Chapter 3
Margot
"Archie, you're killing me," I say into the phone, pacing the corner of the back terrace with one hand braced against the stone railing.
It's a bright morning, and the dormant vines stretching across the vineyards are just starting to push their new green shoots. It would be enchanting if I weren't currently begging a grown man for wine glasses.
The thing about catering to the ultra rich is that you get the most absurd requests. The Carter wedding party signed off on every detail months ago, then decided six days out that the entire palette had to change, including the color of the wine glasses. Smoked amber, specifically.
"Alright. For you, Margot, I'll move some things around," he says, the smile audible in his voice. "But I'm kind of screwing over the Henley estate to do this, you know."
I resist the urge to jump up and down right there on the patio.
"Thank you, Archie. I owe you a massive one." I press a hand to my chest in relief. "And let's be honest, is disappointing the Henley estate really such a tragedy..."
I helpfully offer the reminder that, while persistent, I am always kind to my fellow service workers, unlike A Certain Lead Coordinator At A Certain Rival Vineyard.
Archie chuckles. "Yeah, yeah. But you're buying the first glass next time Helen and I are in for a tasting."
"You two can have the entire bottle, Archie,” I say. “I'm naming a patron saint after you. The holy protector of last-minute logistics."
"I'll hold you to that," he says, still laughing.
"Oh, and tell Helen I finally tracked down that dessert wine she fell for at the last tasting. I'm setting a bottle aside with her name on it, okay?"
"I will. You're too good to us, Margot," he laughs, the call ending with a final click.
I exhale and stuff my phone back in my pocket.
Handling logistics when the stakes are high is my personal superpower.
Maybe it's the exhaustive wiring of an eldest daughter, or maybe it's just the daily Lexapro turning my anxiously neurotic impulses into something useful. Either way, I've learned to embrace it.
I smooth my hands down my hips and step back through the French doors into the manor.
Solstice's main building is the kind of historic stone estate that wouldn't look out of place on the cover of Architectural Digest, with soaring ceilings, exposed beams, and arched windows that frame the vineyards in every direction.
I cut through the lobby, past the reception desk, and slip into the staff corridor.
I'm heading for my office when I spot my younger sister, Sabrina, perched on the counter of the staff break room. Where my wardrobe is doing its best Olivia-Pope-meets-Audrey-Hepburn impression, Sabrina dresses like a ray of sunshine that got dipped in a kaleidoscope.
Today she's in a rhinestone tie-dye t-shirt with a matching yellow bejeweled eyeshadow look, almost certainly inspired by a Zara Larsson music video. Sabrina considers her a sort of spiritual north star.
She is, objectively, much cooler than I am, which I've happily made peace with.
"I’m not being rude, but what are you doing here?" I ask, checking my watch with a spike of nerves. Cillian is due in the lobby any second.
"I left my keys at Marco's and the spare wasn't in the porch frog, so I had to track you down." She beams. "Lucky you, getting a dose of me this early."
I scrunch my nose at the mention of Marco. He's the latest drummer-with-a-motorcycle boyfriend, and I haven't quite warmed to him. Sabrina moved into my spare room to save money while she finishes her film degree, so she's at my place most nights, apart from the occasional ones she spends at his.
We get along so well that I’m secretly hoping she never moves out, even after she graduates. The only real downsides are Marco and the fact that she manages to lose her house key roughly every two weeks.
I dig the extra spare out of my pocket, the one I keep on me specifically for her. "I told you the key is under the frog in the herb garden. The cute one. Not the big stone frog at the front door."
“Margot.” She holds out a hand for the key. "I cannot be hunting amphibians all morning. I am a woman with errands. By which I mean I need a nap after Marco's show last night."
"You are absurd.” I drop the key into her palm. “I love you. Go now, please."
"I will," she says, still not moving. She cranes her neck to look past me. "I just want to see if Mr. Hottie is here yet."
"Not a chance.” I fold my arms over my chest. “I need this thing to be quick and seamless so I can get him out of my hair as soon as possible."
She wrinkles her nose. "Why are you wine tasting so early anyway? It’s a bit Mad Men to be drinking at breakfast, don't you think?"
"Believe me, a morning tasting is the last thing I wanted, but we had to accommodate his impossible schedule," I say. "Besides, his sips will be minuscule. His manager said he barely drinks during the season. Just one more reason why making him the face of this is borderline ridiculous."
She nods. "Well maybe he'll surprise you."
"Hmm. By the way, how exactly did you get into the staff wing?" I ask, eyeing her with suspicion.
She presses a hand to her chest. "I am beloved by your front desk. Janelle and I are bestie status. Besides, I just met the lovely Celeste, who has been keeping me company."
I glance up just in time to see Celeste come around the corner from the copier, iPad tucked under one arm, and an empty coffee mug in her free hand. Her curly chestnut hair is up in a clip, and there's that galaxy of freckles across her nose that I've envied since the day I met her.
"Oh, hey," she says, smiling at me.
"Good morning. I see you've met my sister."
"We have bonded, yes." Celeste lifts her mug in salute. "She is delightful."
Celeste is the lead architect from the firm handling our upcoming renovation, and in the few weeks she's been on-site, we've become fast friends.
She's the kind of effortlessly cool woman who can sketch a fix to a structural problem in fifteen seconds flat and also school anyone's ass at pool. So I’m really hoping to lock in a friendship.
"See?" Sabrina gestures toward her. "Avoiding trouble. Cultivating relationships. I'm on my absolute best behavior."
I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips, until I finally register what my sister is actually wearing. What I'd mistaken for abstract rhinestone patterns on her t-shirt are, in fact, bedazzled nipples, complete with the words Twin Peaks looping underneath in delicate cursive.
"Sabrina." I rub my temple, feeling a fresh headache brewing. "My love. My ride or die. You did not just wear that t-shirt to my job."
"It's a David Lynch reference," she says, sounding very serene. "Celeste understood it."
"In my defense," Celeste adds, looking up from starting a pot of coffee, "I'm an enjoyer of both clever wordplay and the TV show."
I shake my head. "Listen, I am all for dismantling puritanical nonsense. Free the nipple, all of it. But maybe not at my place of employment. Carol might be cool, but some of the board members are not."
Sabrina hops off the counter, gathering her bag. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I promise I'll sneak out without causing any kind of scandal."
I bite the inside of my cheek. "It's funny. I'll give you that."
"I knew it would make you laugh," she says, looking pleased.
“Yes, alright, now out.” I make a frantic shooing motion toward the door. "I have to meet Cillian in the lobby any second, so please, for the love of my career, use the employee exit."
"The athlete, right?” Celeste looks over from the coffee pot mid-pour. “I want a full report later because that man is ridiculously attractive. You know, I think you should consider the benefits of all this mandatory time together. A fling with a pro hockey player? That's the dream."
Sabrina laughs. "You're wasting your breath. Margot is our monogamous queen. She's allergic to flings, despite my best efforts."
"I have zero issues with flings, and I would never judge anyone else's choices. It just doesn't work for my personality.” I shake my head at this rapidly derailing conversation. “Why am I even discussing this? I'm not making my work life that messy. There will be no fling."
"Famous last words," Celeste says wistfully, a nostalgic glint in her eyes.
"I told myself the exact same thing once, and then I had a very brief, very intense thing with an absurdly muscular contractor.
Total disaster afterwards. But lord, the sex.
There is something to be said for a man who can pick you up like you weigh nothing and fuck you senseless. "
Sabrina lets out a whistle of approval. "Okaaaay, Celeste. New best friend energy."
My own sex life has been drier than the Sonoma hills in August, but I decide not to volunteer that information for fear of seeming even more uncool than I already do, sandwiched between my bedazzled little sister and a woman I am still in the early stages of friendship-courting.
"Right." Sabrina hitches her bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. "I'll take myself and my controversial shirt out of here."
"I'll pick up dinner on my way home tonight," I say. "Thai from the place you love?"
"Oooh, yes please. Thank you." She spins back, delighted. "Get me the drunken noodles and we'll watch Bake Off. Unless you get lucky with Mr. Hottie."
"Sabrina."
"Love you, bye!" She vanishes, leaving the door swinging in her wake, and I turn back to Celeste, shaking my head.
Celeste sips her coffee. "She seems like a lot of fun."
"She's the best." I take a breath. "Listen, I should head out. But we should sit down later this week and go over the latest renovation plans, yeah?"
"Yes, yes, go," Celeste says, waving me off with her coffee.
I head down the back hall, past the marketing offices, past the staff stairs, and out into the main lobby.
And there he is.