Page 16 of Mr. Aster
“Very well,” I met his nasty mood with one of my own. “I won’t mention anything about her. But this was only brought up because you were informing me about how I should?—”
“I was out of line for that,” he said, stoic and completely done with this conversation. Totally shut down. Gone. Ready to bounce the hell out of this kitchen.
Maybe he really did need that espresso.
He stood up, and I wanted to say something, but I felt it was best to allow the man to retreat. This constant back-and-forth would land one of us on a plane out of California, and I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t be the one to go. This man was obviously not going to leave California until his job was done here, and I wasn’t trying to be some hero to charm the miserable fucker. So, I would gladly take off until he wrapped things up. I could go on assignment to Martha’s Vineyard or somewhere and do some write-ups on the innumerable socialites there.
All I knew was that the best place for me was to be out of this guy’s firing range. I wasn’t a fool. He wasn’t your average stuck-up prick…he was a very sad, grieving one. And it was evident that no one was helping him get through any of the stages. His wife had been gone for over a year, and usually, a man with his looks and status would’ve probably remarried by now. But not him.
He stood and looked over at me with a half-smile. “Thank you for the coffee,” was all he said before he walked away from the kitchen, his mind seemingly elsewhere as I heard him exhale deeply and run a hand through his hair.
I wanted to be irritated with him, but I could sense the man was broken. His parents probably didn’t know how to deal with him being lost like this—lost in the sense that he wasn’t sitting as the chairman of the Aster Family board and preparing to rule the world in his dad’s place when the day came.
Instead of knowing how or attempting to help him, I had a feeling they sent his ass out here to snap him out of the grief-stricken state he was in. And why wouldn’t they? Those families had nannies raising their kids, and once they were of age, they were shipped off to boarding school. They weren’t known for being hands-on parents.
My lips twisted as I began to feel torn. Part of me wished I could be there for him, but not in the way one might think. It was more of an instinct to help a wounded animal. Unfortunately, strange, wounded animals tended to bite you even when you weren’t the one who inflicted their pain, and I got the feeling the same would happen in this instance. However, being my mother’s daughter and all, I wouldn’t rest easy knowing someone was lost in grief. I was no grief counselor by any means, and I was under no delusion that I was a savior here, but perhaps a bit more kindness and a little less moodiness from me might go a long way in encouraging the same from him. I’d seen him this morning as he watched the sunrise in awe, and I knew there had to be some glimmer of kindness in there somewhere. If the remodel of every building on this property didn’t bring it out, maybe some of Mom’s spiritual yoga classes would.
Chapter Eight
Sebastian
Being pulled out of my comfort zone and onto the subject of my late wife was not what I had planned during my stay here, yet here I was, jolted by the memory of her pregnancy to accompany the nightmare I’d woken from this morning.
I worked hard to keep thoughts of Melissa at bay, and thinking about our daughter, Charlotte, only compounded my sadness. I had the urge to hold my little girl tightly, and I needed to shake those emotions off if I wanted to be effective here. I was content with the knowledge that Charlotte was being well taken care of by her nanny, and since she was so young, she probably didn’t even know I was gone.
If I were honest, I’d always had difficulty bonding with Charlotte. Melissa was the doting mother, and I was the father who worked hard and late. After the accident, I hadn’t exactly been hands-on either, and she was so young that I didn’t know what to do or how to be with her. It’s not that I didn’t loveor appreciate my daughter; it’s just that I’d been busy running the family business until my wife died, and then I thoroughly checked out after her burial.
Thinking about Charlotte and Melissa was the last thing I needed right now. I had to get these emotions shoved out of my mind immediately because I couldn’t risk falling apart in this hell hole.
I entered the winery’s tasting hall, instantly irritated by the reminder of how badly this place needed an overhaul, too.
“Good morning, Mr. Aster,” an attractive young woman greeted me from behind a podium.
The podium needs to be thrown out,I thought, eying the ridiculous thing in the middle of the room.
“Good morning,” I answered, assessing her unfortunate attire. “Could you please tell me where the sommelier is?”
“Yes, the host?” She looked confused.
“Sommelier, yes.”
“That would be me, sir,” she smiled, her cleavage more pronounced than her beaming expression. “I’m also the wine educator?—”
“I’m not quite surewine educatoris an appropriate title, given your uncertainty about what a sommelier is.”
I was being a dick, and I knew it, but I didn’t give a shit. The fact that she didn’t know if she was a sommelier or ahostwas inexcusable and proved to me she had no business in a winery that my family was associated with. Sommelier was a title of distinction, not to be confused with any other job description. This place was an embarrassment, and to have a woman dressed as if she were on her way out to a nightclub was beyond me.
“Forgive me, I knew—I mean, Iknow.I’m just a little nervous,” she exhaled shakily, her eyes darting around for someone else to take the heat off her but failing to find anyone.
“Understandable,” I answered flatly. “What is your name?”
“Stephanie Parsons,” she answered with a smile.
“Very well, Ms. Parsons?—”
“MissParsons,” she answered flirtatiously, which only pissed me off more. “I’m not married. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”
“Is that so?” I questioned.
