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The smile on his face was almost enough to make her not regret it. “But not in a business sense?”
She blew out a sigh. “No.”
“Can I tell you a story?”
She gave him a puzzled look, wondering where he was going with this.
“It’s about my grandad. When I was a kid, he owned a winery, right here in Napa.”
“He did? What was it called?”
“Dawson Dale Winery.”
“Oh, wow. I’ve heard of it. There are a bunch of articles about Dawson Dale wines. They were amazing.”
Grant nodded sadly. “They were. However, my grandad was not an amazing businessman. He came here to follow his dream. He wanted to make great wines, and he had a soft heart. Not unlike someone else I know.”
Chelsea smiled.
“He made great wines. He took care of his staff—while he could. What he couldn’t do was make it last. He lost the place. Went bankrupt, watched his dream turn to ashes. I’d hate to think that could happen to you.”
She wanted to be angry, wanted to tell him she wasn’t stupid, that she wouldn’t go bankrupt, but she didn’t want to imply that his grandfather had been stupid. “I don’t either,” she said eventually. “But I’ll always have so many people breathing down my neck—my dad, Cameron—that I don’t think I could go under if I deliberately set out to.”
Grant blew out a sigh and turned back to the window. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought it up.”
“No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad you did. Is that why you’re the way you are?”
He turned back around, looking puzzled. “What way am I?”
She smiled. “So uptight. So concerned about the bottom line.” She hesitated. “So unadventurous.”
He laughed. “You think I’m unadventurous?”
Her cheeks flushed. She certainly wouldn’t have accused him of that last weekend! “No, I …”
He smiled through pursed lips. “Even if we just stick to business, I’m not unadventurous. I just prefer to be realistic. I’d love to own a winery, make great wines.” He smiled at her. “I’d even love to hire a staff to help me run the place and to take great care of them, but I need to know the long-term feasibility first. I need to know the bottom line so that I can stay above it and hopefully improve on it. I suppose the answer to your question is yes; it’s because my grandad failed that I think the way I do. That I chose the career I did. Most people see me as the axeman. I see myself as a master gardener. I come into a company and prune off deadwood, in order to ensure growth. I don’t mind getting rid of the deadwood, be it in operations or staff, in order to ensure the overall long-term health of a company. My grandad took better care of his employees than he did of himself. I know you don’t see the attraction in making money just for yourself, but you have to. It’s like they say on an airplane, ‘Make sure you put your own oxygen mask on first before you try to help anyone else.’”
Chelsea nodded. “I can see the sense in that.”
“Sure, but can you translate it and apply it to your business?”
“I think so.”
He gave her a hard stare. “Do you really?”
“What are you getting at?” She could tell he was leading up to something, she just didn’t know what.
“I’m getting at the quarterly bonuses you pay everyone.”
“Oh.” She pressed her lips together. That had been a bone of contention between her and her dad ever since she’d set it up. “They earn it.”
Grant folded his arms across his chest. “I agree. You have a great staff. They work hard, they’re dedicated, they’re exceptionally loyal—though whether that’s to you or to your generosity …”
Chelsea put her hands on her hips. “Don’t think you’re going to upset me. I’m not stupid. I don’t think they work so hard just because they love me. They do it for the bonus. It’s an incentive and a reward which they earn.”
Grant nodded. “It’s crazy, is what it is. Don’t get me wrong, an incentive program, a bonus, can be a great motivator, but the way you’re running it? That’s what’s crazy.”
She stared at him angrily. How dare he call her crazy?
