“I know. I had to get insurance and everything.”
“Look at you, with the adulting.”
Mackenzie smiled. “One step down, four thousand ninety-seven to go.”
ten
Mackenzie drove east, past the small airport, then turned into a quiet industrial area. At the end of a dead-end road was a Mexican restaurant that had been at the same location for at least twenty-five years. The food was cheap and plentiful, making the place a favorite of high school kids, but it was far enough out of the way that no one she knew should be there at two o’clock on a Thursday. No one except the man she was meeting.
Nader English ran the biggest winery in the state of Washington. His production was measured in millions of gallons per year and the finished product had a worldwide distribution. She’d known him for years, and nearly every time they ran into each other at an industry event, he offered her a job. The offer was accompanied by a chuckle and a comment that Barbara would skin him alive if Mackenzie accepted, but it was always made. Now she wanted to know if it was real, or just cheap talk.
She parked next to the only other vehicle in the parking lot—a late-model full-size F-150 with the winery logo on the side. At least she hadn’t had her Jeep long enough for people to associate it with her, she thought, turning off the engine and wiping her suddenly sweaty hands on her jeans.
This was a mistake, she thought, her stomach twisting. She didn’t want to go to work for Nader or anyone. She wanted to stay right where she was. She loved Bel Après. Only staying might not be an option, not just because of the divorce, but also because the hope of having more—something she could build herself—had taken root deep inside. Maybe she was wishing for the moon, but right now she needed a little wishing in her life.
“In the meantime, there’s no harm in having the conversation,” she whispered to herself as she slid out of the Jeep.
She walked inside. Battered tables and chairs filled the space. There was a counter at one end and a broken jukebox at the other. Nader, a sunburned man in his late fifties, had already claimed a table by the window. He had a beer in one hand and a chip in the other.
“Mackenzie,” he called, waving her over. “What can I get you to drink?”
She sat down and tried to ignore the continued writhing in her stomach. “Nothing for me.”
He frowned. “We’re not having lunch?”
“I wanted to talk but you go ahead.”
“Damned straight, I will,” he said with a grin. “I’ve been looking forward to eating here since you called. At home, Jody’s practically gone vegan.” He shuddered. “I’m here for carnitas tacos with extra cheese. You sure you don’t want anything?”
Their server, an attractive dark-haired woman, appeared.
“Mackenzie,” she said with a smile. “So nice to see you.”
“Hello, Orla. Could I have a Sprite, please?”
“Of course.” Orla looked at Nader. “I heard what you want. How about a couple of chicken taquitos on the side?”
Nader grinned. “You’re my kind of woman. I’ll take ’em.”
Mackenzie and Nader talked about what was going on in the area until her drink was delivered, then he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his big belly.
“You called this meeting.”
And here it was. She drew in a breath. “I’m thinking of making some changes in my career. I love Bel Après and everything I do there, but I’ll never be more than an employee and I’m considering other options.”
“Holy shit,” he said, then gave her a wry smile. “Excuse my French. Are you serious? You’d leave Bel Après and come to work for me?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m at the exploring stage. You’re always offering me a job and I didn’t know if that was real or not.”
“It’s real. It’s twenty times real.” He glanced around and returned his attention to her before lowering his voice. “Mackenzie, I’d hire you in a hot second. Just tell me what you want. Your own label? Done. Complete control? You got it. I’ll give you a percentage. Ten percent of the net. Hell, twenty. We could do great things together. We have vineyards all over. You could pick and choose the best grapes from Washington and Oregon and make something great. Just tell me what it would take. Your own offices, of course. You pick the staff. I can get you a travel budget, a house, a pony. Anything.”
His words overwhelmed her, making it hard for her to catch her breath.
“Probably not a pony,” she managed.
“How about Mackenzie Dienes Presents on the label?”
She looked at him. “That would be nice.”
He reached for a chip. “So why are you doing this? You really gonna leave Bel Après? You’ve been there for years. What, twelve? Fifteen?”
“Sixteen,” she said. “Since I graduated from college and Rhys and I got married.”
“Uh-huh. That’s a hell of a long time. So what does Rhys think about all this? You making a change.”
She avoided his gaze. “He’s very supportive.”
He studied her for a long time. “Mackenzie, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she hedged. “Like I said, I’m considering options.”
“You’re getting a divorce.”
“What? No. How did you know?” She pressed her lips together. “I mean we are, but that’s not the reason I want to leave Bel Après. I mean it’s not the only reason I’m thinking about...” Why was she so bad at this? It was just a conversation. “I’m doing this all wrong.”
Orla walked up balancing three plates. She set the tacos and taquitos in front of Nader and put a cheese quesadilla in front of her.
“You look hungry,” Orla told her. “I can tell you haven’t been eating. You need food in your stomach, Mackenzie.”
The act of kindness nearly made her cry. “Thank you,” she whispered, inhaling the scent of cheese and tortilla and feeling her mouth water. “I am a little hungry.”
“Good.” Orla patted her shoulder, then left.
Nader picked up a taco. “When did this all happen?”
“In the last few weeks. It’s not dramatic or anything. Rhys and I are friends and always will be. But it’s made me think about other things. Like what to do about my career.”
She picked up a slice of quesadilla and took a bite. The delicious combination of cheese and mild chilies reminded her she hadn’t eaten in days. Suddenly she was starving.
While she gulped the first slice, Nader ate a couple of tacos, then wiped his hands on a paper napkin.
“I’m going to give you some advice,” he said, picking up his beer. “Good advice, so you should listen. You helped me out a couple of years back when I was in a bad way.”
She nodded, remembering how his crew of pickers had gotten waylaid by a bad bout of food poisoning in Oregon. He’d had acres of Syrah ready to be harvested and no way to do it with a limited team. Mackenzie had wanted to wait a couple of extra days on her own Syrah, so she’d sent her crew over to work for him. Barbara hadn’t been pleased, but Mackenzie had felt taking care of a friend was more important than her mother-in-law’s ire.
“I’m listening,” she told him.
He leaned toward her. “Jesus H. You-know-what. You can’t be telling everyone that you’re thinking of leaving Bel Après. Word will get back to Barbara before you want her to know and then you’re going to be in big trouble.”
“How do you know I haven’t told her already?”
“Because I didn’t see a mushroom cloud anywhere. She’s not going to take it well.”
Something Mackenzie knew to be true. “Maybe I won’t leave.”
“You’ve already made up your mind, kid. Now you’re just looking for what’s next. While I would give up two of my kids to have it be with me, we both know that’s not gonna happen. You don’t want to work for someone. You wa
nt your own thing. Man, if I had a few million dollars, I’d go into business with you pronto.” He grinned. “But the good Lord blessed me only with a pretty face.”
She smiled. “That’s sweet, but I really haven’t decided what I want to do.”
“Maybe you can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.” He lowered his voice. “Here’s the advice. No talking to people the way you did to me. You get an NDA first. A nondisclosure agreement. You protect yourself. Find a lawyer. Find two lawyers. One for the divorce and one for the business. Make people earn your trust. Once you leave, you’re not going to be under the protection of the Barcellona family. It’s a big, bad world out there, kid. You’ve got to take care of yourself.”
He was making sense, she thought. “Thank you. You’re being very sweet to me.”
“I know. I’m a saint.” He sighed, then pointed at her food. “Eat up. I’m buying, so you might as well take advantage of me. Who knows—you might fall and hit your head, then wake up and think you want to come work for me.”
She laughed. “I promise if I don’t do my own thing, I will give your offer very serious consideration.”
“You do that.”
* * *
Mackenzie spent the rest of the afternoon driving around the area. She stopped in at a couple of small wineries and tasted their wines, walked through an open house for a condo by the golf course, and spent an hour walking around a park, trying to get her thoughts together. It was close to seven before she drove home.
She pulled into the garage, going slowly to make sure she didn’t ding the Jeep. Parking something this big, rather than one of the golf carts, was still new to her. While she was used to driving trucks for the winery, parking those was more of a matter of pulling off a dirt road than maneuvering in a confined area.
As she climbed out, she saw two carts by the back door, which meant Rhys was home. She hurried inside.
“It’s me,” she called.
“In the kitchen.”
She found him standing by the microwave, the scent of a heating frozen dinner filling the air.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Making dinner.”
“Why didn’t you take what the chef left us?”
He grimaced. “I didn’t want to bother cooking anything.”
“You are such a guy.” She picked up the package and glanced at the picture of some kind of pasta. “You hate these dinners. I only buy them for myself.”
“I know but I was hungry.”
She walked to the refrigerator and checked on the meal that had been left earlier that day. There were two pork chops, twice-baked potatoes and salad.
“Give me five minutes and I’ll have dinner on the table,” she said as she walked to the sink and washed her hands.
“You don’t have to cook for me,” Rhys said.
“I’m cooking for both of us. And brace yourself, I have things I want to talk about.”
Twenty minutes later, they were seated across from each other. Despite having had a quesadilla only a few hours before, she was hungry—probably because she hadn’t been eating much lately.
Rhys had set the table in the dining room, as he always did. He’d also put a folder and a pad of paper next to his place setting.
She picked up her water glass and pointed to the folder. “So you have things to discuss, as well?”
“This is more related to your topic.”
“But you don’t know what I’m going to say.”
He smiled. “I have an idea our conversation is work related. It’s not as if we’re going to be planning a trip to Europe.”
Which was true, of course, but hearing him say it made her sad. Some because they’d never planned a trip anywhere and some because he was such a good guy and she was going to miss him.
How many more dinners would they share? How many more times around this table? How many more nights would she sleep in this house? There was no way to know and no point in speculating, she told herself. She was moving forward. Perhaps reluctantly, but as long as she got where she needed to go, did the motivation matter?
She passed him the salad. “I’m ready to get started with the divorce. I’ve done a little research, and if we agree on a settlement, then we just have to fill out some paperwork and wait ninety days.”
His dark gaze was steady. “You need to get a lawyer.”
“I will.”
“I’m not going to be an asshole, Mackenzie, but you have to protect yourself.”
“I will,” she repeated before taking a bite of her salad. Nader had told her the same thing. She was going to get a few names and start doing phone interviews to find someone to help with the divorce.
He opened the folder. “I’ve scheduled a valuation of the house. We’ll have that by the end of next week. Your share of my trust is a flat amount, so there’s no work there. It is what it is.”
He flipped to another page. “We’ve banked most of our salaries. Neither of us spends a lot of money on living expenses. We get paid about the same, so I suggest we simply split the accounts in half. Your wine royalties are in a separate account, so that’s easy. Those are yours.”
She nodded, trying not to think how, in the end, she would have a boatload of money and no family. Not exactly a fair exchange.
He passed her a piece of paper. She saw the totals of various accounts added up and divided by two. When that number was combined with her royalties...
“It’s the two million dollars you mentioned before,” she said, raising her head and staring at him. “Is that number right?”
“It should be. I’ve checked everything.”
“I’m not sure what to say.”
The amount shouldn’t be a surprise, but seeing it in writing made it real. Two million dollars. She couldn’t begin to grasp what that meant.
She stood and collected their empty salad plates, then went into the kitchen. After pulling the pork chops and potatoes out of the oven, she plated them and carried their entrée into the dining room.
“You’ll have options,” he said when she was seated. “Put the money away, buy a winery. You can do anything.”
Which should have sounded amazing, but instead left her feeling lost and unsettled.
“I spoke to Nader today.”
Rhys cut into his pork chop. “Did his head explode at the thought of you working for him?”
“He was excited by the idea but didn’t think it was going to happen. He gave me a lot of good advice.”
“Do you want to get a job there?”
“I don’t know.” She’d never seriously thought about having her own winery. Oh, sure, there had been times when she’d wished she could do things differently, but that wasn’t the same as having her own place. But over the last few days, she’d started accepting the concept as more of a possibility rather than a far-fetched dream.
“I’ve never run a business,” she admitted. “I manage my crews and I’m responsible for the wine, but that’s not the same as handling the finances, marketing and everything else. I’ve only done the parts I like.”
“So take on a business partner.” He waved his fork. “You’re the best winemaker in the state—anyone would be happy to go into business with you. The other person can provide the business expertise and you make the wine. Oh, and find someone with money—that way you can buy something good-sized and you won’t need a loan.”
Was it her imagination or was he pushing, ever so gently? She put down her fork and tested her theory with a teasing, “Plus if I go into business with someone else, you don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”
She expected (or hoped) for some denial. Instead Rhys looked away and shrugged.
“I’d feel better if you weren’t going through everything alone.”
And just like that, her appetite fled.
>
“I’m not. We’re still friends and I have Stephanie.”
“You two made up?”
“You knew we were fighting?”
He nodded. “She felt bad for what had happened and came over to yell at me for not keeping my dick in my pants.” He grinned. “My sister has a way with words.”
“I hope you told her the divorce wasn’t your fault. We’re both to blame.”
“I did, but she wasn’t listening. Back to the partnership, Mackenzie. It’s something you need to consider.”
“Right, because I have so many people like that on my contact list. How would I even find someone?” She remembered Nader’s advice. “I can’t just ask around.”
“You know one person with all those qualifications. Bruno.”
Mackenzie picked up her wineglass. Rhys was right. Bruno had money and plenty of business experience. He’d even mentioned wanting to buy into a winery, but that was a long way from wanting her as a business partner.
“Talk to him,” Rhys said. “If nothing else, get his take on things. He knows a lot of people and he knows what’s happening in the industry. He could be a good resource.”
And a way out for Rhys, she thought, trying not to feel bitter. “I’d need him to sign an NDA.”
Rhys looked at her. “Someone’s been doing her homework. You’re right, you would want that.”
“I can’t take credit for the idea. Nader told me about it. He was very protective.”
“Don’t sound so surprised. You’re well liked and respected.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “Everything is happening so fast. I’m having trouble keeping up.”
“Technically nothing has happened,” he pointed out. “We’re just talking.”
“It’s more than that. We’re getting a divorce. That’s real. And once that happens, I need to move on with the rest of my life.”
“I’ll say it again. You can stay at Bel Après for as long as you want. My mom won’t care about our marriage.”
She drew in a breath, bracing herself to speak the truth that she’d been avoiding. “I can’t continue working here. Not just because of the divorce, but for a lot of other reasons. I need to do something else.”
The Vineyard at Painted Moon Page 11
