8. The Sucré Estates #2
His tone didn’t change, but I caught the warning in it. He ended his call and checked his watch, already moving on.
“Actually, Lavender’s out compiling vendor lists. I’ll show you.”
My heart fluttered. Alone time with my man? Yes please.
“Kay-kay.”
I followed him into the second building in the yard, taking it all in as we walked.
This one had the same issues as the first. Old wood floors. Huge windows letting Napa sunlight pour in. But that beauty was washed out by the old ass set up. Maybe it needed some flowers or some shit?
The whole place looked outdated and smelled like papers that’s been here a long time.
I glanced at Marlon as we walked ahead. He didn’t seem bothered by any of it.
Don’t tell me he had bad taste.
“This is it,” he said, opening a door.
I stepped inside then stopped.
Boxes.
Everywhere.
Stacks on stacks on stacks.
“…um,” I said slowly, turning in a full circle. “What the fuck is this?”
“It was storage,” he said. “I had one of the guys put in a desk and chair so you can use it for the summer.”
I blinked, looked at him then looked back to the room.
“And what’s in all these boxes?”
“Records,” he said. “They need to be uploaded into our database, but I don’t have the time.”
He paused, then looked at me like he just figured something out.
“Hey—maybe this can be your summer project.”
I laughed out loud.
“Tuh. I am a multimillionaire,” I said, turning to face him. “Not a secretary. Or a bookkeeper.”
“Correction,” he said calmly, not missing a beat. “You are what I say you are. And I say you’re logging all of this into our system. Unless you got half a million to pay me back right now?”
UGH!
I exhaled, slower this time, looking back at the boxes.
“But… I don’t even know what system you use.”
“It’s just Excel.”
I whipped my head toward him. “Seriously?”
“Too complex for you?”
I paused and tilted my head thinking about it. Maybe I could use this to my advantage. “…yes.”
His eyebrow twitched.
“Extremely complex,” I nodded. “So maybe you should get somebody else to do it.”
I turned to walk out and he caught my arm.
“Don’t worry,” he said evenly. “I’ll show you.”
I looked down at his hand. Then up at his serious face.
Great.
I’ve been in fashion shows where the models make me question my sexuality. And that said a lot coming from me. Yet somehow, nothing was more attractive than this middle-aged man flexing his bicep in my face while explaining Microsoft Excel.
“Then you want to highlight this row,” Marlon said, leaning over my shoulder, “and add the formula here.”
“Uh-huh,” I murmured watching his fingers work.
I knew Excel. I took a whole course on it and I could pivot a table with my eyes closed. But the way the veins in his forearm popped when he dragged the mouse across that tacky-ass mouse pad?
My panties didn’t stand a chance.
“So what do I do after that?” I asked sweetly, batting my lashes just a little.
“Keep the originals,” he said, straightening up, “file them properly, then destroy the duplicates.”
I glanced around the room.
At the stacks of boxes caked in dust and had an overwhelming sense of absolutely not.
“This is gonna take forever,” I said flatly.
“Stop complaining and just do it,” he replied. “I have things to attend to. Lavender will stop by shortly and show you around.”
“Fine,” I sighed.
He paused at the door and turned back. “Ms. Rodriguez.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t fuck anything up.”
Then he walked off.
“I look forward to working with you too!” I called after him sarcastically.
Asshole.
The second he was gone, I pulled my phone out.
Absolutely not.
We live in the age of technology and I refuse to suffer like this.
I know too many people and have entirely too much money at my disposal to be doing manual labor.
I hired someone to get the records digitized.
Then hit up one of my old friends for a beta run of an organization system he’s been building.
About forty-five minutes into him walking me through the program, there was a knock at the door.
“It’s open!” I called.
In walked a petite woman with big dorky glasses, a soft afro, and a sweater vest that looked like it belonged in a library.
I squinted. “Is that Giorgio Armani?”
She froze. “What?”
“The scent,” I clarified. “Is it?”
“Oh!” She laughed nervously. “I don’t really know. It was a gift from my grandmother.”
“That’s cute,” I smiled.
She adjusted her clipboard. “My—uh—I’m Lavender. I’m supposed to be showing you around.”
“Ohhh,” I said, lighting up. “Marley’s assistant. Yes, yes, yes. You’re late, girlie! Let’s go get some lunch.”
“But—I’m supposed to be showing you around,” she said, already flustered.
“That can wait.”
“Actually, it can’t,” she rushed out. “We’re already behind schedule because you got in late, and if I don’t show you around today then Mr. Sinclair can’t show you the vineyard tomorrow and then he’ll be thrown off schedule and I’ll be—”
“Babe, slow down! Look. Lavender is it? I got almost the entire summer to learn this place, ‘kay? A meal won’t kill us.”
“But my schedule—”
“We can talk over lunch. Come on!”
I led out first and she tailed behind me. “Wait! You’re going the wrong way!”
But I didn’t care. I walked until I reached a dead end. Cold. Dim. Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with bottles, crates, and dusty boxes stamped with years older than me.
“Ew…”
“This is… regular storage,” Lavender said carefully as she caught up to me. “And—” she gestured toward a heavy steel door with a keypad “—that’s the vintage inventory.”
“What’s in there?” I asked immediately.
Lavender shook her head. “Only Mr. Sinclair has access so only Mr. Sinclair knows.”
Of course.
Well, since Marlon thought it was so funny for me to do all that filing, maybe I’ll play a few jokes on my own and start rumors.
“You think it’s dead bodies?”
“What!” Lavender cringed. “No! Why would you even suggest that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. He got that prison look. Low fade, tats and muscles? He definitely did time. Maybe that’s where he hid the bodies.”
“For your information,” she huffed. " Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Rodriguez were gifted this vineyard and all the buildings by the original owner when he passed. That vault has barely been opened since then.”
“I see.” Seeing as the Mr. Rodriguez in this story was my father, I knew that already. Still. It’s fun to tease. “So, do you think the original owner’s buried down there?”
She looked at me. “Come on. The lunch room is this way Ms. Rodriguez.”
By the time we made it to the lunchroom, I was stomach-eating-itself starving.
Lavender slowed outside the door, suddenly hesitant. “So…this is the lunchroom.”
She glanced at me like she was bracing for a complaint.
“Girl, open this damn door. I’m so damn hungry… Matter of fact. MOVE!”
I pushed it open myself and was greeted by couches, a ping-pong table and a couple arcade machines.
“Y’all serious?” I asked.
Lavender nodded nervously. “People work long hours during harvest season. Mr. Sinclair insists everyone has space to decompress.”
I scoffed softly. “That man don’t play about his people. Still. Where the food at?”
She smiled, clearly relieved I wasn’t judging. “Towards the back. Through the double door.”
I almost broke my heels to get to the food.
Behind the double doors, it was simple. The first thing that caught my attention was the long tables and big fridge covered in magnets and handwritten notes.
People stop mid-laugh, mid-bite, mid-conversation to look at me but I didn’t care.
The smell of real food hit me immediately.
I stepped in, eyes lighting up. “Oh thank God.”
Lavender frowned. “Really? I thought you’d be into something catered or ordered in.”
I turned to her. “Girl. I’m not that boujee.”
She blinked.
“Food is food,” I continued. “And I’m fucking starving.”
I was ready to make my plate but I paused and took in my surroundings. All conversations died down and I felt curious eyes on me. Probably wondering who the hell I was.
I smiled wide.
“Hey y’all. I’m Aurora. But you can all call me Rory!”
Silence.
“Damn, it’s like that? Alright, let’s see about them bonuses.”
That broke the tension instantly.
The woman by the counter laughed. “Ohhh, you’re the boss’s kid.”
I winced. “I guess you can say that. The other boss though. Not tight ass.”
A few other people laughed and Lavender hovered nearby, clearly unsure what to do with me.
I grabbed a plate, loading it up like I hadn’t eaten in days. Then I turned to the nearest table and slid in next to a guy in a hoodie and work boots. “Mind if I sit?”
He shrugged. “Go ahead.”
“Lav! Come sit!”
She politely shook her head. “I’m good. Take your time.”
“Don’t worry about her. Her and the boss have their own lunch in his office.”
My eyebrows raise. I hope I wasn’t walking around all this time with a bitch who was fucking my man.
“Oh? I didn’t think Marlon’s ass even made time for lunch.”
“Ahhh, he’s not so bad.” The guy slid his plate over to me. “Want some cilantro rice? It goes good with the chilli.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I loaded it into my bowl of chilli and took a bite. “Okay, whoever cooked today? I love you.”
“That’s Jack!”
I pointed my fork. “Jack, you a real one.”
Laughter rippled through the table.
I looked at the guy beside me.
“So,” I said. “You know my name, what’s yours?”
“Just call me Patch.”
“Nice to meet you, Patch.”
“Likewise.”
We dug in now that the pleasantries were addressed. But we still managed to make light conversation.
“S how do you feel about working here?” I asked.
He thought for a second. “I love it.”
That surprised me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I love the consistency. I’ve been working here over twenty-five years and nothing’s really changed. Not even the staff. Matter of fact, you may be our first new face in about thirteen years. Outside of Lav, but she don’t count.”
My jaw dropped. “Really now?”