Page 55 of My Grape Crush
“Miss Rialto,” she says, nixing the friendlyDanishe started with, “I hoped you would be a team player. Evelyn has operated as a lone wolf for too long. She can only push her luck so far."
I clasp my hands together on my lap. Words cannot express how little I am enjoying this exchange.After Constable Davidson poked around yesterday, searching for invisible reasons to flag Rhys as an issue, I’m about done with locals sticking their noses into our affairs.
But there is no upshot to letting my frustration get the better of me.
Anger isn’t smart.
Still, that doesn’t make a witch hunt right. Vilifying Evelyn is just plain lame.
“Evelyn contributes over two hundred thousand dollars a year to the community,” I say, primed with the numbers. “She offers the locals free entrance to the amphitheater so they can enjoy the entertainment. When other wineries are desperate for more hands, she gladly shares her seasonal workers, no questions asked or hands out for compensation.”
Her coral-stained lips purse as if she sucked on a lemon. I half-expect her to drop mention of a kickback—would not put it past her pantsuit.
“Some might call that buying votes,” she finally says.
“And some might call it giving back.”
Gail studies me, rifling through the options: Friend? Foe? Another pain in the ass?
“Look,” I say, pleasantly agreeable now that I’ve got her cornered and squirming. “You and I both know the wheels need to keep turning. The wildfires hit all the wineries hard, and last year’s freak winter weather didn’t help. A boost in tourism benefits everyone.”
Gail opens her mouth to interrupt, but I silence her with a raised hand. “I understand your concerns. His fans are being invasive—calling hotels and prowling the campgrounds. But from my experience managing spin, this dies down when there’s no fuel. So we will do our best to keep his exposure in the community to a minimum. But he’s here to promote the winery. Unless someone coughs up a million dollars for him to leave, it’s business as usual.”
She glares at me like I’m a defective cog in her wheel. No one is bringing ten times her annual salary to the table to send Rhys packing.
And we both know it.
Underneath the milky skin of her throat, a spidery blue vein pulses her discontent.“I’ll speak with the hotels and businesses, sand down their concerns, and mention this could all die sooner rather than later. However,”she adds in her sternest you-won-this round-but-the-fight-is-still-on voice, “if anything involving Rhys brings shame to this town, Evelyn better be prepared to face the consequences.”
Disaster magnet is the term that keeps running through my mind. Gail, that is. She’d mistaken me for a pushover, and my pushing back rattled her. Granted, small sitcom troubles are the extent of her domain. A few drunken yahoos. Kids with contraband fireworks. The odd misdemeanor.
A rowdy battalion disrupting her idyllic Osoyoos summer?
Not on her watch.
So, her threat against Evelyn wasn't idle. Bureaucrats love wielding their limited power, and triggering Gail’s wrath is too easy in the dog days of summer. Deadly wildfires have been a serious threat in the past decade, torching vineyards, homes, and, most devastatingly, hopes and dreams. This summer has been quiet, but with the hottest August on record, the Valley is a bone-dry tinderbox, one spark away from catastrophe.
But that doesn't give Gail a free pass to be a snarky bitch.
Back in the office, I’m scrolling through a dense wall of emails when one stops me cold, freezing the blood in my veins.
From: [email protected]
Subject line: Did you create those labels on my time???
My shoulders slump with defeat, and for a long minute, I stare at his accusation. His pettiness knows no bounds. Brett is in a league of his own, a completely different species. Not a homo sapiens, more like a homo schmuck. Prince fuck face. I force myself to open the email, my stomach shrinking in on itself while I skim his latest attempt to tear me down.
Lawyer. Breach of Non-Compete. Sue.
Disbelief spills out of me in a sharp exhale. In a sea of negative words, those appear triple-sized. And more menacing because of it.
I know what’s happened.
The only thing he and I still have in common is a love of wine. He subscribes toWine Spectatorand follows several wine bloggers. TheVancouver Sunwine critic wrote a glowing feature on Nero Vino, and Evelyn insisted he show my labels in the article.
It was published three days ago.
Something breaks inside of me. A single tear escapes, and I swipe angrily at it. Yes, Brett ticks every douche cliché box on the list, but I will not give him the satisfaction. Screw him and his antics.
