Page 47 of A Vintage of Regret
“Emery Tate,” Bryson said, planting a hand on the porch rail. “That isn’t okay, Dad. I don’t care if she grew up in Stone Bridge. The scandal that blew up her career in wine auctions and fine vintages should be enough reason to shut the door before she even steps through it.”
Walter’s expression didn’t shift much. “It’s an interview. People make mistakes. You know I believe in second chances. And there’s no reason you can’t be at the interview, asking questions.”
Bryson shook his head, clearly not convinced, but Walter stood, clapped his son on the shoulder, and said to Riley, “We’ll talk later.”
Then he disappeared inside, leaving her with the distinct impression there was more to that conversation than she understood.
Bryson dropped into the chair Walter had vacated, muttering something under his breath before glancing at her. “I can’t believe the nerve of my brother. And my father is too kind.”
“I’m clueless,” she said, curiosity flickering to life. “Who’s Emery Tate?”
“You don’t remember her?”
“Name’s familiar… wait. Did she graduate with Devon and Grant?”
“She did, and she was nice enough back then. Built a brilliant career,” Bryson said. “I’ll admit, she’s smart. Damn smart. But she blew it all up. No one will even look at her resume. And the last few weeks, Devon’s been slipping out of meetings, taking private calls when he should be dealing with winery business. I thought it was some girl he’s been secretly dating because he’s always been weird about that. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s slept with Emery. She’s so his type.”
“Wow. This really has your panties in a twist.”
“Yeah. It does. My brother sometimes lets his love life interfere with business.” Bryson sighed. “Devon’s my best friend. Always has been, despite being three years older. But sometimes, he thinks with the wrong head.”
She burst out laughing. “That’s really mature.”
“More mature than my brother, right now.” He sighed. “Sorry. I just don’t believe that hiring someone with that kind of baggage is a good look for us. We’ve had some issues with Winston Callaway lately.”
“As in Callaway wines?”
Bryson leaned back and folded his arms. “Our biggest competitor in the space we’re in. Just little things, but it’s enough to get my hackles up.”
“I’m sorry you’re having to deal with that. But like your dad said, it’s all just a conversation right now.”
Bryson shot her a weary look.
She shrugged.
“So, what were you and my dad discussing?” he asked.
“The embezzlement. What it means and what it doesn’t, and where my mind keeps going.”
Bryson nodded slowly. “I spoke to Sandy a bit ago. They’re gonna take another look at everything.”
She let out a breath. “I feel like I’m keeping secrets from Grant and Erin, and considering we’re all sort of getting along for the first time in years, keeping secrets sucks.”
“Sometimes, it’s not keeping something from someone,” Bryson said. “It’s holding it long enough to make sure you’re telling the right truth.”
“You sound like your father.”
Bryson chuckled. “He’s not the worst person to emulate.”
The morning light spilling over the vines and the distant hum of the town waking up in the background.
“Speaking of the truth,” Bryson said, setting his mug down, “Monica’s been texting me. Like nonstop.”
Riley groaned. “Of course she has. What does she want now?”
“In one text, she actually asked what time she could expect to be picked up and told me the color of her dress so we couldmatch.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I damn near told her to fuck off but thought better of it.”
“You don’t swear all that often.”
