Page 138 of The Wrong Vintage
I talk. I decide. I function.
But my thoughts are never far from Alessia.
Renzo is all but ready to throttle me after a meeting where I was an officious asshole, his words, to staff whom I accused of being incompetent.
Spoiler alert, they weren’t.
“I have about three people on my team who are ready to quit because you’re being an asshole,” he throws at me.
I give him the finger.
He shakes his head and takes a seat across from me.
Mid-afternoon sunlight slants across my walnut desk, illuminating the speckles of dust floating above a half-drunk espresso. He thumbs through a thick folder, eyes flicking to me.
“She’s still not talking to you,” he says.
I don’t lift my gaze. I tap a pen against my planner. “She’s busy.”
Renzo exhales, a soft snort. “She was busy during harvest and you both were on the phone like fucking teenagers.”
I snap my laptop shut—with more force than the machine deserves. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Tell the truth,” he says, voice flat but sharp. “You fucked up.”
“I tried. She isn’t listening. She hates my ass and fucking hell, Renzo, I can’t sleep without her.”
Renzo bursts out laughing.
“What is so funny?” I ask, annoyed.
“You,” he says cheerfully. “It’s a damn pleasure to see you like this, and I’d enjoy it a whole hell of a lot more if you weren’t terrorizing the staff. Nico, you’ve got to get a hold of yourself,amico.”
“I lost her, Renzo.” I run a hand over my face. “I love her. How am I supposed to live without her?”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re both so fucking dramatic.”
“I didn’t stand up for her, and she can’t forgive that.” I lean back, hand falling across my face. “I thought I was protecting her.”
“You were protecting yourself.”
I give him a withering look. “Yeah, I know. Can you tell me somethingnew? Maybe something helpful for the love ofCristo?”
“My longest relationship lasted four weeks so, I’m not the?—”
“Speaking of relationships, what the fuck is going on between you and Toni?” I demand, and it feels damn good to turn the tables on him.
He freezes and that tells me more than anything he could say, which when he does is bullshit I can see through.
“I’m mentoring her.”
“Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
He gets up. “Don’t be fucking ludicrous. She’s a child.”
I cock an eyebrow, enjoying this a hell of a lot more than I should, but it’s nice to have someone else in the hot seat. “Thepersonyou were all over, calling hercara, my friend, is no child.”
He slams the palms of his hand on the table. “She’s your sister-in-law, you don’t talk about her like that.”
