Chapter Nine
Alara pushed her chair back from the table in the kitchen, but before she could pick up her and Zia's plates, Faye took them from her.
"That's all right, sweetie, I can clear this up."
"Are you sure? I can take care of it before I go back to work."
"Honestly, it's fine. You look tired enough as it is. You go and do your job and try to remember that this is mine." She turned to Zia. "I'm sorry, kiddo, but I can't hang out with you this afternoon. I'm going to be busy."
Alara was a little on edge. Faye was going to be busy making refreshments for the big meeting Charles had this afternoon.
She knew it must have been arranged hastily, because no one had mentioned it before the weekend—and here it was Monday, and Faye was prepping refreshments.
Charles was locked away in his study, and Reaves had texted to say he'd be over this afternoon for the meeting, but he probably wouldn't see her and Zia until later.
Zia got down from her chair and came to stand next to Alara, leaning her head against her shoulder. "That's okay, Mrs. Faye. I know you're busy, and Mom is too." She looked up. "Is it okay if I play in my room this afternoon, Mom? Maybe I can read, too."
Faye raised her eyebrows at that, but Alara didn't explain. Zia couldn't exactly read yet. But she wasn't far off.
"You can if you want to," she told Zia. "But you can come and hang out in the office with me if you like. You can spread your things out on the floor and—"
"That's okay. I like it in my room, there's lots of sunshine. And I know desk work is hard for you." She turned to Faye. "It's not the same as being outside. Everything comes easier when you're outside, with sunshine, and flowers, and fresh air."
Alara felt a little inadequate when Faye gave her a knowing smile.
"I'm not the kind to sit behind a desk either," Faye said kindly, before checking her watch.
Alara took that as their cue to leave the kitchen.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" she asked Zia.
"No. I promise I'll be good. And if I go with you, you'll keep an eye on me instead of doing your work."
She ran her hand over her daughter's head. "That's because you're the most important thing in the world to me."
Zia nodded sagely. "I know. That's why I'm trying to help."
She had to laugh at that. "You run upstairs then. But if you need me, you come straight back down. I'll be in my office, okay?"
"Okay. I'll come check on you later." She turned and glanced down the hallway. "Do you think Grandpa Grape's okay?"
"I think he'll be just fine. He has some important business this afternoon, that's all."
"New people who want to sell his wine for him, right?
Because the old people didn't like it anymore.
" Zia's arms hung loosely at her sides, her eyebrows drawn together in a puzzled little frown.
"I know his wine must be the best, because he is the best, and this place is the best. I don't understand why the old people didn't want to sell his wine anymore. "
Alara looked both ways as if she were about to share a secret, then leaned in close to say, "I don't know either. But I think the old people must be really dumb. I've tasted Grandpa Grape's wines, and they really are the best in the world."
"I knew it," said Zia. "Then it's good that the silly old people are gone." She frowned. "But the new people better be good to him."
"They’d better," Alara agreed. "And that's why Prince Daddy's coming this afternoon."
Zia nodded happily. "If the new people aren't the right people for Grandpa Grape and his wine, Prince Daddy will send them away."
Alara could only nod. Her daughter had such absolute faith in Reaves—and he was such a good guy—that she couldn't even feel concerned about it.
She gave her a hug, and Zia kissed her cheek. "I'll see you in a little while, Mom. Have fun with your work."
"I will."
She watched Zia scamper off up the stairs to her room before going into her office and closing the door behind her.
She hadn't wanted to tell her daughter that fun didn't come into it.
And it was a shame that it didn't, since the work was for Charles, but it was true.
She'd always taught Zia that work was fun—that it should be fun, and if it wasn't, you found the next job that would be.
She sat down at her desk and drew the folder toward her.
The trouble was, this was a job that she couldn't and didn't want to move on from just because it wasn't fun.
She opened the folder and looked at her designs again.
They were… flat. Not bad. She was objective enough to know that they were good.
They'd be more than good enough for most projects.
But this wasn't just any project. She desperately wanted to produce her best work ever.
And that wasn't just ego or gratitude. Charles had made light of it, and Reaves hadn't talked much about it, but Delaney had given the impression that the whole future of the House of St. James was riding on this rebrand.
She traced the grain on the surface of the huge oak desk. There was history here—history, and the legacy of a wonderful man. She turned to stare out the window at the vines. She just needed to figure out how to capture the essence of it in a way that would appeal to buyers.
None of the work she'd done so far, none of the samples she'd produced, captured anything at all. She smiled to herself. She knew she needed a breakthrough, but so far, all her mind was giving her were two extremes—and she knew damn well where they came from.
The steady, dignified fonts and muted color palette were an attempt to capture Charles.
But there was so much more to the man than dignified and understated.
She peeked at the couple of papers she'd pushed to the back of the folder.
No one else needed to see those, but she'd had to experiment.
Those were the ones inspired by Zia. Her daughter had brought a sparkle to the place—but it wasn't alien to it, she was sure of that.
Zia's glitter had only enhanced the shine that was already here.
She turned to look out the window again.
The afternoon seemed to be echoing her thoughts.
The green vine covered hills rolled away to the horizon.
The sun sparkled back at her, reflected from the roof of a greenhouse.
She stared at it for a few moments, wondering about the angle of the roof and how it made the sunlight appear almost gold.
She flipped the folder open again. That was it! Gold. That was what she needed.
She pursed her lips. She might have a fight on her hands with Delaney, but it'd be worth it. What she needed was gold leaf. She could see it now, finally. The answer. It captured both Charles and Zia in one go.
She pushed to her feet, wanting to share her breakthrough.
But then she slowly sat back down—there was no one to share it with.
She picked up her phone and turned it over a couple of times before setting it back down.
Reaves was the only person she would tell.
And he was here on the estate. But she couldn't disturb him, not while he was in a meeting.
She folded her arms on the desk and rested her head on them. Just for a moment. It was so much easier to visualize when she closed her eyes.
Even as she had the thought, she knew she was going to fall asleep, and there was nothing she could do about it. Not even the spike of fear that came when she wondered why on earth she was so tired all the time could stop her from drifting off.
~ ~ ~
"Mr. Sterling. Mr. Hartman." Charles shook hands with them. "Thank you for your time, gentlemen. We'll talk again soon, I'm sure. For now, I'll let my son see you out. He can answer any lingering questions you may have."
Reaves gestured for Aaron and Caleb to follow him as he opened the door to let them out of his dad's study. They went ahead of him, and he glanced back at his dad, who gave him a grateful nod as he sank into his armchair.
Reaves had been a much more active participant in the meeting than he'd expected to be. On his way over this morning, he'd thought he was only coming for moral support, but it had become apparent that his dad needed much more than that.
Word traveled fast in Napa, and it seemed everyone already knew about the House of St. James being dropped by their distributor.
Jacob and Bentley had each said they’d do whatever they could to help, and Jacob had made good on that offer in an unexpected way this morning.
He was one of Sterling Hartman’s biggest clients and had somehow set this meeting up.
When his dad had called him, he'd been as close to flustered as Reaves had ever heard him.
Sterling Hartman was a dream distributor, and Charles was ill-equipped to handle an impromptu meeting.
Apparently, Aaron had reached out this morning to see if Charles could see them this afternoon before they left town.
He realized he was caught up in his thoughts, and that he should be making the most of the opportunity to spend time with them—hopefully to impress them, if he could—before they departed.
"Did either of you have any more questions?" he asked.
"Not off the top of my head," said Caleb. "I think we've learned all that we need to for now." He frowned. "I have your dad's number, but I don't have yours."
Reaves handed him a business card, hating that the only ones he had declared him a pilot for DuPont Wineries. He decided right then and there that he'd have to get some made up that made clear he was part of the House of St. James.
Caleb pocketed the card without looking, so at least he didn't have to explain right now.
When they reached the top of the steps, outside the front door, Aaron looked around. "This place is just as beautiful as I hoped it would be."
"You hoped?" Reaves couldn't help asking.