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I was a cliché. Getting over one man by getting under another, wasn’t that what Tracie had said?
“Where do we go from here?” I asked the question because I truly wanted someone to tell me. How did I reconcile Atley the one-night stand with Atley the ranch manager?
I was out of my depth and on the rebound. Matthew and I had been together for ten years. We weren’t married; we hadn’t shared a bank account or had babies together. But after ten years, I was basically a recently divorced woman. Wasn’t I?
“That is an excellent question. Did you have a plan when you got on the plane in Chicago?” I loathed my brother’s arrogant businessman tone. It grated like nails on a chalkboard. That attitude was why I’d never accepted professional help from Wilson. Not once… until today.
So glad we were moving from the whole Atley thing to another uncomfortable topic—my future.
“I quit the agency. So, I thought, I would go freelance and help you.” I smiled my best I’m-your-big-sister-trust-me smile.
I didn’t mention I’d quit because my boss had demoted me when I refused to work on a campaign for a direct competitor of Bio-ID, Wilson’s company. Beauty brands weren’t even my area. I marketed consumer products like TP and paper towels and an occasional local major event in Chicago. If the confrontation with my boss had not happened the day after my breakup with Matthew, I may have reacted differently. But since I’d already descended into my midlife crisis, shit happened. Things were said that I couldn’t take back, and I quit.
“Bio-ID has an entire marketing department and two of the largest marketing firms in the country on retainer. You will need to relocate to LA. But I’m sure I can get you a position somewhere. You’re good at what you do.”
“Thank you for the compliment but—” I trailed off when he cocked his head and looked at me funny.
“Wait—why now? You’ve never taken a job from me before.” He pointed at me, and his expression reminded me of those Uncle Sam recruiting posters; the intensity made me squirm.
Poor Cameron held my bloody hand, waiting for me to sit still, her tweezers poised and ready. Her focus jumped from me to Wilson to the injury.
“I’m not talking about Bio-ID. I want to work for Blue Star Ranch, while I reimagine my career.”Reimagine my career. That was some damn fine marketing double speak.
“Doing what?”
“In the aftermath of my breakup and career suicide, I did a deep dive on all the ways people out here are monetizing properties like Blue Star.”
“Okay.” He leaned his butt on the double vanity, arms crossed over his chest in a pose that said impress me.
I took a deep breath and plunged into my plan, not daring to pause in case he tried to interrupt.
“There are so many avenues open to you: subscription meat and produce boxes, event venues, Airbnb campsites, eco-tourism, and wine tasting rooms. I want to help grow the winery… if you’ll let me. I’d love to break into that marketing niche, but I have no experience in food and beverage. I thought, or hoped, in exchange for my blood, sweat, and marketing tears, I’d get to live and work here. Well, not here in the main house, but Mom said you have a guest house. Only for a little while, like six months or a year. Until I have some experience and Blue Star’s brand is better established.”
Laying it all out was more painful and embarrassing than a Brazilian bikini wax. I was forty-five and begging my brother to help me change careers and give me a place to live. This, ladies and gentlemen, was how not to win at middle age.
“That is a lot to unpack.” He scrunched up his face, thinking about my proposition.
“Is that your California business jargon way of saying no?”
“No, it’s not.” Cami shot him a fierce look as she grabbed my hand firmly and plucked the shard of glass out. I gasped as the glass slid free and a fresh stream of blood flowed.
“Camer—” Wilson looked ready to correct her assumption.
“You bought this place to get closer to your family. Well, here’s family!” She waved a bottle of hydrogen peroxide at me. “And we’d already talked about a tasting room. Your assistant in California did the paperwork with the state for the license, got the insurance, and everything. But no one here has had a second to devote to it.”
“A tasting room, that would be incredible. And if you’ve already got the licenses and insurance, that cuts down on somuch red tape. Did you know that two point zero two million tourists visit Texas wineries every year?”
Wilson chuckled and nodded his head at me. He was giving in. Cameron had next-level influence over my brother—totally impressive.
“Cameron, have I told you about Rae’s love of collecting useless facts?”
“No.” She was busy blotting at the blood on my hand and missed his wry smile.
“Rae, how much wine do we produce annually in Texas?”
“Easy, about two million gallons. But that’s not a random fact. It was part of my research for the business plan I wrote for Blue Star Wines,” I answered.
“Alright, who brought wine grapes to Texas?”
