Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
RHYS
It’s one of two things. Either Sawyer has managed real change, or he found a way to override his natural tendency to be an uptight douche. Did not expect him to rock the rizz. But he’s still reaching in that bougie suit and square-toed loafers that crunch annoyingly on the pea gravel.
Did he think a winery had paved pathways?
“Evelyn speaks very highly of you,” he says to Dani. “‘A rare and revolutionary talent’ is how she phrased it.”
She laughs, and here’s another unprecedented angle to process: my brother and comedic flair, together in the same body.
“Take that with a grain of salt,” she says. “Evelyn has a taste for the theatrical.”
“Nero Vino is the Valley’s biggest success story. To pull that off requires a competent village.”
“And your rebranding is next-level,” I add, inserting myself into Sawyer’s shameless schmoozing.“Those labels are works of art.”
Dani shoots me a look. Something about her in those glasses fuels a perverse school teacher fantasy I didn’t even know I had. “Don’t pump me up too much,” she warns. “The market tells the ultimate tale.”
“You took a risk, which ninety-nine percent of the world never does. And look what happened.”
“You reached for the stars too. Leaving home at fifteen, creating an empire from nothing.”
Four sentences exchanged, with Sawyer not uttering any of them? Of course, he butts back in. “I’d like to see your rebrand ideas,” he says. “If you’re free tonight, we can discuss how all this might come together over dinner.”
Hold on. Vibe check. Dani and I are technically on the fringes of a situationship.I’ve seen her naked. My DNA marked her skin. She’s living rent-free in my head. All that and Sawyer is first to corral her into a dinner date?
“I thought you were driving home tonight?” If I say it, maybe it becomes the truth.
“Nope.” Sawyer fishes a business card from his blazer, handing it to Dani like it's the key to heaven. “And next time you’re in the city, give me a call. I’ll return the favor and give you a tour of our offices.”
Dani studies the embossed cardstock. I glance down at the simple black-on-white and feel this formless pressure on my brain. Sawyer Trenton, CEO. He drives a luxury rocket ship. Has an investment portfolio and actually knows what’s inside of it. Instead of draining money from Nero Vino like I am, he can pump up their bottom line. The sky suddenly feels very big and very bright, and I feel like the younger brother again, smaller and needing to prove myself.
“They’re like any other office,” I say. “Not what I’d call appointment-viewing.”
“And how would you know?” Sawyer scoffs. “You’ve never set foot inside them.”
Dani side-eyes me with a quizzical expression. Any chance Sawyer gets, he treats me like I’m a cold sore on date night. Our clashes stem from what Mom used to call our unique dispositions, if that means fighting in the yard over nothing, hating each other irrationally, and arguing just because.
But our verbal sparring hits pause as we round a massive Ponderosa pine. My initial impression of the winery felt small; I barely saw past the tasting room and my villa (blame Dani for stealing my focus). But this morning, Nicole gave me the grand tour: a tank farm packed with gleaming silver tanks holding future vintages, the bottling line, her so-called “wizard lab,” and a warehouse stacked with a cool million in inventory.
And now this.
The pathway peters out onto the ridge of a grassy knoll terraced into steps that funnel down to a stage framed by a killer view of the lake.
“Wow,” I say. “Pretty sweet venue for a concert.”
Sawyer lowers his sunglasses. His gaze sweeps across the vista, and I can practically hear the cash register tallying ticket sales in his head. “What’s the capacity?”
“Six hundred,” Dani replies. “Tickets run from twenty to thirty bucks.”
“So a band might clear four or five grand.” Sawyer, the numbers guy, knows the math inside out.
“Is this where Shania plays for Divine Debauchery?” I ask.
Dani nods. “Evelyn transforms this place into a majestic Roman ruin. From the photos I’ve seen, it looks incredible.”
“What’s Divine Debauchery?” Sawyer asks. “And are you talking Shania Twain?”
“It’s a private party held on Labor Day weekend. And, yes,” Dani adds, “that Shania.”
“You have her booked?” Sawyer looks impressed, and that happens once a century. At one point, Trenton Talent Management tried to woo her into the fold with no luck. Even magical Peter had a few busts here and there.
“Maybe,” Dani hedges. “We’re still in negotiation.”
“That’s cutting it close.”
She blows out a breath. “Tell me about it.”
Sawyer and I fill in the blanks at the same time.
“If you need help…” he offers, while I say, “I know all the top DJs.”
Dani tilts her head at the proposals flying in from either side. “Let me ask Evelyn. It’s been a delicate situation so far.”
“Negotiation is my strong suit,” Sawyer adds, which feels like a dig at me and to reaffirm (to himself) he doesn’t take shit from anybody anymore. I’m not a betting man, but I guarantee the Istanbul incident from our childhood still haunts him. Our dad went ballistic on Sawyer, shaming him publicly for not bargaining harder with the huckster selling trinkets in the bazaar. Sawyer, fifteen, had just stood there, on the verge of tears, while I mentally egged him on— don’t let him railroad you. Stick up for yourself.
But he didn’t.
He stood down.
Later, in the steam room, he admitted to me that it felt wrong to grind the shoeless vendor for a few cents when we were living it up in the lap of luxury at the Four Seasons hotel.
Something about that argument changed Sawyer. He became even more rigid and dispassionate. If he wasn’t dragged into the business and pursued engineering like he wanted to, I wonder if he’d be less of a prick.
Firstborns bear the responsibility of family legacy in a specific way.
“ If Shania books,” Sawyer continues, always with another play, “do you need an opening act?”
“Who do you have in mind?” I hope it's some mediocre ankle-biter outfit she can say no to without thinking.
“Have either of you heard of Gia Barlow?”
Dani’s mouth drops. I hate how her face lights up and that Sawyer is the cause.
“Really?” she asks with starstruck wonder. “Pop My Cherry is my new favorite band.”
Sawyer puffs his chest out like a proud rooster. “They’re ready to cut a new EP. She shared a couple of tracks, and, I swear, they’re the next Nirvana.”
“You’ve signed them?” Even across the pond, the buzz is out on Gia. Part Italian, all ripper performer, and notoriously uncensored, she’s blasting through life powered by zero fucks.
Before he can answer, Dani’s phone jingles. She glances at the screen and excuses herself, Sawyer’s gaze firmly on her ass as she walks away to take the call. Her dress is something else—black and snug with a hem just shy of appropriate. I wish I could stop staring, but the problem is, I know what’s underneath it.
“Damn, she’s hot,” Sawyer mutters. “Any scoop?”
“Ah, shit, you know what?” I smack my palm against my forehead, playing it up. “Evelyn mentioned a boyfriend.”
“Long-term?”
I shrug, one lie following another. “No idea.”
He continues to scope her out, dispensing the sage wisdom of a career agent who knows everyone has a price. “Nothing lasts forever, right?”
“That’s inspirational,” I snort. “With two marriages dead in the water, you’re angling for a third?”
“Who said anything about marriage? I’m happy with playdates in between eighteen holes with my crew.”
“Worst-case scenario, you can always marry your golf clubs.”
It’s been so long since I heard Sawyer laugh that I forget what it sounded like. A deep, rolling belly laugh that is at complete odds with his dry-as-dust personality.
“There’s an idea,” he says. “Save a ton on the backend, right?”
He smiles, and it takes me a few seconds to name the strange sensation dancing on my skin. Camaraderie? Nah, it can’t be. The earth still rotates eastward.
“JC said Tara came after you hard for alimony.”
“Like a wrecking ball. I never heard the end of it from Dad.” He shakes his head, and I do, at this moment, sympathize. Peter had game in all arenas save for fatherhood. “What about you?” he shifts gears. “Still living the bachelor dream?”
I pretend to stare out at the lake while watching Dani. “More like a nightmare. Fame sucks. Even behind locked gates on an island, my privacy gets violated.”
After a brief silence, Sawyer says, “You never had an easy time bonding with people.”
And just like that, the ghosts crowd in. I overcame my introverted tendencies, but fame has intensified my struggle with relationships. For all the freewheeling spontaneity I project, put me on a raft with a woman I like, and I become thick-tongued and useless.
“That Gia deal legit?” I shift the focus off me. “She’s a huge score.”
Sawyer draws a circle on the grass with his dumb-ass shoe tip. “Between you and me, they haven’t signed yet. But they will,” he insists. “Gia’s a huge fan of JC.”
As soon as he utters the name, all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck bristle to attention. “What does that mean?”
Sawyer drums his fingers when he’s nervous, and he’s only nervous when he’s working up the courage to do something out of his comfort zone. “She’s looking for a new guitarist.”
It takes a lot to forget about Dani and her curves hovering nearby. But my focus dissolves into a pinhole of sharp white rage lasered onto Sawyer.
Is he fucking serious?
“Have you forgotten JC doesn’t play live anymore?” Not that I have to tell him that our middle brother had a mental breakdown from the excesses of touring life. He spent three months rehabbing in my palazzo and swore never to go on the road again.
And these days, the only way bands make serious money is by touring.
“I know,” Sawyer says, irritation creeping into his voice because he’s busted. “Nothing is set in stone. Just floating ideas around at this stage. And don’t screw it up by saying anything, okay?”
“You’d throw your own brother under the bus for a deal? Have you even asked him?” My voice rises, enough to catch Dani’s attention. She looks over and signals that her call will wrap up soon.
Sawyer angles closer, his voice tight and low. “We sign her, and it could mean millions. While you’re off in Grecian La La Land, the company’s taken a hit. Covid. SAG strikes. Any scrap on the table and there’s a bloodbath to secure it. This is what I do. And who do you think it was who negotiated your million? I stepped in to hammer Evelyn. Bettina was willing to walk away at seven hundred thousand.”
My brow furrows. “She never told me that.”
“Of course she didn’t. I always look out for you. Family first. Something you might want to consider.”
I take the hit, ignoring the twinge in my stomach. “Family first, huh? You know better than to get JC mixed up in this shit. Unemployed guitarists make up half of LA’s population. Tap into that.”
Dani returns, her smile ticking down a notch as our ugly energy smacks into her.But for all she knows, Sawyer’s sour expression is more a default mode than a reflection of his actual mood. Me? I’ve been moonlighting at the school of make-believe and acing every class. I can pretend with the best of them.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “Let’s walk down to the point. The view only gets better.”
Sawyer and I fall on either side of her again, and this time, I jump in. “Like I said, if you need help with entertainment, give me a holler. I have all the top guys on speed dial.”
“Calvin Harris?” She drops one of the biggest names in what feels like a test.
“Just partied with him last month.”
My gaze lands on Sawyer, hard and unforgiving. Fine if he wants to muck around in my deals. But I will cut off an arm before I witness JC sink back into the bleakness he almost suffocated in.