Tasty

8. The Sucré Estates #3

“Really. We get contract workers every now and again but the main staff stays the same. It’s nice to know what to expect from a job everyday. Nothing really changes. Even though we changed owners, the head hunchos made sure nothing changed. For instance, every year staff pay goes up five percent.”

I paused mid-bite. “Five percent? Every year?”

He nodded. “Like clockwork, since I started.”

“Damn,” I murmured. “Anybody ever quit?”

He laughed. “Nah. Not really.”

“No one?” I pressed almost in disbelief.

“Not that I know of,” he said. “Why would we? Benefits are solid. Hours are fair and Mr. Sinclair don’t play about his people.”

I leaned back, chewing slowly, my mind spinning.

I was in awe.

It sounded harmless at first, almost comforting. It’s a steady, predictable climb. But stacked over years, it doubles. And double salaries paired with nobody leaving… no one gets replaced, no costs reset—it’s just a building full of people getting more expensive every single year.

That means this company has to grow consistently to keep pace with rising payroll.

Otherwise, it’s just pressure building beneath the surface.

No wonder things are tight right now and my Dads so pissed about the money. That little stunt at the hotel cost him at least five people’s yearly salary.

This is insanity! It’s not even the least bit sustainable. Not with the sale projections I’ve seen. It’s either he scales back on staff bonuses. Or, he may need to look at some lay offs.

I glanced over at Lavender, who was watching me with cautious curiosity.

Interesting, I thought. Very interesting.

After lunch, as me and Lavender walked back to my so called office, she gave me an impromptu speech about the history of the vineyard I was not listening to.

I was too busy thinking about ways to help this place.

Her, my father and Marlon mistakenly thought my lack of interest in being here with me being disinterested in the company, which is not the case. This company was supposed to be mine one day so I had to ensure it stood the test of time.

Well, the vineyard should. Not sure about this building.

Maybe it needs to be redone? Or is the interior design the only thing lacking?

Should I hire a professional? Is that in the budget?

The windows were a big asset we should capitalize on.

The windows were a very pale face was staring at me through—

“Lavender girlie, this place haunted?”

“Hm. No?”

“So why is a white man staring at me through that window?”

Her eyes follow mine, her shoulders relaxing when they land on what I’ve been seeing.

“Oh! That’s just Wyatt.”

“Y’all name y’all colonizers?” I gasped. “I thought this was all Black-owned and operated.”

“He’s just a contracted worker. Mr. Sinclair and him have been working together on some special grapes for the new wine.”

Girl, huh?

I looked at her. “Special grapes?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed like she couldn’t understand it either.

“And that new wine is already launched. What is his ass still doing here?”

“I don’t know the answer to that either.” She flipped through her little clipboard like it’ll have the answer.

Right.

More money we ain’t got. Marlon was just giving it out at this point.

I waved to the man because he was still staring at me. That woke him from his daze and made his whole skin turn pink. He smiled briefly then walked away as my eyes tracked him.

Weirdo.

“Lavender. Is Mr. Sinclair in?”

She looked up from her clipboard, blinking like I’d pulled her out of something important. “I don’t know. He may be with Spades.”

I frowned. “He’s playing spades at this hour of the day while at work?”

Lavender’s expression shifted immediately. “No—Spades. The horse. I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

I stilled.

“Girl, why would I know anything about him and his damn horse?”

“Well…” she hesitated, shifting her weight. “If I remember correctly, the horse belonged to your mother first.”

Oop.

That caught me off guard.

For a second, I didn’t say anything and Lavender cleared her throat, realizing she might’ve stepped into something she shouldn’t have.

“I, um… I left my clipboard behind. I’ll go see where Mr. Sinclair is. Just wait right here.”

“But you have your—”

“Be right back!” And she turned and power walked away from me.

“Oh!” I lifted a hand after her. “Can you grab me some Tums too? I’m a sensitive stomach girlie and that chilli gave me heartburn.”

She nodded quickly. “No problem.”

“Thanks, queen!”

She gave me a small, confused smile and hurried off down the hall.

I watched her go, then glanced around.

I didn’t really need her to find Marlon anyway. Marley said his office was opposite mine, so all I had to do was find mine first.

Simple.

I walked down the hallway until I found a door with my name printed neatly on a small plaque.

Did he put this up?

Cute.

I pushed it open and the guy from TaskRabbit was already inside, sleeves rolled up, surrounded by open boxes and stacks of paper.

He was so locked in, he didn’t even look up when I entered.

“How’s it looking?” I asked, stepping further inside.

He snorted. “This is a lot of crap.”

“Yeah,” I said, scanning the mess. “But I’ll give you a big tip when you’re done. Anything else?”

“I need a shredder.”

“Noted.”

I didn’t linger. I just closed the door behind me and kept moving.

The hallway opposite my door stretched ahead until I reached a huge Dutch door at the end.

I knocked twice.

Nothing.

“Marley, I gotta talk to you. You in there?”

More nothing.

I didn’t really give a damn anymore.

“I’m coming in!”

I pushed the door open, and the age made it creaky. I had to shield my eyes because the sun started to set and the light through the stained glass was blinding. Inside, his office was empty but there was a side door that was cracked open, leading to outside.

Ugh! Is this place Pan’s labyrinth or something?

I went through it and was met by a stable. Not a big one, it housed maybe four horses but I only saw two inside.

“Awe,” I rushed over to the Arabian. “Now you are too pretty to be locked away in here! What’s your name?”

I looked at the name plate.

“Titan, huh?” I scratched his nose. “Aren’t you beautiful.”

“Aurora.”

I jumped out of my skin then turned to find a very shirtless and very sweaty Marlon. He was slightly out of breath and holding the reins of a black Clydesdale. That must be Spades, another beauty I feel for.

“What are you doing out here?” Marley asked.

“I need a shredder.”

He watched me, then slowly made his way over to the trough. “For you, or the young man in your office doing the job I assigned you?”

I turned back to Titan, tangling my fingers in his mane. “You just said to get it done. Didn’t say how.”

He tied the horse to the post for him to eat as we talked. “What do you want, Aurora?”

“I already said I need a shredder.”

“Just use your hands.”

“It’s too many boxes of paper, Marlon.”

“Take your time with it,” he washed his hands in the sink, then splashed water on his face and neck. “You’ll get there eventually.”

I faced him, then crossed my arms. “Right. Should I go into the vineyard and gather sticks to make a fire and warm up my lunch too?”

He looked at me, still hunched over the sink. “We have a lunchroom. I advise you use it.”

I stepped closer.

“I’ve been to the lunchroom actually. I even spoke with a few of the guys. They really love working here.”

He didn’t respond. He just took the towel off a nearby hook and patted himself dry. I watched and tried my best not to imagine myself as the towel.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about some things. The guys mentioned you give each employee a five percent raise for every year they work here?”

“Yes. And?”

I tilted my head. “Is that… feasible?”

“It’s what’s been done since I started here.”

“I mean it’s a kind gesture, for sure,” I continued, studying him now. “But should we still uphold that?”

“Aurora.”

“With what my dad says, we haven’t really been bringing in money like that. Maybe we could cut back—”

“Aurora!”

His hands slammed against the sink.

The sound cut through the stables and made the horses react. Not the Clydesdale though. He didn’t give a fuck about nothing.

I froze but only for a second.

“Look,” he said standing over me, his voice controlled but firm.

“My job is hard enough without you poking around in things you do not understand. My staff is taken care of. Even if my salary is affected, they will be paid for their hard work. They have families and responsibilities that need to be taken into consideration.”

He stepped closer, almost nose to nose.

“You don’t know anything about how this company works. You don’t know how the world works, period. So just do what you came here to do. Sit at your desk. Work off your debt. And shut the fuck up.”

We stood there, staring at each other.

Neither of us moved.

“I think you’re forgetting,” I finally found my voice. “Once my father retires, I’ll own just as much of this company as you do. I have a right to know what’s going on, and my opinion matters. No matter what you think of me, I deserve your respect here.”

“No,” he poked at my chest. “That’s earned.

The only thing I’m obligated to give you is housing and food.

Both needs that I have already met. And it doesn’t matter what happens now or in the future, I run this vineyard.

Whatever happens here is my call. No matter how much you cry to your daddy or call it unfair, it’s my say at the end of the day.

Remember that anytime you think about having ideas on how to run things. ”

Not gonna lie, tears pricked at my eyes when he yelled at me. But it wasn’t gonna help anything. Marlon doesn’t care about my tears. Or my thoughts. Or my feelings. He doesn’t care about anything that wasn’t Sucré.

The Marlon who took care of me last night was not what I thought was the real him. That was him and his ‘obligations’.

This…

This man standing in front of me was who he really was.

And I’ve finally made my peace with that.

“Well, for now, let’s agree on one thing.” I calmed myself. “This isn’t New York. This isn’t your hotel room. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do here, and I’m sick of you telling me to shut up.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want, Aurora.”

My eye twitched. Enough of this. “Fine.”

This was getting me nowhere and I needed a steam and a soak after dealing with his stressful ass. So I turned and walked away.

The horsies didn’t deserve to have their day ruined like this.

“I wasn’t finished talking!” He called after me.

“Maybe not,” I said, reaching his office side door. “But you were very much done talking to me like that. Right idea. Wrong bitch.”

“Work ends at six p.m.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I glanced back at him. “Have a great day, Mr. Sinclair. I hope you feel better tomorrow, and we’ll pick this conversation up again.”

I walked inside and slammed the door before he could respond.

Lavender was just coming down the hall with the Tums. “Ms. Rodriguez, where did you—”

I took two straight from the bottle, handed it back, and kept walking.

Out of the building.

“And he’s so condescending,” I said, dragging a hand through my ruined hair as I paced. “Like, oh, Ms. Rodriguez, you should do this. Aurora, you should wear that. This is my vineyard, so you gotta do what I say. Bitch, you ain’t my father.”

Orim raised a brow on the screen. “Did you tell him that?”

I stopped pacing. “Girl, no. He scares the fuck outta me. I ain’t tryna get hog tied again unless it’s in the fun way.”

“I don’t understand your obsession with that old ass man, anyway. Let it rest!”

I scoffed. “Orim babe, just ‘cause the wrapper is wrinkled, don’t mean that candy ain’t sweet.”

“Eyuck!”

“You don’t get it.” I sighed in frustration. “I don’t know what to do any more.”

She snorted. “Well… maybe you should listen to him, Rory. You are a little out of control. Maybe you could learn—”

“Ouu, I know!” I cut her off, snapping my fingers as I rushed over to my desk. “I’ll go digging on the internet for dirt on him. See how he likes his flaws constantly being thrown in his face.”

Orim leaned back. “I mean… that works too.”

I pulled my laptop, sitting down and tucking my feet under me.

“Let’s see,” I muttered, fingers already moving. “Let’s start with Google.”

Orim blinked. “You never Googled him?”

I shot her a look. “What? I’ve been busy, if you can’t tell! ”

I scrolled for a second—then froze.

“…oh.”

Orim’s nosey ass leaned forward. “What?”

I turned the screen slightly toward myself, eyes widening. “Girl… his mama was a side hoe.”

“Huh?”

I straightened, clearing my throat as I started reading.

“‘In an interview with Time, Sinclair dives into what it was like growing up with a single mother, as his father kept away from them when his affair was exposed.’”

I paused, scanning ahead.

“‘Sinclair states: I have nothing to say to that man. The day he stopped coming around or providing support for me and my mother, I knew exactly the kind of man he was. When she died and he let me get taken into foster care, he truly did become dead to me. The only thing I wish I could fix now is the relationship I have with my half brother.’”

I lowered the laptop slightly.

Orim blinked. “Fuck.”

“Wait—there’s more,” I said, scrolling again. “The brother he’s referring to is Marcus Dazai. Successful lawyer with his own firm. Though the two brothers grew up in separate homes, both turned out successful in their own way.”

Orim shook her head slowly. “Christ, Rory.”

I sat back, my expression softening a little.

“That’s actually… really sad.” I closed the laptop halfway. “I can’t use that against him. I mean, it’s not his fault his mother was a side bitch.”

Orim’s mouth dropped open. “Aurora, you cannot say that about someone’s dead mother. How would you feel if somebody called your mom a bitch?”

I shrugged. “I mean… she could’ve been. I don’t know that lady. For all I know, she could’ve been a massive bitch.”

Orim just stared at me.

“But it doesn’t matter now,” I added, waving it off. “She’s at a dance party with Tupac and Whitney.”

There was a long pause.

Orim blinked slowly. “…being friends with you really makes me question my morality. And my mental health.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I said, shutting the laptop completely. “That’s all the dirt I could find, so now I’m fresh out of options.”

I flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Which meant…I was gonna have to get creative.