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She sat down at her desk and pulled out a folder. She stared at the numbers, but they just made her head spin. She wished Grant was here. She knew she could just hand it to him and he would work his magic. She was going to have to find the money for the new bottling machine he’d suggested—somehow. The old one was about to give out, and if it did, she’d be in big trouble. A winery wouldn’t go far if it couldn’t bottle the wines! Grant’s suggestion had been to halve the bonus. That would cover the cost of the new machine, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
She checked her watch. She’d have to come up with something, and she’d have to get busy. She needed to get a whole bunch of things taken care of before she went to see her Dad and Smoke.
Her phone rang, and she jumped. “Hello?”
“Hi, Chelsea. It’s Dad. Is there any chance you can come over here now?”
“Now? I thought we were meeting at two.”
“That was the plan, but we’ve hit a few problems we’d like to go over with you before we sign.”
“What problems?”
“Why don’t you come on over, and we can talk about it.”
She sighed. “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She was caught somewhere between irritation and nervousness as she made the short drive to her parents’ house. What could the problem be? She didn’t know, but she did know the problems that were waiting for her back at Zosca. She’d half made up her mind that she’d buy the new bottling machine herself. It’d just be a way of her investing in her business. She knew that was a cop-out, and she didn’t plan to tell anyone that she was doing it, but it was about the only way she could think of to do it—she couldn’t cut the bonus, she just couldn’t.
She brought the car to an abrupt halt on the gravel in front of her parents’ house, then trotted up the stairs to the huge oak doorway. “Hello?” she called.
“In my office,” called her dad. “Come on through.”
She made her way down the hallway and let herself into his wood-paneled office. It’d always reminded her of a library. It was warm and inviting, if rather formal—just like her dad.
He was sitting in one of the big winged armchairs by the fire, and Smoke was sitting in the other. They both smiled when she came in.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“It’s not so much of a problem as something we want to run by you,” said her dad.
She eyed him suspiciously. “What?”
“Well, Smoke here is investing a lot of money in your success. I want to be sure that he knows what he’s getting himself into—and I’d like to mitigate the risk.”
Chelsea pursed her lips. This didn’t sound good. “What do you mean? I’m buying you out. You don’t get a say anymore.”
He smiled. “I understand that, but …”
Smoke smiled at her. “Don’t get mad, Chels. Hear him out first. I think it’s a good idea. You might even like it.”
“What?”
“Well. I know you want to go out on your own and run things your own way, but I also know that you don’t have the experience.”
Chelsea glowered at him. “No, and I’ll never get the experience if I can’t just get on and do it!”
He smiled, unruffled by her irritation. “I know. I’m not trying to take anything away from you. I’m trying to offer you some support.”
Chelsea waited, dreading whatever he was going to say. It wouldn’t be good, she knew it.
Smoke chuckled. “Don’t look like that. Let him finish.”
“I don’t want any support.”
“Not even if it looks like this?” Her dad gestured to the door and called, “Come on in.”
It swung open, and Chelsea gasped when she saw Grant standing there. “What do you mean?” She didn’t understand.
Grant smiled and came toward her. “I never wanted to leave Zosca.”
