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Amara Delatou was, simply put, a spoiled brat who had been content to coast on her good looks and family money for the last five years. And now she was being handed the reins to the oldest and most successful winery in the state of Michigan on a silver platter.
The official vote would take place the following morning, though considering Leon Delatou, Amara’s father, held the majority share in the company, it was basically a done deal. The vote, at this point, was a simple formality. And the fact that the board was comprised entirely of Amara’s immediate family meant, even if Leon hadn’t agreed with the plan, his four other daughters and wife could combine to overrule him.
I had set up this meeting with him and his wife, Lena, in a last ditch effort to convince them to see reason. But even before I walked into the room, I knew it was a lost cause. What tipped me off was Leon asking to meet in his private office instead of the conference room. This wasn’t level playing field; this was home field advantage…for him.
Then again, this entire place was his home field advantage.
Chateau Delatou, the winery nestled in Apple Blossom Bay on Michigan’s Old Mission Peninsula, was founded in 1911 by Leon’s grandfather. Since then, it had passed through three generations, always going to the eldest son. Unfortunately, Leon didn’t have sons. No, Lena had given him five daughters. The eldest, Chloe, had been groomed from her preteen years to take over this company and continue the legacy. But a few months ago, with the help of her lawyer boyfriend—now husband—Chloe had found a way to break the bonds that shackled her to this company. She’d never wanted to run it, but Amara had. As the next oldest, she was up to bat when Chloe stepped down.
It was a fucking mess, and I needed to put an end to it before Leon and Lena ran their company into the ground.
I knocked on the door, a gruff “come in” greeting me. After a fortifying deep breath, I stepped into the office.
It was well appointed, decorated in chrome, glass, creams and navy blues, with a full wall of sturdy light oak shelves displaying award-winning wines, plaques, photos of the Delatou family throughout the generations, including a heartwarming number featuring Leon’s daughters.
Or, they would be heartwarming if I wasn’t here to convince this man to give one of them the axe.
To my right sat his desk with those shelves behind it, and to my left was a conversational grouping consisting of a couch, two chairs, and a bar cart stocked with an array of glasses and bottles, centered around a coffee table. Leon and Lena Delatou sat side by side on the couch, his arm tossed casually across the back, toying with a lock of his wife’s shoulder-length brunette hair—the same shade as each of her five daughters but streaked with silver. She was a beautiful woman who had given birth to a basketball team’s worth of beautiful women.
And beside her, her husband was as strikingly handsome as she was drop dead gorgeous. Their daughters had inherited an amalgam of their features, including an array of his green eyes and her strange golden ones, the dark hair, sharp but almost regal bone structure, her curves and his height. They were a beautiful family, and I stuck out around here like a sore thumb.
With my red hair—so dark it was very nearly brown—forest green eyes, and paler, freckled skin, my Scottish heritage was completely at odds with these olive-toned Greeks. Normally, I didn’t mind it, but today the contrast was stark and intimidating.
I walked toward them, extending my hand for Leon and bending to press a chaste kiss to Lena’s cheek before turning and dropping my ass onto one of the arm chairs across from them.
“Thank you for seeing me,” I said, the words coming out rough around the dryness of my throat.
“We agreed to hear you out,” Lena said. “That’s all this is: a courtesy.”
I nodded and swallowed hard before launching right into it.
“I don’t think Amara is ready for this kind of responsibility,” I stated plainly. If I’d learned anything about these two in my time here, it was that they didn’t mince words, and they didn’t appreciate beating around the bush. Cutting to the chase was my best bet.
“And what makes you think you’re qualified to comment on what Amara is ready for?” Leon asked, those emerald eyes locked on mine, never wavering, never blinking. That unyielding focus was unsettling. I thought I’d grown used to it over the last five years, but there was nothing in the world that mattered more to Leon and Lena than their daughters—including this company—and I was pointing a loaded gun right at Amara’s head.
“I’ve been here for nearly five years,” I reminded him. “And in that time, I’ve had the unique opportunity of being on the fringes of your family while you operated this business and raised those girls.”
“Those girls,” Lena said, her tone edged in displeasure at my choice of words, “are adults. They are responsible for their own actions.”
“Thank you for making my point,” I said. “From the time she was twelve, Chloe was in these offices, working side by side with you guys to learn the ins and outs of this business, to prepare her for taking it over one day. She’s proven to be nothing but dependable, steadfast, and stolid when it comes to business matters. The only time I have ever seen her get emotional about anything was when she finally told you she wasn’t interested in running the company. And you saw that passion too, which is why you’re allowing her to give up her legacy. Amara, however, was not afforded that same education, and she has spent the five years since I started here doing nothing more than partying, showing up here when she felt like it, and generally thumbing her nose at everything this company—and your family—stands for.”
“There’s far more to Amara than meets the eye,” Leon said. “There are things about Amara and her role in this company that you’ve not been privy to.”
“So enlighten me,” I snapped.
“Watch your tone, young man,” Lena said, eyes blazing. “I’ll remind you that while your work for us has been exemplary, you are replaceable. Our daughters are not.”
Inhaling deeply, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and shoving a hand through my hair. This was not going how I’d planned…and I’d known it wouldn’t. Still, I firmly believed I would be doing them a disservice if I didn’t make my reservations of Amara’s appointment known.
Eventually, when the silence in the room became too oppressive, I lifted my head and looked Leon and Lena dead in the eyes in turn.
“I think you’re making a mistake.”
I’d managed to save myself from such a mistake, to extricate myself from an entanglement with Amara before things had gone too far. And that had only been where sex was concerned. This was a whole fucking company, one Leon’s grandfather had founded after immigrating to the States from Veria, a city in central Macedonia, in the early 1900s. This was his legacy and, in my eyes, Leon was spitting on it.
“Then that is our cross to bear,” Lena said. She rose from her seat, and I knew before she even spoke her next words that this meeting was over. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
I stood before Leon fully got to his feet, not wanting to be towered over by these two, not wanting to feel smaller than I already did. This time, there were no chaste kisses or handshakes as the Delatou parents herded me from the room.
