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Four heads turn to look at me because I never volunteer for such things. But I know that if I want my siblings to take me seriously, I need to show them my capabilities.
“It will give me a chance to gather some intel because we may have another issue on our hands. I’m not worried yet, but I think we need to stay ahead of it.”
The room goes silent, and all eyes turn toward me. I have a flashback to my childhood when we’d all sit at the dinner table fighting for our parents’ attention. The biggest laughs went to whoever could tell stories the loudest, and Archer and Jackson, with their booming older brother voices, always won that contest.
Beatrix was quieter like me, but being the middle child, she was our dad’s favorite. If someone who only loved work iscapable of having a favorite kid. Beatrix had some health issues when she was younger, which meant she had to miss school sometimes. Our dad always took her to work with him on those days instead of leaving her at home with one of our several nannies.
If anything qualified as favoritism, it was bringing one of us to the vaunted vineyards for the day. He held it out like a prize, and Beatrix won more than the rest of us.
That left Dash and me, and being the youngest boy and a bit of a rascal, Dashiell had no problem getting attention, even if most of it was negative. He skipped school, broke curfew, ate all the Halloween candy, and developed a playboy reputation by the end of middle school.
If I wanted anyone to hear me above all the noise, I had to be the loudest or the most daring. I opted for both. I shouted for whatever I needed and resorted to jokes and bold outfits if the volume didn’t attract enough attention.
All these years later, a lot of those behaviors have fallen away, but my siblings still see what they see.
“Stay ahead of what?” Jackson asks.
I tell them about the call from Trevor Stagwood. “If word is starting to get out about our financial issues, we need to know who’s talking, who’s listening, and who has money to spend. And something tells me it’s connected to Duck Feather and Dad and everything else. I want to be proactive, so I’m not chasing rumors around and putting out fires.”
It’s probably the most I’ve said at a family meeting outside of discussing social media opportunities. My siblings look at me, then at each other, then back at me.
I’m sure they’re all thinking that I can’t possibly know what I’m talking about. They probably don’t trust me to take the lead, but that’s too damn bad. “This all affects my ability to handle PR for the winery, so I want to be part of it.”
Jackson flips a chair around and straddles the seat. Archer leans against the table and sips his lemonade. They don’t seem overly concerned.
“And what if you poke at a pile of sand and find an anthill?” Archer asks, arms crossed.
“Better that we know about it rather than letting it sneak up on us. What if we have a leak here at the winery? What if our financial problems get worse? What if we have to sell the family business?” I ask the questions I haven’t wanted to consider, but we need to look at all angles when there’s even more we’re trying to keep under wraps. A lot of money is at stake.
Four pairs of eyes stare back at me as though they’d prefer I answer the question myself.
“I guess some of us are taking a field trip to Duck Feather and not leaving until we talk to the owner. I’m in.” All eyes turn to Dashiell, who hasn’t moved from his spot at the table. In fact, he’s helped himself to a second tuna sandwich like he just might stay a while.
“Okay, then. Dash and I are taking a field trip to Duck Feather,” I say, trying the thought on for size. I’m not sure how I feel about it. And judging from the ambivalent expressions on my siblings’ faces, they’re not sure either.
Chapter
Eight
Colin
After spending an entire day outside, I’ve come to two conclusions—the world contains a lot of beautiful places, and I don’t spend nearly enough time away from my office to enjoy any of them.
The thought strikes me as particularly profound as I descend the last set of switchbacks of Buttercup Hill, the second hike I’ve taken today. It shouldn’t take a scandal of my own making to get me out of the lab and into the fresh air, but apparently, it does.
All the fresh air I’ve been breathing has given me clarity on how to tackle my image problem when I get back, and I’ve already penned a few versions of contrite apologies in my head. The issues seem smaller now. More manageable.
I’m also considering what PJ said and wondering if I need two weeks away. I could apologize now and get back to working on the upcoming spacecraft launch.
“Oh good, you’re back?” The words would be friendly if not for their tone and the scowl on PJ’s face telling me she isn’t glad to see me as I park Archer’s car next to hers.
Her scowl should be yet another reason to leave, but it has the opposite effect on me. She’s the prettiest woman I think I’ve ever seen, even if that mouth and her attitude should make me dislike her. She’s downright rude. But call me a glutton for punishment because I only want to get an even bigger rise out of her. I want to see how far she’ll go to be the last one standing.
“Yes. I am.”
“You look…relaxed.” Despite the tone of annoyance, PJ’s voice hits me like honey pouring over a stack of perfect pancakes, and it surprises me how much I like hearing it.
I want to take PJ at face value, but something about the way she hesitated before saying the word “relaxed” makes me think she was fighting back a different word.
