Page 102 of Mad Rivals
“None of it matters, Madden.” She reaches around me and hugs me from behind, and then her hand moves to rest on my chest. “I’ve gotten to know who you are in here, and that’s all that matters to me.”
I set my hand over hers as I feel a bit of the anxiety that I didn’t realize I was carrying for the last two days melt away.
She’s here. Despite everything, she’s not going anywhere.
And, for now, anyway, that’s all I need.
CHAPTER 43: Kennedy Van Buren
Luxury, Grandeur, and Sustainability
I’ve spent every second of my working hours—plus overtime—this week on this bid, and I’m nervous as I get ready on Thursday morning. I haven’t said a word to Madden about it because despite how close we are, when it comes to business, he’s still the competition.
I wouldn’t expect him to say anything to me about it, though in my research, I discovered that there’s a player on his team associated with this particular vineyard. Apparently the teammate married into it, which is why I worked even harder to keep it quiet. If he knew about it, he’d have a better shot at winning the bid because of his connections, but Ineedthis project.
For one thing, wine is in my heart. Aside from that, I have a particular passion for winning this project for VBC. It’s my ticket to credibility, to proving to not just my father but to the entire company exactly what I’m capable of. That my father didn’t choose me because of nepotism but because of my strengths…even if nepotism is still the biggest reason that landed me here.
Let’s face it. I’ve worked part-time for this company for the last ten or fifteen years, yet I’m in line to take it over. That’s nepotism at its core, which is why it’s even more important to prove myself. I can’t let my life spin out of control again the way I did when I was clamoring for independence. This time, what I want is right within my reach. I just have to get my ass out there and win this fucking bid.
I’m charging myself up this morning, obviously. I stayed at Madden’s, but I left early to go to my own place to get ready for this meeting. It’s taking place at the winery itself at ten, so I need to get a move on and get out there. It’s over an hour to Temecula from my place in San Clemente, only slightly longer than from Madden’s place in Carlsbad, but I needed to pump myself up at home without him staring at me wondering what I’m getting pumped up for.
He said he had a busy day at the office, too, so we kissed goodbye, and I headed home.
I recite my speech to myself over and over as I make the drive, and I’m as prepared as I can possibly be as I pull into the parking lot of the vineyard. We’re meeting in the tasting room, and the signs on this gorgeous property point me right toward it.
I feel a rush of excitement as I get out of the car and start walking toward the door. This could bemy project. I could be expanding this beautiful land in the sunshine into an entirely new space complete with luxury tourism amenities, and the ideas I’ve put together are absolute perfection for my own demographic, which is the exact target demographic of this place.
The focus is on luxury accommodations, of course, with an on-site resort offering unparalleled vineyard views, but I also put a big focus on the tourism aspect, offering wellness, dining, and shopping experiences along with the sort of ambiance a woman in her thirties might turn into Instagram-worthy photographs to share this place with the world on social media.
I draw in a deep breath. This is it. This is within my grasp. I deserve this. I am going to win this.
I tell myself that over and over, praying that the power of my mindset is enough to actually attract this win.
I head into the tasting room with a confident bounce in my step, and I find a woman with her head bent close to an older man’s as they look at something on a tablet behind the counter. They both glance up when I walk in.
“You must be Kennedy,” the woman says, and she walks out from behind the counter toward me, extending a hand for me to shake. “I’m Grace Nash, the owner of Newman Vineyards, and this is Theodore Monroe, my uncle, who is currently running production here at Newman.”
“Kennedy Van Buren,” I say as I shake her hand. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”
“And you. We have two other developers who are submitting bids, so we’ll get started in just a few minutes once they arrive. In the meantime, how about a taste?” she asks.
I grin. “How could I possibly say no to that?”
She smiles back. “What’s your preference?”
“White and not too sweet.”
She nods and tips a bottle over a glass, and I can’t help but think that this job really isn’t half bad. Before she hands it over and I get to drink while I’m on the job, the door opens. The beam of light from behind the open door blocks my view of whoever’s walking through it, and Grace pushes the glass across the counter to me as she greets the person at the door.
“You must be Jason,” Grace says, and she walks around the counter toward the man who just walked in. “Grace Nash, owner of Newman.”
“Jason Cartwright of Cal-Wright Construction,” he says. “A pleasure.”
I’ve heard of Cal-Wright. It’s some combo of their last name and California, and what I know about them is that they’re incredibly pretentious. I hardly know Grace, but she seems so sweet, and I just don’t see Cal-Wright as a good fit.
“Come on in,” Grace says, shaking his hand. “We’re just waiting for one more, and then we can get started.”
The door opens again, and the light creates another silhouette around the person walking in.
