Page 51 of My Grape Crush
Tomas Sato. A bitter black cloud with a vendetta against nearly every winery in the Valley. But especially Nero Vino.It’s a feud that stretches back to the seventies, after Evelyn married his brother, Hugo. They had a falling out, and things got worse when Evelyn had the nerve to step into the business Tomas thought was no place for a woman.
Evelyn knew little about winemaking, but with entrepreneurial parents, she knew how to make money. She pushed Hugo to snap up property right, left and center, establishing one of the biggest landholdings in the Valley.
Land she still owns.
Land Tomas believes he should profit from.
“Maybe I should talk to him,” I suggest. “If he hears things from a different perspective, that might calm him down.”
“His problem is that he needs to get laid,” Evelyn says with her usual shameless flair. “Not enough women young or foolish enough in this town for his liking. But, yes, try to walk him off his soapbox. And please remind Gail of Nero Vino’s generous support. Without my funding, half of this town wouldn’t exist.”
“By the way,” I add, “Shania just bailed. Am I good to run with plan B?”
“Really?” Evelyn's brows lift in surprise. “You can’t rely on anyone these days. Except you, of course. Yes, please talk to Sawyer and Rhys about their backups. The purse strings are wide open. We need entertainment. Work your negotiating charms.”
The last thing I want to lay on Sawyer is charm. He purred goodbye to me last night with intention. Elbow on the console, leaning in. Shania on the bill meant less contact with him— a chance to avoid the trickyIt’s not you, it’s meconversation.
Or rather,It’s your brother.
Evelyn is halfway out the door when she stops and smiles at me over her shoulder.
“I’d say Rhys is turning out to be your savior. Be sure to let him know how grateful you are.”
Chapter Sixteen
RHYS
I am officiallyin hell with none of the perks, stranded alongside a near-catatonic Nicole, who will kick Francis in the ass sooner than I will if he continues at his glacial rate. These union film guys can’t function beyond airtight.
“I need to reset,” Francis mutters, to no one’s surprise.“Lost focus at the end. How was the sound take, Reets?”
“I can still hear the refrigerator,” she claims, thrusting her chin upward in diva disgust.
A shadow of misery touches Nicole’s features. Today is our Q and A about her winemaking process. She’s been good with delivery and keeping things light between takes, but the lack of takes has taken a toll. Francis has postured around all morning acting like a true titan of tech, but I could have captured a week’s worth of content in the time it took him to get set up.
And Rita? Don’t even get me started.
“Why don’t we break for lunch early?” I suggest. “Meet back here in an hour?”
“It’s only eleven,” Rita blithely states, as if I can’t read the giant clock above Nicole’s workstation. As if eating before noon carries the threat of her turning into a pumpkin.
“Right. So, we’ll see you at twelve.”
Nicole and I wait out the thick silence as Lucifer and his wife pack up. Once our dynamic duo has left the building, Nicole blows out an exasperated sigh that could send a sailboat to Fiji.
“Pardon me, but can I face a firing squad instead?”
“Having fun yet?” I joke back.
“I thought the law was painful. Those two are needles jammed into my skull.” She pushes out of her chair, heaving a sigh. “I have an extra egg salad sandwich. And we can sneak in some wine. Numb ourselves for the second act.”
“Sold,” I say.
Nicole fetches the grub from her cubbyhole kitchen and returns with a bottle of The Emperor and two glasses. It's that kind of day when the pour reaches the rim.
“Cheers,” she says, careful not to spill as we clink glasses. “Because you…” Her eyes soften, crinkling at the corners. “You’re okay.”
“Is that a compliment?” I ask, just to be sure. I knew from our inaugural first meeting, she considered me ick for whatever reason. But I felt her thaw on Tuesday. Have we reached full melt?
