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I stumble over my words, confused. “Bored? You don’t need to worry about that. There’s so much here to keep me interested, believe me. Please don’t count me out because you’re worried about what I might do.”
Dashiell raises an eyebrow at that and picks up his phone and scrolls. When he finds what he’s searching for, he taps the screen and shows it to me. It’s a picture of the room we’re standing in, only it’s filled with dozens of people. He flips through to other screens, all showing people enjoying themselves in different parts of the winery estate, but it’s chaos.
I’ve looked through the website from top to bottom, and all the photos there are well-lit perfect images showing the right number of people smiling and sipping wine in the tasting room, walking through the vineyards, happily exploring the kitchen garden behind one of the restaurants. But these are Dashiell’s personal photos, all showing messy scenes.
“This is what no one will tell you until you take the job. It’s madness. We’re incredibly busy, and the company mandate is always ‘the more the merrier,’ so it’s only going to get busier through the summer and once we roll out our new vintage. People have been waiting.”
“I know. I’m waiting, too.”
He nods. “Right. You’re invested.”
“I am. And I applied for the job because I want to do it, not because I want it to lead to something better. I mean, of course, I do want that… someday…when I’ve earned your trust…”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “I get it. You don’t have to butter me up. Take the job. Start on Monday. Jemma will show you the ropes. She works for my sister, Beatrix. You’ll meet her too, kind of a dynamo, kind of a Type A nightmare.” He looks around the room, hefts a large coffee table book from a corner of the bar, and hands it to me. “Some weekend reading to get you in the mood before your first day of training.”
“So…that’s it?” I spent more time arguing with Jackson earlier about my qualifications, and he wasn’t even my interviewer. I feel like I must be missing something.
“That’s it. You’re hired.” He starts walking me back to the reception area. “Your training will include a tour of everything, but if you read through this book, you’ll know more than your tour guide. And I have a feeling you will.”
“Awesome. Thank you.” I feel like doing a little dance, but I restrain myself. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize my good fortune. But now I need to find Jackson because if I didn’t just sell my soul by agreeing to be a glorified bartender, I’m definitely going to do it being a babysitter for the world’s biggest grump.
But he has an awesome daughter, so I’m in.
ChapterEight
Jax
Fiona sits on my bed, eyes glued to the TV where Frozen plays for the eleventeenth time. I feel like a terrible parent for setting her up in front of a screen instead of taking her outside to practice on the roller skates my sister gave her for her birthday, but I need to work, and she’s set for at least an hour and a half.
I didn’t need to go through the front door of the farmhouse to walk to my office. There’s a perfectly good entrance in the back of the building that takes me on a shorter route, so I’m not sure why I took the long way.
It’s because you wanted to see Ruby again.
If that’s true, it’s a matter of good business practices. If there’s a chance I’ll end up hiring her to work with Fiona, I want to give her another once-over, make sure she shows up when she says she will, ensure that I wasn’t just overtired and addled when I agreed to her ridiculous proposal this morning.
Yeah. I’ve been thinking about her all day.
It’s the sassy, world-be-damned attitude she seems to have about everything. That’s refreshing. Most people who want something from our family or the Buttercup Hill business kowtow to me and tell me exactly what they think I want to hear.
Maybe Ruby doesn’t have much experience in corporate settings, or maybe she just doesn’t care. Either way, I’m interested.
The sun has dropped low enough that the oak trees do their job of cooling down the air beneath them. I walk down the front drive to where it forks and leads to a large overflow parking lot. It’s where the valets take the cars when the winery is teeming with guests, and just beyond it, there’s a covered garage where I have my SUV.
I’m itchy to walk over there, hop behind the wheel, gun the engine, and race the hell out of here. I’m staring wistfully in the direction of the lot, unable to see my ride, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“You lost?”
I know it’s Ruby before I turn, and not because I recognize her voice. It’s because the second her finger touches my skin—those tiny taps—my pulse quickens, and I hear the rush of blood in my ears. It makes no sense that I’d feel pinpricks of heat crawling over the back of my neck simply from her light touch.
And yet I do.
I hate that a woman could have this effect, and at the same time, my body craves more of it. So much more. Dating isn’t something I do. Ever. Where would I find the time, between working twelve-hour days, being a full-time single parent, and protecting her from the emotional fallout of my ex leaving us abruptly?
Women are nice to look at and flirt with, but that’s as far as it goes. So, what is it aboutthisparticular woman that makes me want something different?
I look over my shoulder to find her standing in that damn Wonder Woman pose she took earlier. And one look at the way her hair drapes over her shoulder in messy waves makes me turn the rest of the way around. It’s like her hair from this morning went through the spin cycle over the course of the day in the sweaty, hot sun. It’s just-fucked hair, and I like it.
For a moment, I imagine myself running my fingers through it to see if it burns my skin. That’s the way it looks—like flames. I can’t help but wonder how her hair got so messy. Maybe she has a fuck buddy in the area. Or maybe someone back at home.
