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“You told him how to get there?” Archer sounds slightly less perturbed, but it still annoys me. I don’t like being questioned, especially by Archer, who thinks he knows more than everyone in the room just because he’s the eldest.
“No, I blindfolded him, spun him around, and wished him luck.”
For the life of me, I don’t understand why he’s so bent out of shape about me doing his friend a favor. He should be thanking me, but once again, I’m just the little sister. Here to make mistakes and be reprimanded by my brother, who thinks he knows better.
“Just…don’t pull any of your usual shit with him,” Archer warns.
“You’re such a jerk,” I mutter. It’s barely worth correcting him and reminding him that I haven’t “pulled my usual shit” in years. I know he remembers the times when I practically threw myself at Beatrix’s friends—Jackson’s too. And Dashiell’s, if I’m being honest—but I was just a boy-crazy teenager trying to get some attention and mostly failing. At least with my siblings’ friends.
I probably didn’t do myself any favors by making it public knowledge when I did get a date or two, despite their insistence that I was too young. Their attitude only fueled me.
Archer took a stern tone with me when I was a college freshman, warning me about the reputation I’d get if I kept hooking up with guys indiscriminately. He tried to put the fear of God into me, but he didn’t seem to realize that I was just having fun.
There was an endpoint in my mind, and by my sophomore year at Berkeley, I’d settled in with a heavy academic load and a steady boyfriend.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t undo the way my brothers saw me. Even though Dash hooks up on the regular, I’m still the one they point to as a ballsy boy chaser. Seriously, it’s time for a new song. It would be nice if they saw me differently, but I don’t have high hopes.
“I’ll make sure we get someone from housekeeping to clean up the cottage so he won’t be in your hair later. You won’t see him for the rest of the time he’s here, I promise.”
“He’s pretty easy on the eyes. Don’t know if I’d agree to that,” my sister, Beatrix, says, sweeping into the room with a paper cup of coffee balanced on top of a folder.
We’re sitting in the industrial kitchen that functions as an employee lunchroom and catering area where our team preps snacks for people on wine-tasting tours. A large walk-in fridge sits in contrast to a knotty wood table and chairs that give the space a rustic appeal.
My siblings and I meet here once a week to make sure we’re all on the same page about the winery business, so the staff sets up trays of sandwiches and an urn of lemonade. Sometimes, it’s the only time each week that we’re all in the same place, even though we all live here.
“I’ll gladly agree to it,” I gripe, feeling oddly wistful at the idea. Not that I need some vacationing billionaire in my business, but Beatrix is right that he’s nice to look at. And I haven’t found a worthy chess opponent in ages.
Once Dashiell sweeps in looking like he just woke up, it’s a full house. I grab an eggplant parm panini and roll my chair up to the big table in the center of the room.
Beatrix and Archer are still talking about Colin and how little Archer cares that he’s the “hottest thing to hit Napa since last year’s drought.”
I can’t recall him ever being so protective of a friend before, but then again, Colin is not your average friend. He’s one of the world’s wealthiest men and a visionary. He’s famously private, and given the public thirst for information about the wealthy, it surprises me how successfully he’s stayed out of the spotlight. It makes me think twice about the advice I gave him last night.
I still stand by my opinion that he should get out in front of whatever gossip will unroll, but I’m impressed by the spin control his publicist has managed so far. He’s practically a ghost, other than what the company has stated publicly, and that’s no easy feat.
“Okay, let’s get rolling,” Jackson says, passing out a sheaf of papers to each of us. He has a computer connected to a monitor at one end of the table, and I roll my eyes when I see him pulling up a PowerPoint presentation.
“Really, Jax? Do we need a slideshow?”
“Really, PJ?” he mocks in a high voice. “Do we need an eye roll? You’re worse than Fiona.” It doesn’t offend me to be compared to his seven-year-old daughter because she’s more awesome than all my siblings combined.
Everyone grumbles their own feelings about the slides. “Just get to the point, Jax. How bad is it?”
He warned us a month ago that our dad had lost a lot of the company’s money, and in his confused mental state, he hasn’t been able to explain a lot of it. That’s sent Jackson and Archer down a series of blind hairpin turns as they’ve tried to figure out where the money went and why.
“The slides are just so you don’t have to read through all the numbers,” Jackson says, pointing at the piles of pages he’s distributed.
“Oh, in that case, bring it on,” Dash says, never one to take much of an interest in numbers. Good thing he handles the hiring and firing at the winery because he’s a people person.
We spend a half hour going through scenarios in which we can keep the business afloat for another quarter, namely by bringing in an investor or extending our bank loans even longer. In both cases, we lose control to an outsider, especially if we don’t come up with the funds to repay everyone.
“Isn’t it possible that Dad invested in another winery? Maybe he didn’t just piss away the money. Maybe he has something to show for it.” Dash says.
“Sure. Has he mentioned it to you? Told you what winery we own?” Jackson’s tone is as dry as toast. Dash’s shoulders go up and he looks ready for a fistfight.
Archer waves a hand, silencing them. “I’ve been trying to get a meeting with Duck Feather since he specifically mentioned Hayden Lanes. No one’s returning my calls, so I’m tempted to just show up there, if anyone feels like a field trip…”
“I’ll go.”
