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Archer pours himself a cup of coffee from the urn that keeps it hot for our employees all day long. “You mean, other than missing millions of dollars? God, I hope not.”
She turns to me pointedly. “PJ was asking Dad if he talked to anyone about selling. What do you know that I don’t? Are we selling to Duck Feather? Did you guys go there without telling us?” Now she’s including Dash in her accusatory glare.
I hope my return stare conveys the betrayal I feel for being called out. I hate that she doesn’t trust me. “We haven’t gone. We haven’t had time.” Feeling my cheeks redden at the thought of why I haven’t had time, I look at the floor and hope Beatrix doesn’t take this moment to out Colin and me.
“Let’s do it this week,” Dash proposes to me. I nod.
“And as to my questions, the Trevor thing has been bugging me, and I want us to be prepared since we’re hosting half of Napa at the restaurant tomorrow. We want to be prepared if more potential investors plan on ambushing us.”
Beatrix visibly relaxes, her shoulders dropping and her features settling into calm. “Oh. Okay. That’s a good point.”
“Sheesh, sis. We need to stick together here. I was planning on sending a memo to you all with talking points ahead of the event. I think we should use this as an opportunity to subtly feel out potential donors without them knowing that’s what we’re doing.” Emboldened by my conversation with Colin, I feel like I have a seat at the table. My ideas have merit.
“That’s not the worst idea,” Archer intones, arms crossed. From him, it’s like high praise. “We could use the event as an opportunity. Every conversation is a potential piece of information.”
Jackson nods. “The reality is we may need some investors to stay afloat, so we should take a close look at everyone from that perspective.”
“I hate to think we’ll need investors, but he’s right,” Archer says. “And I’ll do anything to keep this place out of the hands of Trevor Stagwood. That guy chaps my hide even when I don’t see him. I couldn’t handle having him anywhere near this place.”
“I’ll handle him.” I meet each pair of eyes at the table, looking for agreement. “Kill him with kindness and send him on his way.”
I get a few nods of agreement. A small show of faith. It’s all I need.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Colin
When I walk into the event at Butter and Rosemary, I can see that this is not a situation where I can kick back and relax. Too many people are snapping pictures with their phones, and a few news photographers make the rounds.
PJ was right—coming to this party could paint me in a bad light—hobnobbing with wine country elite while hiding from my mistakes. But I want to see her. More than that, I want to support her on an important night, and that makes me reckless.
I arrive with Archer, who guides me out to the restaurant’s patio, where several rows of wineglasses sit on a deep wood bar. Each section of glasses sits in front of a bottle of Buttercup Hill Reserve wine, either cabernet, chardonnay, or sauvignon blanc.
It’s darker out here, and there are fewer people. I feel a bit less exposed, but some guests seem to recognize me. I’ve gotten good at picking up on the signs. There’s a little point of a finger here. A little attempt to take a selfie with me in the background there.
Most of the time, I’m meeting with investors or scientists if I’m not in the lab, so even if I end up on someone’s social media feed, there aren’t any salacious details to report. Or even to speculate.
Here, I know it’s a different story. The optics aren’t great when I rub shoulders with wine makers and wealthy property owners who like to have a winery in their portfolio, along with a private jet and a ski house. Even if I’m not here to purchase a winery, there’s guilt by association.
AstroTech’s stock still hasn’t bounced back, so I shouldn’t do anything to stir the pot.
“You good?” Archer asks, handing me a glass of red wine.
“Thanks. Yeah, I’m good. Cheers.”
Archer holds his glass up for a toast. “Nice having you here these past couple weeks. Sorry I haven’t been able to spend more time with you. Winery’s kind of a shit show right now, and we’re trying to come up with a plan. Tonight’s kind of a low-key mingle to gauge interest from potential investors.”
“Oh, really?” I feign ignorance even though PJ filled me in. “How do you feel about going that route?”
“I don’t love it, but it might be worth trying to find the right pair of hands in order to keep the business out of the wrong ones.”
“Understood.”
“Yeah, you get it. Investors muck up the works sometimes, and they come with their own interests and requirements, but sometimes it’s necessary.”
“Exactly.”
