Page 55 of Corkscrew You
“K.”
Cam fishes a piece of dried corn out of his pocket, because what else would he have in there? He holds it out for Dylan, who honks impatiently, and Cam heads off like a giant tousle-haired Pied Piper, a greedy goose flapping after him.
For a moment, I have a pang of concern about this new regime. The fluid, organic systems Nate has issue with have worked pretty well for us for years. This winery has always run on give and take. OK, sure, we weren’t making enough money, but we could have lost way more if people hadn’t been so willing to help. They did so because they knew we’d do what we could for them in return.
I hope Nate’s need for order and certainty doesn’t crush that spirit. We’ll still need a solid amount of goodwill to see us through this coming season, at least.
But that can wait. Time now to find out if one Mitchell Durant is in Martinburg hospital,andif I can be cunning enough to get the staff to spill what’s wrong with him.
Maybe I should enlist Chiara? She’s way better at subterfuge than I am.
I text her:Want 2 tell sum lies 4 me?
Im ur woman, she texts right back.Tell me what u need.
ChapterTwenty
NATE
Iam the luckiest guy in the world.
Also the most relieved and amazed.
In fact, my luck is so unbelievable that my natural pessimism is forced to kick in. Luck this good must be a mirage, surely? I must have imagined that conversation with Shelby. Or when I heard her say she was willing to wait, she was actually telling me to fuck right off.
Sometimes, my brain is a serious scumbag.
I use a tactic that usually works when my brain’s being a dick – crunch some numbers. Numbers are solid, reliable, and consistent. Numbers are the same every time. They don’t mess with your mind by changing around.
However, theycanmess with your mind if they paint a financial picture that’s darker than Ava’s old bedroom paint scheme. Now that I’ve got the accounts and banking online, including the shoebox of receipts and the pile of invoices, I can get a real idea of where Flora Valley Wines stands.
And after a solid ninety minutes of spread-sheeting, I can safely say that Flora Valley Wines is standing on the financial equivalent of a frayed tightrope strung across the Grand Canyon with the knots unravelling at each end.
Shit. It’s worse than I thought. More worryingly, it’s worse than JP thought. He knew the last set of accounts showed the winery was barely solvent, but those were for thelastfinancial year, and we’re already well down the track of this one. I’m surprised JP didn’t push Shelby for an up-to-date balance sheet. My feeling is he was so taken by her, and such a fan of her father, that he let his normal caution slide.
He hadmeby then, too. Being Dad’s old friend, not to mention Ava’s godfather, he’d kept tabs on all us Durant kids. He knew what I’d done with the winery in France before I contacted him looking for work, and for JP that must have seemed like serendipity. Saw me as the perfect guy for the perfect investment. I could make a joke about rosé-tinted glasses, but right now, I feel very far from laughter.
And there we have it. In only ninety minutes, I’ve gone from the luckiest guy in the world to one facing a battle I’m not sure I can win. Anton’s winery in France just needed tweaking – improved logistics, and smarter sales and marketing. I persuaded him to shift to varietal marketing rather than the traditional labelling by regionalappellation. The French are big onterroir, the land where the grapes were grown, rather than the type of grapes themselves. They won’t even display the name of the grape on the bottle. But varietals are what international buyers want. It was a simple switch to make, but it launched us to a new level.
I can’t perform that same magic trick here. But I have to pullsomethingout of the hat. Shelby’s livelihood depends on it. Our relationship depends on it. No matter what happens with Dad, I haven’t a hope with Shelby if I let this winery fail.
Deep breath, Nate. Focus. Think smart and fast.
Two hours later, head aching from hitting brick walls, I’m forced to admit I have no option. The only way we can get through this season is if JP tips more money in. I have to call him. It’s Friday. Maybe he’ll be in a happy Friday mood.
It’s 4pm and I’m sitting in his office, feeling like Oliver Twist. Please, sir, may I have some more? Yes, sir, I know I outlined a sound five-year plan for Flora Valley Wines that you approved, but let’s just say we didn’t have all the data.
I could also point out that he should have done more than a cursory due diligence to start with. But I’m aware that people are more likely to be generous and open-minded if youdon’taccuse them of being negligent.
“Nate, how are you?” He gives me an affectionate two-handed shake.
JP really does fit the description “silver fox”. He and Dad have known each other since high school when they both competed in track, like I did. The two men are still lean as they were back then, but where Dad looks all wind-burned and outdoorsy, JP is sleek and well-groomed. Dad subscribes toGear Patrolmagazine, and JP toEsquire.
Personality-wise, they’re pretty similar. But where Dad’s hard-driving approach is out there for everyone to see, JP leavens his with an affable charm. People meeting him for the first time can be fooled into thinking he’s a pleasant pushover. They wonder how on earth he got the reputation for being a hard-ass. Then they find out. And once the scars have healed, they never makethatmistake again.
I have never underestimated JP. That’s why, right now, I amchier dans mon froc, the French equivalent of crapping my pants. But there’s too much at stake here to be a pussy. I have to make a case for more investment, and I have to make it watertight.
“Thanks for meeting me at short notice,” I say.
