Page 19 of Mr. Aster
No wonder there were no improvements to be seen at this estate. William Burke was too busy donating fifty percent of his wines to charity withno return, which might’ve been a great tax write-offifthere was any income to tax on this place. The rest of the money was walking out the door because of the lack of professionalism and sales tactics.
When I got to the pit of the company and saw there were only a few chains of grocery stores that Mr. Burke had negotiated with to stock Burke Wines, I realized this place needed a massive overhaul and relaunch if my father and James Mitchell wanted to see a penny of profits come out of it.
When I was done here, I would surely be the villain in everyone’s story. I would need to arrange a meeting with my father and James Mitchell to bring in a marketing team on board because, from what I’d seen so far, no one here would cut it.
I left the wine-tasting room well after dinner, and thank God because I was in no mood to see or speak to anyone. I wasn’t hungry, but Iwasin dire need of my favorite tequila, and doing that on an empty stomach wasn’t ideal, even though getting drunk didn’t sound half bad.
I walked into the kitchen where the booze was and saw the chef, Antonio, cleaning up after dinner.
“Señor Aster, I did not see you at dinner. I cooked albondigas soup, if you would like some. There are also homemade tortillas, and Ines made empanadas?—”
“Thank you, Antonio, but I think I will just have a drink by the pool. Perhaps a sandwich later,” I said nicely, truly appreciating his professionalism. “It’s a bit late to eat anything too heavy.”
Soup is too heavy, huh? Why don’t you try to sound like more of an old lady, Seb?I smiled, trying to move past my stupid comment.
Antonio nodded and returned my smile. “Understandable. I’ll pour your tequila the way you like it.”
“I appreciate that. You are an excellent chef, by the way,” I said while he grabbed a glass to pour my drink. “I didn’t get the opportunity to give you my compliments last night.”
“Gracias,” he said, more excited than when I entered. “They’re family recipes that date back to the ancestors,” he softly laughed.
I took the glass he offered. “Well, your ancestors knew what they were doing,” I finished with a grin, then spun on my heel and made a beeline for the pool.
I glanced at my watch and saw that it was ten thirty in the evening and most likely too late for this family to intrude upon me in my dire need of solitude. The last thing my nerves could handle was William Burke giving me a rundown on what he learned at another winery today.
After I’d found a lounge chair to sit in, the pool’s soft lighting illuminating the area with a soft ambient glow, I reclined and crossed one leg over the other, glancing up at a million stars in the dark sky and sipping on my drink as if it were medicine.
As I took my first sip, the liquid comfortably warming my throat as it slid down, I heard a splash, prompting me to sit up and nearly spill my damn drink all over myself.
“Oh, God,” I heard Darcy say, running her hands over her wet hair, smoothing it back.
“We must be connected,” I answered, “because I was about to say the same thing. Tell me, which of the gods do you think will help you?”
“If I need help with you,” she said, swimming to the side of the pool as if I was in the mood to have a poolside conversation with her, “I’m pretty sure Hades would be the one.”
“Hades?” I questioned with confusion.
“Yeah, you know the Greek god of hell?”
I narrowed my eyes at her, casually sat back, and continued to sip my drink, “And what makes you believe that I wouldknowthe Greek god of hell? Why not Zeus?”
I saw her eyes roll as she crossed her arms and leaned up on the ledge, “For starters, Zeus is a good guy. Hades is pretty much the devil, and from the way you’ve torn through this place since you arrived, I would think you and he were best friends.”
“You think Zeus is a good guy, huh? You might want to talk to Prometheus about that,” I said, laying my head back and looking up at the star-filled sky. “Unfortunately, Greek Mythology and the devil are both things I don’t have?—”
“Enough about the gods, okay? You seriously sent the entire winery staff on afield tripto other wineries so they could learn how to act?” she interrupted me with a disgusted tone.
“Field trip?” I said with the same argumentative tone.
“Yeah, you ran all of them out of there like toddlers. Why?”
“Because it was apparent none of them had ever been to a winery—this one included. I can’t even call this a legitimate winery.”
“Oh?”
If I wasn’t so irritated by her questioning me, I might’ve thought her challenging expression was charming.
“Not at all. As a matter of fact, when I met Miss Parsons?—”
