Page 141 of Let It Breathe
“Whatever,” Axl said, giving Reese a knowing look before waving a dismissive hand. “That’s not important right now. The important thing is that I’ve got your money.”
“My money?” Reese said. She felt Clay grab her hand, and the comforting squeeze reminded her this wasn’t some bizarre dream.
“Shit, girl—your money for the construction,” Axl barked. “I told you I’d come through. You know those ’shrooms I’ve been growing?”
Reese closed her eyes. “Axl, I really appreciate everything you’re trying to do, but illegal drugs are not the way to fund?—”
“Shut up. Who said anything about illegal drugs? I said ’shrooms.”
“Oregon black truffles, to be more precise.” The man with the necktie stepped forward. Seeming to realize he’d barged into something more intimate than a normal business deal, he flushed bright crimson and began to stammer. “I’m, uh—well, I’m the owner of eighteen different fine-dining establishments around the Pacific Northwest. You might’ve heard of Gerlake?”
“Holy shit.” Reese had only dreamed of dining at Portland’s only Michelin star restaurant. “The place with the waiting list that’s like two years long?”
“Yes, well.” The man cleared his throat. “That’s our best-known establishment, but I own many others. I’m sorry, where are my manners?” He offered his hand. “Tony Gavin, chef and restauranteur.”
“Reese Clark,” she said automatically, reaching for his hand. “Vineyard manager who doesn’t generally hold meetings in her pajamas.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “Your family assured me now would be a good time to talk.”
“It’s fine. Go ahead,” she said. “My family has a warped sense of what ‘good time’ means.”
“It’s one of our finest qualities,” Axl said, grinning like he’d just figured out how to hot-wire a BMW.
Tony regarded him awkwardly for a moment, then turned back to Reese. “Your grandfather discovered what we suspect is the largest crop of Oregon black truffles ever found in this state, and he found them right here on your property.”
“The east woods,” Axl added. “The ones Dick’s been jonesing for all these years. Aren’t you glad I didn’t sell?”
Tony cleared his throat. “Not only did he discover a highly sustainable, preexisting crop, he and his, um—crew have been working on a cultivation system of adding lime to the soil to raise the pH and alter the soil chemistry while inoculating trees and?—”
“This is what you’ve been doing?” Reese asked Axl. “When you said you were growing ’shrooms, I thought?—”
“Magic mushrooms?” Axl grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got those, too.”
Reese watched Tony Gavin pretend not to hear that. “Right,” he continued. “As you may know, Oregon black truffles can sell for more than eight hundred dollars a pound. Given the superior quality of truffles found on your property, I’d like to contract with you to be the exclusive truffle provider for all of our restaurants.”
“Fuck yeah,” Axl said.
June placed a hand on her father’s arm. “Tell her the other part, Dad.”
“Right. You know my old place, right?”
“Right,” Reese said, her head still spinning.
“We’re converting it into a joint joint.”
“A what?”
Reese’s dad cleared his throat. “I believe the correct term is ‘bud and breakfast.’ With recreational marijuana legal in Oregon, pot tourism has become a huge draw for this whole region.”
“Wait, you mean all those permits were legit?” Reese blinked. “Axl was doing everything legally?”
“Maybe not everything—” he began.
“But the things that matter—the paperwork,” June said. “That’s all legal.”
“Believe me,” Jed said. “No one’s more surprised than we are.”
Larissa bounced cheerfully beside her on the sofa. “So we’re saving the vineyard with weed and magic mushrooms. Isn’t it great?”
