8. Faye
FAYE
The tasting room smells like oak and old money. I trace my finger along the edge of the bar, the wood smooth under my touch. The ledgers are spread out in front of me, numbers blurring together.
My back aches, my ankles swollen, but I keep going. Flynn's meeting with the distributor in the city ran late, and I told him I'd be fine. That I could handle things.
The door creaks open. A shadow falls over the ledger. "Faye Bennett, I presume."
I lift my head. The man in front of me is all sharp edges… tailored suit, gold watch, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. His cologne is expensive, cloying. It sticks in my throat.
"Can I help you?" My voice is steady.
He extends a hand. "Richard Voss. I've been meaning to introduce myself."
"We're closed."
His smile falters, just for a second. Then it's back, slicker than before. "Straight to business. I like that." He pulls out a chair, sits without waiting for an invitation. "I'll be blunt, Faye. This place is bleeding money. Your mother's winery is beautiful, but sentiment doesn't pay the bills."
My fingers curl into fists under the bar. "We're turning things around."
"With Flynn Donovan's help?" He scoffs. "You think he's going to save this place?"
Heat crawls up my neck. "Get out."
He leans back, steepling his fingers. "I'm offering you a lifeline as a developer. A fair price. More than this place is worth, honestly. Walk away with enough to start fresh somewhere else. Somewhere you don't have to work yourself to the bone for a business that's already failed once."
The words hit like a punch. I swallow hard, my throat tight. "This isn't a failure."
"Isn't it?" He gestures around the empty tasting room. "No customers. No buzz. No future. You're a smart girl, Faye. You know I'm right."
I stand, my chair scraping against the floor. "I said get out."
He doesn't move. Just tilts his head, studying me like I'm a problem to solve. "Or what? You'll call Flynn? He's not here, is he? And even if he were, what could he do? This isn't his winery. It's yours. And you're the one who's going to lose it."
My pulse hammers in my ears. "I'm not selling."
He sighs, like I'm a child refusing to eat my vegetables.
"Let me put it another way. Sign with me, and I'll make sure you're taken care of.
Refuse, and I'll bury this place. Lawsuits.
Inspections. Bad press. You think you can handle that while you're…
" His eyes flick to my stomach. "Just a high school graduate? "
The room tilts. My hands press against the bar to steady myself. "You wouldn't."
"Oh, I would." He stands, smoothing his jacket. "But I'd rather not. Think of it as a mercy, Faye. You're in over your head. Let me help you."
I want to scream. I want to throw something. But my legs feel like lead, my mind racing. .
He pulls a card from his pocket, slides it across the bar. "I'll be at the Grand Meridian in an hour. Come by. We'll talk. No pressure."
"And if I don't?" I ask.
"Let's say your winery will really be bankrupt."
I don't touch the card.
He smiles, like he's already won. "Don't wait too long. Opportunities like this don't last."
The door clicks shut behind him. The silence that follows is suffocating.
I sink back into my chair, my hands shaking. The ledger numbers swim in front of me. He's lying. He has to be. The winery isn't failing. We're just… adjusting. Rebuilding.
But what if he's not?
The thought coils in my stomach, tight and cold.
I reach for my phone, my thumb hovering over Flynn's name. But what would I even say? That some rich asshole thinks I can't handle this?
Flynn would lose it. He'd storm in here, all clenched fists and growled threats, and Richard would twist it. Make it look like Flynn's the one who can't control himself. Like I'm the one who can't handle the business.
I can't let that happen.
I stare at Richard's card. The gold lettering glints under the dim light.
Maybe… maybe I should hear him out. Just to know what I'm up against. Just to be prepared.
My fingers close around the card, the edges digging into my palm.
I won't sell. I won't.
But I need to know what he's planning.
And I need to do it before Flynn finds out.
The Grand Meridian's lobby swallows me whole, all cold marble and towering glass that throws my reflection back in fractured shards.
Every click of my boots against the polished floor echoes like a gunshot, my pulse hammering so loud I swear the receptionist can hear it.
My fingers dig into the strap of my bag, the leather creaking under the pressure.
She doesn't even look up from her screen, just taps her manicured nails against the keyboard like I'm nothing more than another appointment to check off.
"Richard Voss," I say, and damn if my voice doesn't waver just a little. "He's expecting me."
A nod. A phone call. "Mr. Voss, your two o'clock is here." A beat. "Yes, sir." She hangs up, waves me toward the elevators like I'm being dismissed. "Penthouse suite."
Of course it's the fucking penthouse.
The elevator doors seal shut, and suddenly I'm trapped with my own reflection—pale, wide-eyed, my knuckles bone-white where they grip the railing.
The numbers climb too slow, each floor stretching into an eternity.
I should've told Flynn. Left a note, at least. Something.
But what would I even say? Hey, just popping off to meet the man who's trying to ruin my family's legacy.
Be back soon, probably with my dignity in tatters.
The doors slide open with a quiet hiss, and there he is.
Richard Voss stands in the center of the suite like he owns the damn place—because, let's be real, he probably does.
The late afternoon light spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows, gilding him in gold, the amber liquid in his glass catching the glow like a promise.
Or a threat. He smiles, slow and knowing, like he's already won.
"Faye." His voice is smooth, honeyed. "I'm glad you came."
I step out, my boots sinking into the plush carpet, the fibers swallowing the sound of my steps. "I'm not staying long."
He chuckles, the sound low and rich, like aged whiskey. "No? Pity. I was hoping we could have a real conversation." A gesture toward the sitting area, all sleek leather and polished wood. "Please. Sit. Want a drink?"
I don't move. My spine is a steel rod, my shoulders squared like I'm bracing for a fight. "I didn't come here to catch up like old friends."
"No," he agrees, taking a sip, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"You came because you're smart enough to know when you're outmatched.
" He sets his glass down with a soft clink, the sound sharp in the quiet.
"This winery is a sinking ship, Faye. And I'm offering you a lifeboat. All you have to do is take it."
My jaw tightens until my teeth ache. "I told you. I'm not selling."
"And I told you," he says, his voice hardening, the mask slipping just enough to let the steel underneath show, "that I'd make things difficult for you if you refused.
" A tilt of his head, his gaze raking over me like I'm a prize heifer at auction.
"But I'm a reasonable man. I'm willing to negotiate. "
"Negotiate what?"
His smirk is slow, deliberate. "You're a beautiful girl, Faye. Young. Ambitious."
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My stomach twists, bile rising hot and bitter in my throat. "What the hell are you talking about?"
He steps closer, his polished shoes clicking against the hardwood, the sound like a metronome counting down to something I don't want to name.
"One night. With me. No strings. No one has to know.
" His fingers brush a strand of hair behind my ear, the touch light, almost gentle.
I flinch back, but he just smiles, unfazed.
"After that, I'll walk away. No lawsuits.
No inspections. The winery will be safe. "
My hands shake, my fingers curling into fists so tight my nails bite into my palms. "You're disgusting."
He shrugs, like we're discussing the weather. "I'm a businessman. And this is a business transaction. You get to keep your precious winery. I get… compensation."
I swallow hard, my throat dry, my mind racing like a trapped animal. I could scream. I could run. But the elevators are behind him, and the suite's door is closed, the heavy wood a barrier I can't breach. Even if I got out, what then? He'd still come after me. After the winery. After everything.
Richard watches me, his gaze dark, calculating. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a keycard, tosses it onto the coffee table between us. It lands with a soft thud, the plastic glinting under the lamplight like a dare.
I stand there, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps, my chest so tight it feels like I'm being crushed. My fingers twitch at my sides, my nails digging crescents into my skin. I could leave. I should leave.
But the keycard taunts me, its edges sharp and unyielding.
One night.
One night, and the winery is safe.
My throat burns, my eyes stinging with the effort of holding back tears. But the weight of the winery presses down on me, the legacy of my family, the years of sweat and sacrifice. How many people would lose their jobs if I walk away? How many lives would unravel?
Richard takes another step closer, his cologne wrapping around me, cloying and suffocating. "Think about it, Faye. One night. That's all it takes."
My stomach lurches, my vision blurring at the edges. I need to get out.
But how the hell do I get out of this?