Page 43 of Blue Hawaiian
He strode toward the tables. And stopped short.
All the men present—his father, his uncle, his brother, and his cousins—were formally dressed. All the women wore dresses and heels. Victoria had set him up.
No surprise given their long history of pranking each other. But now he couldn’t decide whether to keep walking or retreat to his room and change.
Victoria waved him over to her table. She pointed to an empty chair next to hers. “Don’t you look cute? Only two days here and you’re dressing like a local.”
Rather than respond with irritation, he laughed. “You win this time. But payback’s a bitch.”
She tossed her hair. “As if you could ever fool me. I’m not as gullible as you are.”
Though he’d never admit it to his devious younger sister, he’d rather spend the evening in a comfortable shirt than a confining button-down and a tie. Yet another reason he hated the office culture at Blackwood Cellars.
He sat in the spot Victoria had saved for him, pleased to see Jess seated in the chair to his right. In just half an hour, she’d cleaned up nicely, wearing a shimmery black dress that gave him a perfect view of her cleavage. He pressed his thigh against hers under the table and suppressed a grin of satisfaction when she shivered in response.
Bottles of Blackwood Reserve Cabernet and Chardonnay had already been set out for the guests. One of the waiters in attendance zipped over and filled Connor’s glass. Though he hadn’t planned on drinking, a little wine might help him relax.
As he glanced around the table, his mom’s absence caught him off guard. Even if she usually lacked the courage to stand up for him, her presence sometimes served as a buffer between him and his domineering father. “Where’s Mom?”
“Your mother decided to sit this one out,” his father said. “She had a little too much sun today.”
Connor’s throat tightened. When he caught Victoria’s eye, she gave a rueful shake of her head. Chances were good their mom had soothed her anxiety with too many post-golf cocktails and wasn’t up to socializing.
The protracted silence was almost painful, until Victoria spoke up. She leaned over Connor to address Jess. “How’s Chicago? Are you loving it there? Or are you homesick for Southern California?”
“A little of both,” Jess said. “Chicago has great museums and shopping, but the weather takes some getting used to. I barely survived the winter.”
“You think you’ll stay out there?”
Jess hesitated, then took a long sip of wine. “Ah…no plans to leave just yet. But ask me again when the wind chill drops below zero.”
Connor lifted his glass to salute her. “I think it’s admirable you’re trying life in a new city. Sometimes you have to take big risks, especially if you have big dreams.”
There. He’d said it.
His father scowled at him. “Nothing wrong with a calculated risk, as long as it’s well thought out. But people who chase their dreams without a backup plan? I’d call those people fools.”
Did that mean his father placed him in the “fool” category? Wouldn’t be the first time. Before Connor could respond, waiters came to their table and set down their salads—an unusual mix of field greens, toasted almonds, papaya, and mango. Baskets of bread appeared on the table, along with three different types of olive oil.
His father leaned forward. “Speaking of fools, I got your proposal, son.”
Connor took a huge gulp of wine. Now he wished he had something stronger. “And?”
“Who do you think you are, turning your back on Blackwood Cellars? You’re going to take everything you’ve learned—everything I’ve taught you—and compete against me?”
The words rankled him, considering how little his father had actually taught him. Everything Connor had learned about wine had come from his summer jobs at the Blackwood Cellars Estate, where he’d been lucky to work under people like the winemakers, vineyard foremen, and cellar supervisors, who were willing to answer his questions. He’d loved those jobs, and he’d been good at them. His career at Blackwood Cellars had only turned sour after he’d been stuck in the corporate office with Darren.
Jess stroked his leg. Was this her way of cautioning him against losing his cool? He appreciated the reminder. Yelling at his father wouldn’t help his cause.
“I’d hardly call my venture competition,” he said. “Blackwood holds ten percent of the global wine market. They’re the fourth-largest producer in the U.S. Nothing I do will affect your sales.”
His father reached across the table and took a piece of bread. “Every independent winery in the Temecula Valley affects our sales. We own half the vineyards and contract with dozens more. I don’t need some upstart winery poaching from those vineyards and taking any of my market share.”
“We won’t be poaching. Our winery has its own vineyards. And the other vineyards we plan to work with are small players that don’t have contracts with Blackwood.”
“I still feel like this is the worst form of treachery. My own son—betraying me.”
Why did his dad have to go all King Lear on him? In the scheme of things, this winery would be a drop in the barrel.
