Page 39 of My Grape Crush
“Nope.” Sawyer fishes a business card from his blazer, handing it to Dani like it's the key to heaven. “And next time you’re in the city, give me a call. I’ll return the favor and give you a tour of our offices.”
Dani studies the embossed cardstock. I glance down at the simple black-on-white and feel this formless pressure on my brain. Sawyer Trenton, CEO. He drives a luxury rocket ship. Has an investment portfolio and actually knows what’s inside of it. Instead of draining money from Nero Vino like I am, he can pump up their bottom line. The sky suddenly feels very big and very bright, and I feel like the younger brother again, smaller and needing to prove myself.
“They’re like any other office,” I say. “Not what I’d call appointment-viewing.”
“And how would you know?” Sawyer scoffs. “You’ve never set foot inside them.”
Dani side-eyes me with a quizzical expression. Any chance Sawyer gets, he treats me like I’m a cold sore on date night. Our clashes stem from what Mom used to call ourunique dispositions,if that means fighting in the yard over nothing, hating each other irrationally, and arguing just because.
But our verbal sparring hits pause as we round a massive Ponderosa pine. My initial impression of the winery felt small; I barely saw past the tasting room and my villa (blame Dani for stealing my focus). But this morning, Nicole gave me the grand tour: a tank farm packed with gleaming silver tanks holding future vintages, the bottling line, her so-called “wizard lab,” and a warehouse stacked with a cool million in inventory.
And now this.
The pathway peters out onto the ridge of a grassy knoll terraced into steps that funnel down to a stage framed by a killer view of the lake.
“Wow,” I say. “Pretty sweet venue for a concert.”
Sawyer lowers his sunglasses. His gaze sweeps across the vista, and I can practically hear the cash register tallying ticket sales in his head. “What’s the capacity?”
“Six hundred,” Dani replies. “Tickets run from twenty to thirty bucks.”
“So a band might clear four or five grand.” Sawyer, the numbers guy, knows the math inside out.
“Is this where Shania plays for Divine Debauchery?” I ask.
Dani nods. “Evelyn transforms this place into a majestic Roman ruin. From the photos I’ve seen, it looks incredible.”
“What’s Divine Debauchery?” Sawyer asks. “And are you talking Shania Twain?”
“It’s a private party held on Labor Day weekend. And, yes,” Dani adds, “that Shania.”
“You have her booked?” Sawyer looks impressed, and that happens once a century. At one point, Trenton Talent Management tried to woo her into the fold with no luck. Even magical Peter had a few busts here and there.
“Maybe,” Dani hedges. “We’re still in negotiation.”
“That’s cutting it close.”
She blows out a breath. “Tell me about it.”
Sawyer and I fill in the blanks at the same time.
“If you need help…” he offers, while I say, “I know all the top DJs.”
Dani tilts her head at the proposals flying in from either side. “Let me ask Evelyn. It’s been a delicate situation so far.”
“Negotiation is my strong suit,” Sawyer adds, which feels like a dig at me and to reaffirm (to himself) he doesn’t take shit from anybody anymore. I’m not a betting man, but I guarantee the Istanbul incident from our childhood still haunts him. Our dad went ballistic on Sawyer, shaming him publicly for not bargaining harder with the huckster selling trinkets in the bazaar. Sawyer, fifteen, had just stood there, on the verge of tears, while I mentally egged him on—don’t let him railroad you. Stick up for yourself.
But he didn’t.
He stood down.
Later, in the steam room, he admitted to me that it felt wrong to grind the shoeless vendor for a few cents when we were living it up in the lap of luxury at the Four Seasons hotel.
Something about that argument changed Sawyer. He became even more rigid and dispassionate. If he wasn’t dragged into the business and pursued engineering like he wanted to, I wonder if he’d be less of a prick.
Firstborns bear the responsibility of family legacy in a specific way.
“IfShania books,” Sawyer continues, always with another play, “do you need an opening act?”
