Chapter 5 Isabel
ISABEL
It was just after eight in the morning when I had my single suitcase packed and was ready to check out of the rental cottage.
Everything I had fit into one bag. The realization should have bothered me more than it did.
Even the subcompact rental car should have, but it didn’t.
This was my life now, and honestly, I kinda liked it.
At least I wasn’t walking on eggshells every minute of every day, wondering what else I’d do to piss off my father.
Bas had texted me to meet him at the main house at nine. Knowing it would only take ten minutes to get there, at a quarter to, I headed over. When I arrived, he was waiting on the porch, coffee cup in hand, and his easy smile already in place.
“Morning, Izzy!” He jogged down the steps as I parked. “Ready to see your new place?”
“Lead the way.”
He opened my car door with an exaggerated bow. “Your chariot awaits. Well, my truck. Close enough.”
I grabbed my purse and followed him. The drive around the property showcased their operation—Pinot Noir clones, rootstock choices, and elevation changes that created different microclimates across the estate.
His enthusiasm, like so many things about him, was infectious.
And he was attractive. Anyone with eyes could see that.
Tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of build that came from years of physical work. Dark hair that always looked a bit tousled, like he’d just run his fingers through it. A face that made women look twice.
If I could fall for someone, Bas would make it easy. But I didn’t feel that way about him. I never had. The spark just wasn’t there, despite how perfect he looked on paper.
“See that section?” He pointed to rows climbing a hillside. “Best fruit on the whole property.”
“You say that about every section.”
“Because it’s true.” He widened his eyes in mock offense.
Three guest cottages sat scattered across the property. He showed me all of them—one near the main house, one by the equipment barns, and one tucked into a hillside overlooking the westernmost vineyard.
“That one,” I said, pointing to the last one.
“The farthest from everything?” Bas raised an eyebrow. “Trying to avoid me already, Izzy?”
“Privacy.”
“Mmm. Sure. Privacy.” He grinned. “Not buying it, but okay.”
He didn’t push, just drove us there.
The cottage was charming and larger than I’d expected, with windows that overlooked a hillside. It had two bedrooms and a third that was set up as an office. The sole bathroom, which was set up Jack-and-Jill style, had an old claw-foot tub as well as a shower, two sinks, and a water closet.
The kitchen had a gas stove and butcher block counter, and there was a sitting area with a stone fireplace. The furniture was simple—a sofa, two comfortable-looking chairs, and a wooden dining table that sat four.
“I’m sorry. This is more than I need, Bas. You should probably keep it open for someone else.”
He shook his head. “They’re all the same size, so it’s all about location. So this is the one?”
“Sure, and thanks.”
He went back out to his truck and returned with several grocery bags.
“Thank you, but you didn’t need to do this. I could’ve picked some things up later.”
“Can’t have my marketing director starving on her first day,” he said as he unloaded coffee, bread, eggs, butter, cheese, fruit, and a bottle of Whitmore wine.
“Your marketing director?”
“Dad might have hired you, but you’re working with me.” He winked. “Lucky you.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling.
“He said to tell you to take the rest of the week to settle in. You’ll start on Monday.”
“No.”
He looked up from one of the bags, eyebrows raised. “No?”
“I want to start now. Today.”
“Izzy—”
“I need to stay busy. Please.”
His teasing faded as concern replaced it. “You really can’t sit still, can you?”
“Not right now.”
“Okay.” He closed the refrigerator. “Get changed. We start the vineyard walk-through in an hour. But you’re taking breaks when I tell you to. Deal?”
“Bas—”
“Deal, Izzy?”
Pure Bas. Always had been, since we were kids.
“Deal.”
“Good. Wait. I just remembered we need to do something about your rental car. That thing’s costing you what, a hundred bucks a day?”
“Around that,” I admitted.
“Highway robbery. Come on. I’ll show you your new wheels.”
He led me to the equipment barn near the main winery building, then past tractors and harvesting equipment to a side area where several vehicles were parked.
Bas gestured to a luxury SUV with a flourish. It was black, pristine, and the exact kind of thing my father would’ve expected me to drive.
“Ta-da! This beauty is yours. Comes with the position.”
My chest tightened as I stared at it. “Bas, no. Absolutely not.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s an eighty-thousand-dollar car! I don’t want any special favors. I want to be hired on the same terms as anyone else.”
This was exactly what I’d come here to escape.
The pampered life, the luxury, and the assumption that I expected special things just because of my last name.
I needed to change. To prove I could make it on my own merit, not on Baron’s money or the Van Orr name.
I couldn’t continue living like his spoiled daughter, accepting handouts and calling it independence.
The vehicle represented everything I was running from.
“Izzy, I’m serious. This is a company car. The marketing director position includes it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You calling me a liar?” His brow arched. “That hurts, Izzy. Really hurts.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not lying! Our last marketing director drove it. Ask my father if you don’t believe me.”
I folded my arms and glared at him.
“There are three other company vehicles here.” He pointed to a truck and two SUVs. “Want to see the one the vineyard manager drives? The operations director? They all get cars, Izzy. It’s standard.”
He moved closer. “Look, I get it. You want to prove yourself. You want to earn everything. I respect that. But this?” He gestured to the SUV. “This is just how we do business. Same package anyone in this position would get.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist on an older model, a cheaper alternative. But I couldn’t without seeming ungrateful.
“Fine. But if I find out you’re doing this because—”
“You’ll what? Quit? Storm off in a huff?” He smiled. “Come on. I’ve known you too long for the dramatic exit routine.”
“I’m serious, Bas.”
“So am I. Now, can we please go turn in your rental before you waste another hundred bucks? That’s like… three bottles of good wine. Priorities, Izzy.”
I drove the rental car to the return location, Bas following in his truck. When I climbed into the Whitmore SUV afterward, the contrast hit me. Butter-soft leather seats. The latest dashboard technology. Everything about it screamed privilege and wealth—the world I was trying to escape.
My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. It was just a company car. Not special treatment. Just a job perk that anyone in this role would receive. But it felt too nice. Too easy. Too much like my old life.
Back at the cottage, I unpacked my suitcase. Fifteen minutes and I finished. My clothes hung in the small closet, my toiletries lined the bathroom shelf, and my phone stayed off in the bedside drawer.
This was mine. The first place that had ever been truly mine—albeit a perk of the job. The point was, it wasn’t a Van Orr property.
I stood at the window, looking out at the rows stretching toward the horizon. No pressure. No expectations. No one watching me, waiting for me to fail or cause another scandal.
The memory of Kick’s goodbye at the airport surfaced unbidden.
The way he’d looked at me like he knew something was wrong.
Maybe he even guessed I didn’t plan on returning—ever.
On the other hand, maybe he drove away and never looked back.
Didn’t think about me at all. I pushed the thoughts away and changed into jeans and boots.
An hour later, Bas arrived for our tour.
We walked through rows of dormant Pinot Noir while he explained their sustainable practices, soil composition, and yields per acre.
I asked questions about clone selection, fermentation processes, and how they balanced innovation with the traditional methods his grandfather had established.
We stopped at a section where the soil shifted from clay to volcanic loam. Bas crouched down, grabbed a handful, and let it crumble through his fingers.
“See how it drains? Perfect for stressing the vines. Makes them work harder, concentrate the flavor.”
I knelt beside him, studying the texture. “My grandmother used to say the same thing about—” I stopped myself, throat tightening.
Bas looked at me, his expression softening. “You’re thinking about Miremont, aren’t you?”
I stiffened. “I don’t—”
“Izzy.” He waited until I met his eyes. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what that place meant to you.”
“Meant. Past tense.” I stood and brushed the dirt from my hands. “It’s gone now.”
He rose beside me but didn’t push. That was Bas—he always seemed to know exactly when to let things go. When to give me space instead of pressing for more.
“You really do know your stuff. Why aren’t you working at one of the Van Orr properties?”
“Just because my father never took me seriously—despite the ridiculously expensive education he paid for—it doesn’t mean I wasn’t paying attention.”
His expression changed. “I’m sorry he never valued you, Izzy. You deserve to be, and I promise you, you will be here.”
“I know I will, Bas, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. But I want it to be because I earned it. Not because you handed it to me.”
“I get it. I swear I do.” He stopped walking and caught my arm. “It isn’t any different for me. My dad didn’t give me my job just because I’m his son. I had to work for it, and I’m glad I did.”
“How do you always know the exact right thing to say to make me feel better?”
I expected him to make a joke, but he didn’t.