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“I forgot about you and that guy,” Cameron said.
“His name is David.”
“My brother had it out forDavidbefore you went out with him. But after, wowzah.” Cameron stroked Lara’s hair.
“What’s with you and the sheriff, anyway?” Gabriel asked.
I leaned forward because I wanted all the details on this tidbit of Elmer gossip right from the source.
Lara’s groan almost masked the ringing of my phone. I pulled it from my jeans pocket to check the caller ID. A 707 area code showed on the screen. That was Napa Valley, oh shit. I slid off the bar stool and bolted out the doors onto the side porch. The Texas summer heat felt like walking into an oven. Sweat pooled under my armpits as I clicked the accept button. Somehow, I knew this was the call I’d been dreaming of.
“This is Rebecca Wilson,” I answered in my most professional voice.
“This is Ernest Rossi. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
I almost dropped the phone. E. Rossi Company was the behemoth of the wine industry, an umbrella of brands selling wines from around the world at almost every grocery, liquor, and wine store in the USA and beyond.
“Mr. Rossi, lovely to speak with you.” Biggest understatement of the day.
“My staff has brought you to my attention. Excellent work down in Texas. It’s a daunting task to open a new tasting room and with so much fanfare. It impressed the people on my marketing team.”
“Thank you. Things are going exceedingly well.” I sobered up fast.
“We are always interested in building our marketing arsenal, and you appear to be a formidable weapon. Would you entertain an opportunity?”
Thump-thump shit! My heart was beating out of my chest. Would I? Umm.
“Professional growth is always appealing to me.” I winced at the awkward phrase. Way to sound like a weirdo. I rolled my eyes at myself.
“I do like to be found appealing.” Rossi’s laugh was off-putting, tinny and quick, like a condescending uncle or a sleazy lawyer on a bad TV show.
“Of course, don’t we all?” I had to unclench my jaw and force a light friendliness into my tone. This man ruled the wine business. If I made a poor impression, he could destroy me.
“Touche, my dear. One of my staff will be in touch. I simply wanted to… break the ice before their call.”
“Of course.”
“Hopefully, things will go well, and we will meet in person sooner rather than later. Ciao.”
“Thank you for the call.” I hit the end button and gripped my cell phone so hard it cut into my palm.
I leaned into the whitewashed clapboard wall of the dancehall. A trickle of stress sweat oozed down my back. And I waited expectantly for a tidal wave of triumph to overtake me. When the surge came, it was more like a drought-choked stream rather than the torrent I’d expected.
My boots scraped over the wood planks as I stumbled blindly back inside, making a beeline for my half-full wine glass. I gulped it down and held out my empty glass. “More.”
Lara and Gabriel tripped over each other to refill me despite the more efficient work triangle Lara had set up. Gabriel did the honors, and I chugged half my fresh glass.
“Bad news?” Cameron asked cautiously.
“Confusing. That was”—I paused for dramatic effect, and to have another fortifying sip of the wine—“Ernest Rossi, and I think he offered me a job.”
“That man is Satan.” Gabriel deadpanned in the blandest, most generic American English I’d heard since moving to Texas.
I held up a finger. “Point of order before we address that accusation and my phone call. What the hell happened to your accent?”
“Moi accent?” He looked around, blinking rapidly and pulling a face. It was very French and very flustered, but I know what I heard.
“That’s not the first time I’ve noticed your accent… fluctuate.” Cameron pointed at Gabriel with her wineglass.
