He snorts, and before he hangs up, he mumbles, “I’m sure you will.”
Whatever.
Such an asshole.
I toss my phone onto the counter and reach for the glass of wine, but it doesn’t help. The hostility and the rejection from earlier weaves its way back through my muscles and I hate that he made me think of my father. Granted not a day goes by that I don’t hear him whispering one of his many slurs in my ear, like I’ll never amount to anything and I’m useless just like my mother, but up there at the manor, today, it just felt like more.
Letting out a deep sigh, I take another gulp of the wine and swallow the insecurities that surfaced. I refuse to be weak. I refuse to allow him or anyone make me feel inconsequential. And I will continue to prove him, them wrong. I mean, why does Zach have to be so uncivil? Really, what is his problem?
My eyes drift to the French doors off the kitchen and land on a black crow, which is standing on the patio table. My breath catches as I take the bird in. The crow tilts its head to the side, staring right at me, and my stomach drops. A black crow is a bad omen.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it okay. He and I are like oil and water, but I can do this, I’ve dealt with someone like him before,” I say to the bird. It bobs its head a few times and flies off. I hope that I’m wrong about the bird and that because it left, it thinks I can do this, too.
Tomorrow will definitely be interesting.
One day down, thirteen to go!
Peach Pound Cake
Natural light fills the sunroom, which is the chosen room for the interview. It’s my favorite room in the manor, as it gives a sweeping one hundred and eighty degree view of the winery and hillside. The room isn’t overly large, but my mother made it cozy by filling it with it with three separate seating sections. Guests are allowed to relax and lounge as long as they want. This morning, two of the sections were removed and ours is set up in the middle.
When they first suggested this location, I figured why not. I love this room, but when Shelby walks in, I wish I chose the cellar instead. Down there, it’s dark, whereas here the light makes all her little detailed nuances stand out even more.
I hate it.
Today, she has on a little white dress that’s tight through the top, showing off her amazing full chest, and it flares at the waist, stopping right at her knees. She has on pearls, another pair of insanely hot shoes, and her lips are a dark red. At the event last fall, and again yesterday, her hair had been pulled back. But today, it falls in waves down her back, and I’m torn between wanting to drag her around by it and running my fingers through it.
Shelby carries an air about her that screams sophistication and poise. Her back is straight, her feet are crossed at the ankles and off to the side, and her hands are perfectly folded in her lap. With breeding comes training, and knowing that she’s fierce in the kitchen, I can see why Lexi is friends with her. They’re cut from the same cloth. They’re both true Southern girls. And that isn’t something you can become, it’s something you’re born. Only, this one lacks the heart of gold. Hers is empty, like her soul.
Shelby’s eyes flick to mine and narrow. She’s caught me staring, but she doesn’t back down.
That’s okay, sweetheart, keep it up. Eventually, I will break you.
“All right, let’s get started, shall we?” says Kelly, the reporter conducting our interview. She’s sitting to my left and Shelby is to my right. There’s a small lounge table in the middle of us, which holds a pitcher of sweet tea and some blueberry muffins. I love muffins. No scratch that . . . I love food.
“Yes, let’s.” Shelby smiles at Kelly, and my traitorous heart thuds in my chest. Holy shit, her face completely transforms when she smiles, making her even more gorgeous, and that’s just wrong on so many levels. I swear this chick reminds of one of those beautiful, but poisonous, flowers. So tempting, but one touch and a painful rash covers your body from head to toe. Both of them turn to look at me, and I have to clear my throat.
“Let’s do this.” I grit my teeth.
Kelly smiles at me, glances down at her list of questions, and then nods to the camera guy who will be recording this.
“Thank you for sitting down with me today, I appreciate you both making the time.” She smiles at me again, this time her eyes are heavy with interest, and she never even glances to Shelby. It should irritate me that she’s being rude, but it doesn’t. Instead, I find it humorous and typical. All women love to look at me—all women, that is, except the one sitting to my right. Not that I want her to, because I don’t. “This interview will not be printed with the feature article, but it will accompany it on Food Network’s All About the South website. All interviews, videos, still pictures, both bios, featured wines, et cetera, will be advertised to act as a link to entice our print readers to view us online, and to encourage our online readers to pick up the magazine. Sound good?”
Shelby smiles and I nod.
“Zach, it’s public knowledge that you bought the winery from your father last May. Your father was legendary in this part of the country for the delicious wines he produced over the years. How does it feel to step into shoes so big?”
I watch as Kelly’s eyes drop over my body and land briefly on my shoes. I know football, I know wine, and I know women. The look may have been subtle, but that’s twice now I’ve caught her. And I know what she’s wondering, big feet, big . . .
This interview started two minutes ago, and that’s all it took. It doesn’t even matter that she’s probably ten years older than I am or that she’s barking up the wrong tree. She’s still the perfect distraction from the she-devil sitting to my right. Besides, there isn’t anything I’d like more than to piss Shelby off. Let her see how nice I can be to everyone but her. In fact, excluding her from this interview would be fine with me. I give Kelly a knowing smirk.
“Feels great, and if you must know”—I lean a little closer to her—“my feet are actually bigger than his, so my shoes are . . . larger.” I nod at the reporter, and a nice shade of pink slides into her cheeks. From next to me, Shelby lets out a single laugh, and I turn to glare at her. “What?”
“That’s what you have to say about the winery and your father? Didn’t they coach you on how speak to the press when you played football? So humble you are about your business and your . . . shoes.” She looks at me as if she’s disgusted and shakes her head.
“You don’t know the first thing about my business.” I sneer at her.
“You’re right, I don’t, and neither do all the readers, but hey, kudos for having big feet.” She turns away from me and looks back to Kelly.
Damn it.
Heat spreads up my neck into my face. She’s right, and I hate it. More importantly, I hate that I’ve let her get under my skin. All it took was for her to walk into a room for my mind to switch from business mode to conquer and defeat mode. She’s throwing me off my game—a game I’m very good at—and I blame her. This assignment is immensely important for us, and that answer was out of character for me. Yeah, I do know women, but there’s a time and a place, and this is neither.
Shit.
When I drag my eyes back to Kelly, the confusion on her face matches those of others in the room. Her eyes bounce back and forth between Shelby and me. The tension between us is palpable, and just like that, the crew from the magazine knows we don’t get along. My heart sinks.
Behind Kelly, Kyle shifts. He looks furious as he mouths, What the hell? I don’t think I’ve ever seen his face this red, and even though his hands are shoved in his pockets, I know they are clenched into fists.
Damage control. Got it.
I look at the guy recording this and pin him with a severe look.
“Delete that.” I’m not even nice about it, and he flinches before he starts pressing buttons. Once he’s reset, he nods to Kelly and then me. Turning back to Kelly, I launch into a better answer.
“Here’s the thing, Kelly. My father was, and is, exceptional. Yes, I underst
and the role I now play as the new owner, but I’m excited to follow his legacy. He has the ability to know the exact moment a wine is done fermenting and ready to be bottled.” Shifting in the leather chair, I peek at Shelby to make sure she’s paying attention. She needs to hear this as much as the reporter. “I’d like to believe that instead of filling his shoes, I’m following in his footsteps. This is my home. This is my winery. I grew up here, worked part of every harvest, and spent every holiday here. I’m not new to running a winery. I was born for this. Wolff Winery is very excited to be a part of Food Network’s Southern issue. We appreciate Shelby coming all this way to stay with us”—my gaze briefly lands on Shelby, who’s leaning on the armrest closest to me and listening intently—“and look forward to tasting what she comes up with to pair with our wines.”
My eyes trail back to Kyle. His hands are now down by his sides, relaxed, and he’s leaning against the wall. He nods in approval, but then he glances to Michelle, and the two of them exchange an unspoken comment. There’s something about that look that irritates me, and it leads me to believe they’ve been discussing me. Not that I blame them, my mood has been off since she arrived.
Everyone around me has felt it and steered clear. I don’t even know why I let her bother me so much. Maybe it’s on principle since she’s a critic, and I can’t stand critics, or maybe it’s because I’ve spent too much time around people like her: unapologetic, selfish, career climbing workaholics. Her expression is blank—guarded. I have no idea what she’s thinking, and this bothers me, too. Everything about her bothers me.
“Shelby, you must have been very excited to be chosen for this. How did you feel when you got the call?” Kelly crosses her legs and shifts them in my direction, pushing her skirt up a little instead of down. The move is blatant, and everyone sees it, including Shelby. Why I thought encouraging Kelly would be fun, I have no idea, and now I’m going to have to deal with her.
“I was very excited. I love Food Network, and I love working for them. As you know, Kelly, I’ve worked with them in the past, and in addition to this assignment I’m writing another article for this special issue on the top twenty-five farm-to-table restaurants across the southeast. We’ve stumbled across some incredible places.”
Huh, I didn’t know she was writing that. Come to think of it, I didn’t know she had worked with them before either. Great, just great. May as well throw another log onto the fire that’s become my living hell. She has an established relationship with the magazine, which means I really can’t mess this up—no matter how much I dislike her.
“Wolff Winery is beautiful. I mean, who wouldn’t be excited about getting to spend two weeks here?” Shelby smiles at me brightly.
You!
I want to yell at her, the little liar. My hands grip my thighs as I think back to yesterday when she made it abundantly clear that we were not her first choice.
Looking away from us, her eyes sweep over the hillside, my hillside, and it feels strangely intimate, as if she’s looking at me and I don’t want her to be. I want her to look at nothing. I want her to disappear.
“How do you think you’ll come up with the pairing ideas?” Kelly’s voice breaks through my raging thoughts. I realize I’m staring at Shelby, and she’s looking back at me as if she wants to poison me.
Feelings mutual, sweetheart.
She turns away from me and smiles fakely at Kelly.
“Food is best represented when it’s like its family. I’m looking forward to spending the next two weeks with the Wolff Winery family and seeing how they cohesively interact. I’m certain they have a few food suggestions that mean something to them, and I can’t wait to dive into their garden.”
“Have you had a chance to tour the winery yet?” Kelly asks Shelby, but she looks my way with a hopeful expression that I’ll extend an invitation to her. No thanks. I’ll leave that to Kyle.
“No, I arrived yesterday and took the time to settle in. I did, however, open a bottle of chardonnay that I found in the cottage. I’m not embarrassed to say there is none left. It was delicious.” She licks her lips, and my heart involuntarily stutters.
She likes my wine.
This shouldn’t surprise me. After all, it’s excellent. But coming from her, someone who I expect to be indifferent toward us—toward me—it does. Hearing praise for our wines, no matter whom it’s from, never gets old.
Shelby glances my way, and her smile drops when she realizes I’m still watching her.
“So, you’re a big drinker?” I ask, my brows rising in amusement. “An entire bottle of wine and here you are looking chipper today.” I lean back in my seat, cross one foot over my knee, and smirk at her.
Her jaw drops, and Kyle clears his throat.
Shit. I really have to work on my filter around her.
Recovering quickly, she surprises me when she laughs. Laughs. As if her smile weren’t temptation enough to draw my attention to her mouth, her laugh is infectious and hypnotizing. She reminds me of the femme fatale firefly. The females can’t fly, so they flash to lure in a mate, and the minute he lands—he’s eaten.
The interview continues for about another twenty minutes. Kelly asks questions about the winery, last season’s harvest, and the current menu at Shelby’s restaurant. I can’t remember the last time I was in Charleston, and I chuckle to myself, wondering how she would react if I showed up at her door.
“All right, this has been great. I’d like to go ahead and get a few pictures of the two of you together. Let’s get one out back on the patio with the vineyard in the background, I’ll have you two toasting each other, and then let’s get a few of you down in the cellar.” Kelly turns her smile to me, and I inwardly cringe.
Shelby stands and starts walking for the door. Following her seems to be the lesser of two evils, and without thinking, I set my hand on Shelby’s lower back to guide her out of the room. She stiffens and shoots me a death glare. I don’t know why, but this takes my already irritated mood and pushes me toward the edge. An edge I’d like to push her off. I scowl at the back of her head as we turn down the hall, and I’m certain the entourage behind us saw both of our reactions. Just a little bit longer, I chant to myself.
Pride rushes through me as we step out onto the porch. The view here really is one of the best on the property. The vineyard sweeps over the hillside, which slopes down and is surrounded by orchards of fruit and pecan trees. It shows off almost all one hundred and twelve acres, and it doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen it, it never gets old.
The magazine crew has already staged the area. There’s a high-top table with an open bottle of wine and two partially filled glasses. Behind us is the vineyard and in front of us are light diffusers and six people staring at us.
“Okay, you two. I’m going to place you.” A guy walks over, pushes me behind the table, and then guides Shelby to stand next to me. She looks at me, flinches, and then takes a step to the side. The guy frowns.
“Shelby, I know it feels like you’re standing in his personal space, but we need the shot to be tight. The closer you are together, the more of the winery the readers will see.”
She steps back in as a breeze sweeps across the porch, successfully blowing her hair all over my face. It smells even stronger than yesterday, like vanilla and honey. She smells good, real good. To myself, I groan.
The guy moves back in, smooths her hair down, brushes some translucent powder over both of us, and then claps in delight. “I can already tell these are going to turn out beautifully. I appreciate you two coordinating for today. It definitely helps the photos.”
Coordinating? I look at her white dress and black shoes, and then I look at my own outfit. I’m wearing a white button down with the sleeves rolled up, gray dress slacks, and black shoes. I wouldn’t say we’re coordinated, these colors are standard, but we don’t clash.
“The white attire will make the color in the wines stand out. Very good choice.” He moves out of the way, and the photogra
pher steps in front of us, testing the light.
“All right, folks.” He looks through the lens of the camera. “Zach, take a half step back and move a bit to your left so Shelby’s a little in front of you.”
A little? Where they’ve positioned the table has left almost no room between it and the porch railing. I do as he asks, brushing against the backside of her. She tenses and quickly sucks in air, expanding her chest. My eyes are drawn to it, I can’t help it, she’s beautifully proportioned, and I find I’m squeezing my glass so tight it may shatter. At least it doesn’t look as if she’s any more comfortable than I am. She kind of has the deer caught in headlights look, which makes me feel better. If I have to suffer, so does she. Though, the way her lips are slightly parted . . .
Shit. I need to stop looking at her.
Click.
Click.
My head pops up and the photographer takes a few more test shots before looking at the screen of his camera.
“Perfect. If you two could take a deep breath and relax your shoulders, it’ll look more natural. On the count of three here we go.”
We both hold up our glass of wine, and on three, we smile for the camera.
Blueberry Sour Cream Streusel Muffins
Two hours have passed since we started taking these photos, and even though I think I’m standing in the most gorgeous wine cellar I’ve ever been in, I’m officially over it.
Michelle and Kyle are off in their own world, and the camera crew hasn’t stopped fussing over the current set of shots. Kelly hasn’t talked to me once, not even to ask me a question. All I’ve done is memorize every detail of this room.
The wine cellar sits beneath the manor. There are several rooms that house the wine, but we are currently in a large great room that could easily hold fifty people. The floors are quartzite, the room is lit by crystal chandeliers, and in the center of the room is a large, wooden table for private dining.
Since no one is paying attention to me, I shoot inconspicuous glares at all of them. Everyone but me is in long sleeves, including Kelly. She has on a suit jacket. I’m in a summer dress. The special issue of the magazine comes out over the summer, so the dress is appropriate, but no one mentioned we would be down here, and I’m freezing.
The Sweetness of Life (Starving for Southern Book 1) Page 4
