Chaos Among the Vines (Romancing the Vine Book 2)

by Gemma Brocato

  Whoa! That’s just crazy talk.

  Chuckling, he pressed ‘send,’ cautioning himself against getting carried away. There was nothing wrong with his old phone.

  He’d risen early to take care of some paperwork before his employees started trickling in. With an order this size, he’d have to spend more time in the production room. To fill the demand, it’d be all hands on deck, which wouldn’t leave much time for the admin part of his job, something he hated more than the idea of embracing technology to make his life easier.

  So his work hours were definitely going to expand. He eyed the coffeemaker as he dumped grounds into the filter, making it extra strong. Another machine he needed to upgrade. The ten-cup pot wasn’t going to be enough to get him through the day. He needed something a little more industrial. As he pressed the power button, he decided to send Meg to town for a new super-sized machine. He’d give her his credit card and a shopping list. She could smoke all she wanted on the trip to town.

  He pulled the file she’d crammed with bills needing his approval before she paid them. It was a weekly ritual they had. She’d sort all the bills by due date and leave them for him to review. Once he signed off on them, she’d cut the checks and leave them for him to sign. They usually ended up bickering about one or two of the payments before he actually scrawled his signature on the bottom line. Then she’d drive to the post office, get them stamped and mailed.

  If Ava was looking for a place to make them more efficient, she could probably start with that. There had to be a better way. Drake had mentioned he’d set most of their accounts up for online payment, but without a reliable network, it hadn’t been implemented yet.

  Did anyone like paying bills? Will’d rather be naked on a busiest street corner in Cloverdale than have to do any kind of accounting work. He’d turn the whole mess over to Drake, if only the man would agree to come to work for him full-time.

  He poured coffee into his favorite mug and returned to his desk. The file was thicker than usual when he hefted it. Setting it in the middle of his desk, he heaved a breath out and forced himself to open it and get to work.

  He studied each bill, most of them covered with Post-it notes pertaining to the expense. The first couple, the phone bill, and an invoice from the glass company, were fine. He approved them immediately. But as he dug further into the stack, he found one without a single note as to what the bill was for. He shoved it under the blotter on his desk to ask Meg when she came in.

  Stretching his back, he poured another cup of coffee. At least the aroma had overpowered the tobacco smoke. Sunlight slanted through the open door and birdsong filled the air. Looking at the messy papers on his desk, Will shook his head.

  Carrying his cup outside, he sat on the steps, tipped his head back and let the sun bathe his face in warmth. This was his second favorite time of day. Nothing around to disturb his peace except the birds trilling out their sweet song. The rustle of leaves on the vines and in the trees produced a different kind of music. A gentle breeze with a hint of coolness teased his skin. In a month or so, the bees would start buzzing around while they crushed the grapes.

  He wondered idly what Avalon would think of his property. Would she fall in love with it the way he had? He could only hope the laid-back atmosphere would work its magic on the tightly wound woman. He was dying to make her come undone. God, he needed to get over this fascination with her.

  Rather than allowing himself only fifteen minutes to savor his coffee and the environment, he stretched his time to thirty. He drained the dregs from his cup, and stepped back inside to pour another cup. This time, he shut the door to the office, determined to finish the bills without the distraction of wanting to remain outdoors, instead of cooped up inside doing paperwork.

  He forced himself to sit and focus.

  Twenty minutes later, he was down to just the one bill he’d questioned earlier. Through the dirty window, he noted Meg’s beat up old Corvette careening into a space. Dust from the gravel lot swirled like a cyclone behind her.

  Meg dragged herself from the low car, cigarette dangling from her mouth, the tip glowing red. She sashayed to a nearby tree, where he’d supplied a rusty coffee can filled with sand. Standing over it, she puffed on the cancer-stick until it was barely a butt. She blew smoke rings as she jabbed it into the sand. Her lip curled as she looked up the slight incline toward the house. Hitching her purse higher, she proceeded toward the office.

  Will grabbed the air freshener from the closet and shot a pre-emptive spray into the air.

  “Morning,” he called as she banged open the door.

  Her hand flew up to her neck and she stumbled backward. “Jesus H. Christ! You scared the daylights out of me.” A dark cloud marred her usual, not-so-sunny expression. “What are you doing here so early?”

  Either she hadn’t had enough caffeine or nicotine. Possibly both. He started to apologize, but bit back the sentiment. He owned the vineyard. That included this office. He could arrive early if he wanted. “With the big order we received yesterday, I’m feeling a tad overwhelmed. Wanted to get an early start on the paperwork so I could spend most of the day in operations.”

  She eyed the invoices strewn across his desk. Dang, her lip should be bloody with how hard she was chewing it. “I . . . Those weren’t quite ready. I hope you didn’t mess anything up.” She tossed her bag to the ground with a thud and started stacking the papers.

  “Hey! Some of those were already approved. Don’t mix them up.”

  “Like you have any kind of order going here.” She shook the bills clutched in her fists at him. “I’ve asked and asked for you not to jack around with my work. Do you ever listen?” Her voice dropped and she continued grumbling under her breath, pawing through the stacks he’d haphazardly created.

  He let her comments go and asked, “What are you looking for?”

  The fidgeting and digging hit a frantic pace. “There was an invoice I needed to double check.” She hit him with an impatient stare.

  “The one for PSGM Enterprises?” He pushed toward the desk and grabbed the paper from under the blotter.

  Meg lurched forward, attempting to snatch it from him. He jerked his arm back and overhead, out of her reach. Mild suspicion that had lurked in his gut escalated to red-alert level.

  “Meg? What’s going on? What business do we have with this company and why do we owe them two thousand dollars? Expenses at that level should have been cleared through me.”

  She jumped to retrieve the paper, but he stepped away, lifting his hand higher.

  Fists clenched, she propped them on her hips. “We talked about this. That’s the, um . . . cleaners bill from when we sanitized the tanks two months ago.” There was an unvoiced you moron at the end of her words.

  “I thought we used Dry Steam Machinery for that.” He’d talked to the owner personally every three months as they rotated the stainless vats through the cleaning cycle.

  “You’re mistaken.”

  “I’m disorganized, not stupid, Meg.” His chest tightened as a thought dawned on him. “Are you stealing from me?”

  Bright scarlet bloomed on her cheeks.

  Aw, fuck.

  She huffed, “That’s ridiculous.” But the fear and embarrassment were evident on her face.

  He dropped like a stone onto the chair, the old spring protesting against the sudden weight. “How long?”

  She glanced away, as if pained to make eye contact. She gave a one-shoulder shrug and crossed an arm over her chest. “A while. You were too scattered to notice.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” She banged her fists on his desk. “I’ve worked like a freaking pack mule for a year for you and you have never once said thanks, or “hey, Meg, great job. You deserve a raise.” I run this business for you and you are so unappreciative. Just like
your dad.”

  Comparing him to his dad was a low blow and pissed him off big time. “You mean you’ve run this company between extended smoke breaks, two hour lunches and afternoon sessions in the tasting room pretending to help out there.” If he’d been standing, he’d have kicked a hole into the wall behind him.

  “If you didn’t like my work ethic, why didn’t you say something? Oh, yeah, you were too busy playing viticulturist instead of running your business like a normal professional. Oh, your precious vines, they’re so perfect, the fruit so tasty. Your head was buried too deep in the nutritious soil to notice I’ve been siphoning money for three months.”

  “Months?” Suddenly, the world crashed around Will’s ears, the ringing in them damn near clanging with his lack of observation.

  Meg had a point. He had been disorganized and an absentee boss. He should have corralled her behavior ages ago. Like the very first day it had happened. He’d just been so happy she had experience in running the admin office of a vineyard, he hadn’t wanted to rock the boat by calling her out. Nope, not him. He’d let her get away with robbing him just so he could be outdoors among his vines, where he was happiest. His heart thudded against his breastbone, wondering about the extent of her theft.

  Eyeing her as though she’d take flight at the fall of a leaf, Will bent forward and seized the phone. Keeping her in his sight, he dialed the county sheriff’s office from memory. Jeff Baransette, the sheriff for longer than Will could remember, was the only friend of his dad’s Will actually bothered to keep in touch with. Jared Bradford had driven most of his buddies away with his belligerent behavior and constant whining about the bum luck he’d been dealt.

  “Hi, Jeff. Will Bradford here,” he said as soon as the sheriff answered. “I have a little problem at the vineyard and need a deputy to come by immediately.”

  “What’s going on?” Jeff asked, his voice gruff and concerned.

  Will pegged his stare on Meg, who’d remained motionless with her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes widened when he continued, “I’ve been robbed.”

  “There’s a car in your area just now. They’ll be there in five minutes.”

  With barely controlled anger, Will replaced the handset in the cradle. “The police will be here shortly. Rest assured, I will be pressing charges. I hope you like orange, because I predict it’ll be your color for the next few years.”

  By this time, Meg had sprung into action and began clearing her desk, slamming drawers, cramming papers into her purse. Tears leaked from her eyes, as though a faucet had been turned on. “You son of a bitch.”

  He might have been moved by the tears, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d been stealing from him, by her own admission, for three months. He reached over and began plucking the papers back out of her bag. “The only thing I’m going to allow you to remove from this office is that gaudy pink-velvet covered bulletin board. Everything else is property of Rolling In The Clover.”

  She slapped his hands away. Tried to re-stuff her bag with his belongings, mumbling all the while about what a douchebag he was.

  He spread his arms wide and stepped in reverse until his back was to the only exit in the office. “Meg, take all that back out this minute. You are already in such deep manure, you’ll only make it worse on yourself.”

  “You have nothing on me.”

  “Except your own admission that you’ve been siphoning money from my accounts for months. And Drake will find the proof we need.”

  She shifted her gaze low and to the side.

  Aw, damn. There was more. “What else have you done? Did you take out a credit card in the company name for your personal use?” Please God, let it be one that offered fraud protection.

  “That’s for me to know.” She stomped her foot and charged toward him.

  He held his ground without even a flinch. “You’d better sit. The deputies are going to want to speak to you.”

  “You can’t make me,” she huffed, spinning until her back was to him.

  “Sit!”

  “You cocksucker,” she screamed at him as she flounced to the opposite side of the room and sank to the floor. The florid color in her cheeks reminded him of a pomegranate. For a middle-aged woman, she was behaving like a damn six-year-old who’d had too much sugar and not enough sleep.

  Tension pounced on his shoulders and crept up his neck, to squeeze viciously at the base of his skull. He didn’t have time for this. With the large order to fulfill, his focus should be on production. Without Meg to run things for him on the administrative side, he was screwed. It almost made him want to forget she’d been robbing him; let her stay and run the office.

  Until she called him names. Then he wanted to see her handcuffed and dragged out of the office; actually looked forward to seeing the deputy shove her head down as he helped her into the caged back seat of a squad car. Any sympathy he might have felt evaporated like alcohol left in a pan on the stove. Vaporized.

  In the lot, a county car rocked to a halt near the office door. As the deputy race-walked to the door, Meg clenched her fists, cramming one against her mouth. But it was just more theatrics. She continued her death glare at him.

  “You made this bed, now you’re going to lie in it.” Will stepped away from the door to admit the officer.

  Chapter 9

  Avalon had hustled through the past two days in desperation mode. For starters, she listed the oversized smart television and several other unnecessary household goods on Craigslist. Should she have been worried about being a single woman listing something for sale on popular resale site? Probably. But she’d survived Bad-Ass’s midnight visit. She figured this was a walk in the park.

  Fortunately, she’d unloaded a lot of her stuff to one guy in under three hours. She’d paid too much for the goods in the first place, and the price she got for selling was a barely a drop in the sea of debt her mom had incurred. But it was better than nothing.

  Particularly difficult to sell was her treadmill. She’d had to fight to breathe while the new owner jostled the machine out the door. Letting it go was a step closer to the chaos she’d tamed years ago and struggled to keep buried deep.

  In typical Guin fashion, Mom had complained of being bored to tears without TV. Avalon handed her mother an iPad, headphones, and her NetFlix password and directed her to sit quietly on the couch until the next List victor showed up to claim her furniture. She’d gotten a better price on the faux leather sofa than on the TV.

  The hardest thing Avalon had to face was the call to Karen. She owed it to her boss to explain the situation. She drew on her experience of being called to the principal’s office in high school. Someone had reported her as an endangered child because she and Mom were living in a station wagon. Back then, she’d squared her shoulders and raised up her chin, pretending their temporary home was a rolling Kensington Palace and she was perfectly safe. She still recalled the skeptical look he’d given her. Standing her ground led to leaving his office with vouchers for hot breakfast and lunches and a list of shelters in the area.

  She channeled the same spirit while relaying the situation to Karen, keeping it light and downplaying just how damn scary Bad-Ass had been. Instead, she focused on the more immediate need to get to Cloverdale to help Will. As long as she had business to attend to, she could shove the entire debacle created by Guin to the farthest corner of her mind.

  Before heading out of town, the last item of business was wiring the money she’d collected to Guin’s former employer. She’d scraped up seventy thousand by herself, between savings and the personal items she’d sold. She’d already started the paperwork for a personal loan with the bank where she’d had an account for years.

  And Karen had advanced another thirty against future bonuses. Although that money had come with a stern discussion about letting Guin pay her own
debts. Avalon agreed, but years of racing to her mother’s rescue was a hard habit to break.

  Before Avalon unplugged her laptop, she scheduled a transfer of the funds at the last possible minute before banks closed business for the day. That would give them a head start, in case Bad-Ass came back for the balance. She wanted to be safely and anonymously in Cloverdale before he got wind of her partial payment. The note she included with the payment promised the final balance within a week.

  Fingers hovering over the Return key, Ava whispered a prayer that her scheme would work, and no supersized collections guy would come searching for her. Nerves jangling within her like alarm bells, she sent the payment, then shut down her laptop.

  “Let’s go, Mom,” she said as she finished stowing the machine in the case. She rolled her suitcase to the door and out onto the porch, where Guin waited with the last of the stuff she’d take north with her.

  The wheels of the case bumped down the steps, then clack-clack-clacked rhythmically along the cracks in the sidewalk. The sound reminded her of the last time they’d snuck away, except then it had been in the dead of night. Avalon bit hard on the inside of her cheek to distract her from thoughts about getting into the debt driven cycle of craziness that came with Guinevere Reese. As she crammed the last of their belongings into the overcrowded hatch area of her Mini, she narrowed her focus on arranging the bags for maximum capacity. Easier that way, since the visual memory of her life at sixteen was still brutal and raw after eleven years.