand now why she’d felt compelled to come to New Jersey and make it her home the moment Weezer sought her out.
Malbec: No. This is work-related.
She glanced up to see Tammy waving good-bye to a couple of customers.
Eliza Jane: I’ll be over shortly.
“Hey, Tammy.” She scurried toward the main entrance.
“Oh. Hi. Eliza Jane. I was told you might not be back today.”
“By whom?”
“Both Weezer and Malbec.” Tammy stuffed her hands into her overalls’ pockets. That was her signature style, and the look was quite becoming on the woman. “Weezer mentioned you were in town with Merlot and Chablis, and Malbec said you had meetings.”
“I do have to discuss some things with Malbec.” Though what, she had no idea. “Anything of interest happen here today?”
“Not really. Although we’ve had a lot of foot traffic—more than usual. And our cash register receipts are up, so that’s good.”
“Would you say more than last year?”
“Oh, yes.” Tammy nodded vigorously. “People have asked about potential changes and who the new winemaker is. It’s all good stuff.”
“Next week, I’ll make sure I’m more available.”
“I’ve given out your card and sold a few of those tours you added. I’d say business is already looking up.”
“Well, that’s a step in the right direction.” And now it was time to make sure that continued. She waved her cell. “I’ll ha
ve this with me if anything needs my attention.”
“I’ll be sure to call if I can’t handle anything, but don’t worry. I’ve been doing this for a long time. You’re in good hands.”
“Thanks. If I don’t make it back this afternoon, I’ll be in before the sun rises.” She tucked her phone into her purse and tossed it over her shoulder. It would take her ten minutes to walk the path if she did so at a swift pace. She opted for a slightly slower one, taking as much time as she could to clear her mind. She needed to prepare herself for whatever argument she was walking into. She might not know Malbec well, but one thing she’d learned was that he wore his emotions on his sleeve.
Even in text messages.
He wasn’t a happy camper.
The cottage appeared through the trees. It was a quaint log-style structure. Small, but it did the trick, and she could see herself living there for a year or two. She didn’t need much, and it was close to work and away from people. While she could absolutely handle any customers, the rest of the world left something to be desired.
Especially right now.
Malbec sat on the front stoop, playing with a blade of grass. He glanced up. As soon as they made eye contact, he slowly rose to his feet. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“You really didn’t give me much choice.”
“Can we go inside and maybe have a glass of wine and sit down?”
“It’s only four in the afternoon.”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere. And I know after the day I’ve had and the conversation we need to have, I could use an entire bottle.” He held her gaze for a long moment.
“I’m not sure drinking will make whatever you need to get off your chest better.”
“I’ve spent the last hour contemplating whether or not to go into the cottage and toss your things out the window or tell you to take a hike and watch you pack your stuff and leave.”
Her need to know why would likely get her the kind of answers she didn’t want to hear. But the truth was always better than a sugar-coated lie.
Or a secret buried with the dead.
“Now why on Earth would you do that?” she asked.
“Can we please go inside and have some wine? I’ll do my best to talk calmly and rationally about business.” His chest rose as he took in a deep breath. “I want to hear your side, and I will keep my emotions in check while you speak.”
“You’re not making any sense, but I’m happy to listen to whatever it is you need to say.” She pulled out her keys and unlocked the door, then swallowed. The idea that he had a set of keys and could have come in and gone through her things sent fire through her veins. She had personal and private belongings that her father had given her when he died. Like that picture of her great-grandfather with the sign that read The River’s Edge Winery. The longer she stayed at The River Winery, the more it looked and felt as if it had been take in this very spot.
She needed to go to the library and check out the book that Jenna had told her about. Hopefully, that would give her some answers about the winery and put to rest this weird feeling she had about that stupid picture.
“What kind of wine would you like?”
“Either a pinot noir or a cab would be nice. But, honestly, I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”
She set her purse and keys on the table by the front door and strolled past the couch to the small kitchen. She yanked open the fridge and found some cheese. She set it on a platter, along with some high-end crackers before finding a bottle of pinot. She set the tray on the coffee table and poured two very generous glasses, handing him one before kicking off her shoes and flopping onto the sofa, tucking her feet under her butt. She took a large chunk of cheese and set it meticulously on a cracker and placed it on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she let her tastebuds go to town.
He sat on the other end, practically on the armrest as if he had to be as far away from her as possible. He stared at the television, which was in the opposite direction as she was, while he held his glass and masterfully swirled his wine.
She waited for a long moment for him to talk, but he said nothing, just sat there in silence.
“So, what’s so important that you have me playing hooky for the rest of the day?” She brought the glass to her lips and took a long, slow sip. The red liquid flowed easily down her throat. It wasn’t the best year, but it still had a rich, robust flavor, and it didn’t burn.
That was half the battle.
“I need total honesty. Can you give me that?” he asked without turning his head.
“That’s all I’ve ever done.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
“That’s your problem, not mine.” She leaned forward, taking a few more crackers and some cheese. Stuffing her face before she drank half the bottle was a moral imperative. The last thing she needed was to get hammered in the middle of the afternoon in front of Malbec River.
Especially when he was in a mood.
Which was most of the time.
“Did you ever meet my mom before she came knocking at your door asking you if you wanted a job here?”
“No.” Eliza Jane didn’t like the way this conversation had started. She took another large gulp of wine. “Why?” She always had to know the why.
“I’m getting there.”
She let out a long breath. “I take it this is going to be much like the Spanish Inquisition.”
“A little bit.” He took a long, slow drink. “How many other wineries did you try to create your label with?”
“None.” She held up her hand. “But I was offered two contracts. I turned them down.”
“Why? What was the problem?”
“The first one was a really shitty deal. I would get five percent of sales, but only after I paid back the cost of making the wine.”
“So they were essentially offering you a loan and a place to make your label.” He finally turned his head, catching her gaze.
“Sort of. I would never have ownership of the label, and that was a deal-breaker. Plus, they didn’t have a vineyard. It was just a winery, and they often changed where they purchased their grapes. I came in to save their reputation. I did that, and I left.”
“I see. And the second one?”
“My father was dying, and it wasn’t the right time.” Tears burned her eyes. She blinked. No way would she cry in front of Malbec. Not right now, anyway.
“That’s fair.” He shifted, turning completely in her direction. He lifted both his legs and sat cross-legged. “I wish I remembered your father and grandfather’s visit.”
“It was about twenty years ago.”
“I would have been eighteen. I guess it’s possible I could have already gone off to college, though I didn’t go very far.”
“You went to Cornell University.”
“You did your homework.” He smiled. It was a kind smile. One that invited people to get to know him. And yet, he didn’t do it very often, at least that she could tell. “Where did you go?”
“University of California.”
“That’s a solid education,” he said.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re beating around the bush and avoiding what you really want to discuss?”
“Because I am,” he admitted. He snagged a few crackers and pieces of cheese and chewed slowly, staring at the ceiling. “I like you. And for the few days I’ve known you, I’ve enjoyed working with you and getting to know you better. But I’m not happy with the way things seem to be playing out.”
“What things?” Her heart hammered in her chest. She didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out what this conversation was likely leading up to, but she wasn’t about to bring up the topic of the contract and the deal his mother had offered—not until the contract was signed. Weezer had said they’d meet in the morning.
That meant that Malbec would have to deal with being put off for a night.
“Who came up with the terms of your employment contract?”
&n
bsp; She coughed and gagged. Setting the glass on the table and pounded her chest. “You need to speak with your mom about that.”
“I already did. Now I’m talking to you, and I want some honest answers.” He scooted closer.
“What did your mother say?”
“We’re not playing that game,” Malbec said. “All you need to know is that I saw the contract.”
“Then there is nothing to discuss. You know the deal. All that is left to do is for me to sign it.”
“Oh, no. That’s not happening.” He shook his head. “Though what I don’t understand is why the hell my mom would give you a percentage of my family’s winery.” He pressed his finger over her lips when she opened her mouth. “I have no problem with what she offered when it comes to your label. Hell, I might be inclined to be more generous over time if the label proves to be financially worth it. But to take ownership away from my siblings? From my niece? That’s fucking nuts. Please make me understand why she’d do that. Are you some long-lost relative and I should be ashamed for mentally undressing you and kissing you?”
She pushed his hand away and covered her mouth as she stifled a laugh. She shouldn’t find any of that statement funny, but she did. “No,” she said. “We are not related, though I’d rather you not picture me without my clothes on. That’s really creepy.”
“I find you insanely attractive, and I’m drawn to you, which is why this is so damn hard. I’m frustrated and angry, but I’m sitting here, next to you, and I want to forget all the reasons I’m so mad at you and take you into my arms and do more than imagine what you look like without fabric covering your skin.”
“It’s best if you stay on your side of the sofa.”
He chuckled, but it was cut short. He set his glass on the table. “Who came up with the terms of the contract?”
“We both did,” she admitted. She wanted to lie to him or avoid the truth, but his vulnerability struck a chord in her heart. It shouldn’t, but it did. Besides, she was as drawn to him as he said he was to her.
She suspected that was a recipe for disaster.