Page 12 of Mr. Aster
I needed this. I truly did. And I would admit that to no one but myself. I wanted to absorb it all because I knew the moment would pass and the darkness would wash over me again.
“Don’t tell me you’re up here planning to uproot all the vines and replant them,” Miss California interrupted my thoughts.
I glanced behind me and saw her standing there wearing leggings, a loose shirt, running shoes, and a skeptical expression. Not wanting to disrupt the peace of the moment, I chose to correct her instead of arguing.
“Fortunately, I see nothing wrong with how the vines are planted,” I offered a friendly smile, hoping for a momentary truce.
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then a smile touched her lips, showing a completely different expression than the ones I’d encountered from her the evening before. Her blue eyes were brilliant in their sky-blue color, and her natural beauty was on full display, unobstructed by make-up. Her smile lent such a beautiful quality to her that it would be my undoing if I weren’t so guarded and protected against it.
“This is new,” she said, confidently walking over to me while catching her breath from her morning run. “Finally, there is something about the winery you don’t think is dog shit.”
I couldn’t help but smile—a little—when she approached where I’d stood, walking with her hands on her hips. She was so sassy and cute that I fully welcomed the intrusion of my private, special moment.
“Well, I haven’t finished testing the soil, so there’s always that.” I sighed, glancing down and wondering what they used to keep everything growing so strong. From what I’d seen so far, the vines were superb. “You know you can’t get too excited. I’m sure something that needs to be changed will catch my attention.”
“Dear God,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Does it make you feel better inside or something?”
“Make me feel better?” I couldn’t help but enjoy that this woman didn’t cower to me being the world’s biggest asshole. Something about her being unaffected by my dominating presence was a turn-on. “I’m not sure I follow you.”
“What I mean is, does it make you feel better to shit on everyone beneath you? To constantly prove that the rest of us should be thankful you’re in our lives to fix everything we’re too stupid to figure out on our own.”
I inhaled, annoyed. “No, it does not make me feel better to insult people if that’s what you’re trying to say.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to say,” she answered. “You’re probably going to argue with Mother Nature for not getting the perfect sunrise for your morning run.”
“I think you’re being overly dramatic. My job is to find and fix the issues standing in the way of making this a successful winery. I apologize if finding faults in your family’s home and business hurts your feelings, but this place will never be up to par to bear my family name if I don’t insist on changes to make it the best in Napa Valley.”
“Wow,” she chuckled. “You are shameless in your arrogance, aren’t you?”
“I’m just truthful. If there is one thing you should know about me, it is that I will never sugarcoat things to cater to someone’s feelings. I’m a businessman, and I’m here on business. If you don’t want to be part of the brutal side of business, where you must learn it’s notpersonal,then perhaps you should reside somewhere else until I leave.”
Her eyes widened with her smile. I had no idea what she found humorous about what I’d just told her.
“So, not only are you insulting this entire place, but you want to kick me off the land, too?”
I couldn’t help but softly laugh at that. “I guess I am,” I said truthfully. “It seems this is very personal to you, and I suppose I understand that because your parents have decided to make their business personal by choosing to live where they work.”
“There’s nothing wrong with making business personal. That’s part of why my parents have been so successful.”
“Well, just as your family mingles the personal with business, so does mine. We take it very personally when our name is onanything, especially wine.”
“So,” she said, glancing over where the sun had risen just above the hills to her right, “if the Aster name is on this vineyard, what should I expect?”
“Exactly what you’re seeing take place. Nothing less than the best. People who visit Napa Valley and embark on wine-tasting adventures will feel like they’ve set foot in France and tasted my family’s wines from there.”
“That is impossible to replicate,” she challenged with a smile. “The soil and climate are worlds apart.”
“That’s where I come in. So, you will most likely feel insulted and get your feelings hurt again,” I teased.
Holy shit, I teased? I didn’t tease anyone. I didn’t play games and certainly didn’t find myself in conversations where I felt the need to explain myself to anyone.
Her eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head to the side, her loose ponytail falling over one shoulder. “You are a tough nut to crack,” she said. “One minute, you’re a wretched asshole, and the next, you’re trying to play games with me?”
“I assure you I am not playing games,” I said, making sure this did not cross the line into territory where I was being soft, nice, or, god forbid,flirtatious.“I trust you’ll only ever view me as a wretched asshole.”
“Nah,” her eyes seemed to stare through mine as if she were looking for the answers to something, “I have a feeling that you’ll come to our side long before we go along with that stiff-dick way of life you live.”
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t following her.
