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“Do you remember any of the songs?” Lara asked, opening yet another bottle of wine.
“Are you going to keep the accent? The town will lose its mind when they learn you were faking.” Cameron wasn’t wrong, the gossip here was next level.
Gaston, or Gabe from Anaheim, poured himself another glass from the newly opened bottle of Coyote Ridge and sucked it down like water. I made a mental note to send the people at the other vineyard a thank you gift, maybe some steaks. The wine was good even if we were chugging it like college kids.
“Maybe I’ll switch to Texan?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Howdy, pretty ladies, y’all doing alright this evening?” he drawled…it was awful. We immediately pelted him with peanuts, wine corks, and wadded-up napkins.
“The way I see it, you have two choices… switch and say nothing. Let rumors go wild. Or come clean and tell everyone you faked it because you heard Texans dislike Californians morethan the French.” Lara filled her own glass as she dispensed advice.
“Lie and say you took an online class to get rid of your accent?” I tossed out.
“Or the truth?” Cameron winced. “I mean, it’s not like Atley will cover for you if you come up with a lie.”
“She’s right.” I sighed, “He’s a bit of a stickler. Wilson, too.”
Gabe groaned. “Think they will fire me?”
I held my tongue. If anyone had a problem with a lie like this, it would be my brother. On a bad day, I could see Wilson consulting his attorney over the matter.
“I’ll talk to Wilson.” Cameron smiled a sympathetic smile at Gabe, then turned to me.
“What? My influence with Atley has been wildly overstated. At present, it is actually zero. Besides, he’d rather you come clean to his face. Own your mistake. My intervention would not help at all.”
“Sure, I get that.” Gabe rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous hand. “Think we have anything stronger than wine around here?” He started rummaging through the back bar.
“Back to Rae and the potential job offer… interested?” Lara refocused the group’s attention on me.
I squirmed, wishing that Gabe would find that something stronger ASAP. That saying: be careful what you wish for; you might just get it. It popped into the forefront of my mind. Like a big dose of the truth.
“Considering what Gabe has just told us, I’m going with a big fat no. The adulteration of the high-end wines aside, their business model sounds a lot like my old job, and I swore I was done with selling people stuff like TP and paper towels. It’s soulless. Somehow, E. Rossi has stripped all the romance out of wine and made it no better than marketing paper plates.”
“Nailed it,” Gabe sang out, sounding like a Californian dude straight outta the valley. He held a bottle of local whiskey up in triumph. He pointed at me with the bottle, and I nodded yes.
“Make it a double.”
“Ice?” Gabe held up a glass and waited for my answer.
“Neat.”
“Nice.” He poured two healthy glasses, one for me and one for him.
I took a sip of the whiskey, the burn doing lovely things to the ball of tension lodged in my chest.
“If not a job at E. Rossi, then what would you want? Like dream Napa job?” Cameron asked, using her super sympathetic mom voice. With the amount I’d drunk today and how long it had been since anyone, other than my mom, tried to mother me, I didn’t hesitate to spill my guts.
“Dream job…hmm. I loved the soft open and can’t wait for The Stomp, so I want to do events. At first they scared me, but I like how goal-oriented they make me. I could take or leave the day-to-day social media management, but I’m kicking ass on the paid online ads, so I’d keep doing that. Maybe a little more business stuff like staffing and budgets. I really want the opportunity to learn more about the wine-making process. Work a little with Gabe or someone like him. I’m fascinated by the process.”
“And what about growing the grapes?” she asked.
I swirled the amber liquid in my glass and considered my answer.
“Me, a farmer…” I shrugged. “It’s part of the process and I might enjoy learning more. I don’t know about tending vines or harvesting. I’ve looked at the gigantic machine they use to pick the grapes. It’s a bit terrifying, not in my wheelhouse at all.”
“And who is your boss?”
I don’t know what face I made, but they all three pointed and laughed.
“What?”
