Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Sebastian
T he flight out had been the best part of this—from the food to the rich leather of my family’s jet, to the attentiveness of the flight crew—but once I stepped off the plane and into the car retrieving me at the private airport, I was in foreign territory.
This estate was a complete shithole that needed an overhaul in so many ways it was exhausting to think about it. It was a Spanish-style home like most homes in California, but it wasn’t being properly maintained. The paint was peeling off the adobe walls, and the rooms had wall AC units on top of space heaters. The toilets seemed to be the original ones built with the home, ceramic and stained by hard water.
It was disgusting. What the hell did my father buy? How was I supposed to get this place out of the red when everything I was looking at was a product of sheer neglect?
I’d toured the main winery building when I first arrived. The lack of structure and style made me cringe as I looked around where they held wine tastings, seeing the employees walk around dressed as if they were at a beach bar in Mexico.
I had no idea where I’d start with this nightmare, and after learning I’d be sharing a section of the main home with Darcel—or Darcy, as the daughter insisted she be called—I was sure my father was punishing me.
I sat on the wooden chair behind a simple wooden desk, dropped my elbows on it, and ran my hands through my hair in utter exhaustion, irritation, and defeat. This could not be my life, and yet, somehow, in this purgatory I was living in without Melissa, it was.
I was forced into discomfort by my father, as if living without my wife wasn’t uncomfortable enough. I couldn’t think. I wanted to cry, but that was something I hadn’t even done at Melissa’s funeral. I couldn’t even remember the last time I did.
Pull it together, Seb, I scolded myself, sitting back in the creaky, old chair and staring up at the water stains on the ceiling.
This place was like a fleabag motel. It would’ve been hilarious if I had a sense of fucking humor about any of this. But I didn’t.
Knock! Knock!
After hearing the raps, I glanced over at the door. I wondered if the woman I’d met in the breezeway was rude enough to invade my only privacy as I waited for William to return my call and offer me a more private area to retreat to.
I got up from the chair and walked over to the door. When I opened it, William greeted me with a brilliant smile and a Corona beer with a lime wedge stuffed into the top. He wore khaki pants, a white muslin shirt, and some sort of god-forsaken woven leather sandals, which made me shudder at the thought of what his bare feet must’ve looked like with all the dirt around this place.
“Mr. Aster,” he greeted me like a circus announcer preparing the audience for the next act, “I got your message, but instead of calling, I felt it more polite to come and talk to you face-to-face.”
“That was not necessary, I assure you,” I said, confused by this man’s understanding of the word polite .
“Of course, it was, and I’m sorry that we didn’t think of your need for absolute privacy while staying with us.”
“I prefer it that way,” I said.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have anything on the estate that is more private than this area,” he said, seemingly sad and embarrassed. “That’s why our daughter stays over there,” he pointed down to the room where the beautiful woman I’d encountered earlier had disappeared. “She prefers her privacy, too, and when we’re having our tastings, it gets rather busy and loud.”
“This manor is quite large,” I said in confusion. “I’m surprised there aren’t more private rooms. I could’ve sworn I’d passed a few possibilities on my tour earlier.”
Seriously, this place had to be at least fifteen thousand square feet, styled like a Spanish mission with open hallways and a courtyard—pool and all—that all four sides of this home surrounded. So, I couldn’t understand why this spot on the second floor was the only space with any privacy.
“Those roomsyou might’ve seen aren’t furnished,” he cringed, “and they seriously need updating. We’ve never needed or used them, so we just sort of left them alone.”
“How long have you lived here, Mr. Burke?” I questioned.
“Fifteen years,” he answered. “And, in all that time, we’ve never needed those rooms.”
“It would have been wise not to neglect your home, and perhaps even do some upkeep,” I answered, feeling a sudden sadness for this man who seemed to fly by the seat of his linen-blend khakis.
Strange that I would feel pity for a man who’d shown me nothing but absent-mindedness, but it was there.
“We didn’t see the need,” he answered with a smile, shoving the Corona into my chest as if I wanted a fucking beer.
I needed a shot of whiskey. That’s what I fucking needed.
“No, thank you,” I pushed the beer back to him. “I’ll hire someone to remodel that area over there,” I pointed across the pool—past the plastic lounge chairs, fucking tiki bar , and the rest of the wannabe tropical resort of a courtyard below—toward the area opposite of where we stood in ridiculous conversation.
“Remodel?” he laughed.
“Yes, remodel,” I answered resolutely. “You cannot expect a guest, especially one here to help you succeed, to stay in these living arrangements. I need privacy and a place where I can work in silence.”
“But remodel ?”
I stared at the man as if he hadn’t understood what the word meant. “Yes,” I said again . “There will be much of that going on while I’m here: remodeling, restructuring, and everything else to bring success to this location.”
“I understand, but this is our home,” he answered.
“Forgive me if it seems intrusive. In any case, I will consult with the lady of the house about what she prefers to be done in the updated area where I’ll be staying.”
He laughed and seemed at a loss for words. Then, to my utter shock, he threw his arms around me, and the short man’s head was lying on the center of my chest while the Corona he held spilled down the back of my slacks.
Every part of my body tensed with the sudden gesture, not knowing if I should shove the man off me, throw him over the balcony, or shake him and tell him to pull himself together and never hug me again.
What the actual fuck was I dealing with here?
“Jesus Christ,” I said, untangling myself with much more politeness than I realized I possessed, given the circumstances. “Compose yourself, sir,” I exhaled, not knowing what to say or do. “I’m merely doing this for myself since I’ll be here for an extended period.”
He teared up with happiness, “You are really going to save my dream, aren’t you?”
It seems your mind needs to be saved more than your ramshackle dream.
“That is the ultimate goal, yes,” I cleared my throat, wholly uncomfortable by his emotional state. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking my dinner in my room tonight while I work on getting things squared away with the apartments I’ll be staying in.”
“Join us,” he pleaded. “Please.”
I sighed. I didn’t want to join anyone for dinner, especially these pieces of work; however, it would be prudent to be respectful since I’d planned an impromptu remodel of this family’s house without their consent. Some might have said my plans were in bad form, but if those people had seen what I was expected to stay in, they’d probably change their minds.
I supposed speaking to Mrs. Burke would show that I wasn’t entirely ungracious, but if she was married to a man like this, I couldn’t imagine her personality.
There was no way I would meet the woman alone to discuss the matter. I didn’t want any other unsolicited displays of affection, so sitting with a table between us was my best bet at avoiding physical contact.
“When is dinner?” I questioned, wanting to get this part out of the way.
“In two hours,” he answered with the excitement of a young child, nearly bouncing on his feet.
“I’ll be there. Please advise Mrs. Burke of my intentions.” I looked at my watch to see how much time I had before the meeting. “If dinner is in two hours, that’s plenty of time for me to have things designed and laid out how I would like. Hopefully, it will be agreeable to her as well.”
“We’re meeting for drinks in an hour if you’d like to go over things with her there?”
“Great idea,” I answered, knowing that a drink or twenty would loosen me up. “I’ll see all of you then.”
Dear God, what was going on here? I knew I’d turned into a complete asshole after losing Melissa, but my parents’ answer to getting my life back on track and feeling alive again couldn’t have been throwing me into this nightmare, could it? Were they just pissed off at me? I didn’t get it.
I had no idea what to think, but it was probably best that I just handled business as I saw fit—one shitty space at a time—as I went through and uncovered how I would magically fix this winery and make it successful.
First things first, though. I needed to be comfortable in my own space, or this idea of my father’s was going to send me into an early grave or give me a nervous breakdown, whichever came first.
After a shower, I would feel decent enough to share drinks with these strangers, but first, I needed to give some insight to our designer in New York. So, with a new mission in front of me, I marched over to the other side of this second-story home to take pictures. I’d have Franco contact a local design company and mandate that the renovations be done in a month or less.
I wasn’t fucking around. The quicker I was comfortable, the quicker I’d make this business successful and get home to New York to be with my daughter.