Chapter 6 - Mikhail
Yes, it was clear to me that my stubborn employee was hiding something about this vineyard. But what? It was both amusing and irritating when she immediately launched into a campaign to get me interested in other wineries once we were on Aleks’s private jet, which didn’t impress her at all.
That was irritating, too, because it wasn’t as if we didn’t need the thing for the emergencies that were always popping up at the drop of a hat. I had no need of one since I rarely left Moscow, but if Aleks’s plane hadn’t been available, I actually considered buying one solely for this trip.
There wasn’t a single instance in my life that I’d ever tried to impress a woman. Why was I starting now?
After I shut down her suggestions and brought up Canyon Vines by name, she had that instant moment of near panic.
She recovered, just like she did in my office, but it was the same.
What went on there that she felt the need to hide the fact she was once employed by them?
She was trying hard not to show it, but she was stressed.
I recognized it because I had been keeping an eye on her since the restaurant became mine, along with everything in it. She wasn’t like this before I brought up the trip, and she acted like I was dragging her to a boring conference instead of a glamorous winery.
What sommelier wouldn’t jump at a chance to sample some fine wines?
And I recognized the effects of stress because I felt it too.
Being in Los Angeles was nothing like my little stretch of land on the outskirts of Moscow.
Starting a restaurant from scratch, after changing everything that was already in place, sometimes seemed like a mistake.
Both taking it on in the first place and tearing it apart.
I might have been on my way back to Russia by now if I weren’t so diverted by Laurel.
And if I was going to do something, I was only ever going to do it my way. That was why I was a brewer in an international crime family instead of running sixteen different corporations all over the globe.
Now that I had committed, I was going to give it my all, just like I did with everything else in my life.
With a father who was more like a wild older brother, and a mom who was murdered before I could really remember her, and what seemed like a sea of younger siblings, I had no choice but to learn to focus.
Get myself through school, make sure nobody was setting anything on fire, run to the rescue if needed, but mostly I did things my way. Right now I was opening a restaurant, jumping in to help out my cousins when they were under siege, but my main focus was on Laurel.
She lived like a nun, going straight home every evening after work, and thanks to one of her curtains not quite getting closed all the way, I was able to take a peek into her inner sanctum.
Everything was neat and tidy, and almost depressingly spare.
I overheard her breezily telling one of the designers that she didn’t have a car for ecological reasons, and that she loved to walk.
I might have believed that if she didn’t always look so harried every time she got off the bus and trudged the rest of the way to her apartment like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
Maybe it was. I still hadn’t been able to find out. Maybe it had something to do with Canyon Vines, and we were almost there.
At the airport, I had a decked-out limo waiting for us.
My first choice out here in the land of beautiful scenery would have been a convertible, and I would have loved to see Laurel’s hair flying free in a breeze.
My sister Sofiya once said women hated convertibles for just that reason, and I suspected it was only her, but I decided to err on the side of caution.
If it had just been me, I wouldn’t have given a crap what car was waiting for me, but once again, I was trying to impress my sommelier.
“After you,” I told her as the driver opened the door for us.
“Thanks,” she muttered. Once again, she wasn’t impressed, sliding into the back seat of the limo without a single smile or glance around.
I already knew she didn’t grow up rich. Her father managed a tire company, and her mother was a postal employee.
Normal upbringing, nice, three-bedroom house in the suburbs.
I even found a picture of Laurel’s high school prom from an old newspaper website, but she wasn’t in it.
Did she go? Why the hell didn’t she have twelve different social media accounts like so many other women?
I was fucking obsessed, and frankly, I was enjoying it.
What I wasn’t enjoying was how sickly pale she turned when we pulled off the main road and headed toward the tall gates leading into the vineyard. This was different from how she acted in my office, and it didn’t dissipate as quickly.
Once we pulled up in front of the western-themed welcome center, her legs wobbled as she got out, and she gripped the car door, waving off the driver’s help and my look of concern.
“I skipped breakfast,” she said, staring off into the middle distance but clearly not seeing anything. “I’m fine.”
It looked more and more like I might have to actually catch her, her face as white as the bleached cow skull hanging on the stair rail leading up to the front door.
Not caring if she was going to snap at me or not, I grabbed her elbow as she took the first step.
“I love the theme,” she said, vaguely looking left and right, acting as if she’d never seen the place before. “I guess we check in inside?”
The truth was about to come out, and she had to know it, almost imperceptibly bracing herself as I reached for the door to swing it open.
“Welcome to Canyon Vines,” a young woman in a cow-print vest sang as I had to nudge Laurel through.
There wasn’t a hint of recognition on the receptionist’s face as she smiled and hurried around her desk to greet us. “You must be Mr. Fokin,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Mik,” I said, glancing down at Laurel. “Everyone calls me Mik.”
Laurel was still pale, and her hands were clasped together in front of her like she was about to pray, her teeth firmly embedded in her bottom lip. I had to keep myself from reaching for her to get her to stop before she drew blood.
“Unfortunately, our owner isn’t available today. He normally likes to meet everyone on their first visit, but we made sure you’ll get the full experience without him.”
I had made it abundantly clear I was there to buy for a restaurant, so I wasn’t surprised that they were rolling out the red carpet. When I looked down at Laurel again, some of the color had returned to her face, and she made a little joke about not sampling the wines on an empty stomach.
Right, she skipped breakfast. It was clear this employee had never seen her before, and by now she looked almost normal, if still a little unsteady on her feet.
She excused herself to go to the restroom, not automatically heading in the right direction, but waiting for the receptionist to point out the way.
Maybe I found the wrong Laurel Harris on that defunct web page, and this was a complete waste of time, because when she returned from the ladies’ room, she was perfectly fine. Back to normal.
“You’ll experience the flavors better if you go from mildest to strongest,” she said when a massive cheese tray was laid out before us, along with a row of wine glasses the server was waiting to fill.
I raised my eyebrow at her and purposely picked the stinkiest cheese on the board, cutting a wedge and placing it on a piece of crusty bread. Popped it in my mouth and savored it while her eyes narrowed at me.
“What’s the word for a cheese specialist?” I asked, since she obviously believed I didn’t know anything at all. “Is that a hidden expertise of yours that you kept off your resumé?”
Along with anything else?
She sniffed, but smiled sweetly at me, as if she wasn’t about to pass out ten minutes ago. “I was only trying to make sure you got the best experience.”
Ah, she was going back to being politely professional. I’d see about that. “What’s the tour like?” I asked, still not convinced and trying to trip her up.
She looked beyond the shady courtyard where we were being served at the vast rows of grapevines surrounding us, then tipped her head up to the blue sky and lone, fluffy white cloud above us.
“I’m sure it’s wonderful. Do we have time to take it?”
Throwing my own reasons for not going to any other vineyards right back at me, and if she’d been on the tour before, she wasn’t letting on. “Do you want to?” I asked. “Or all business today?”
Even her shrug was so damn sexy I wanted to reach across the table and drag her to me for a kiss that would knock the blasé attitude off that pretty face.
“You’re the boss,” she said.
“Oh, you’ve finally noticed?”
Her cheeks flared red, and it was nice to see her lose it a little. Then she knocked me off kilter with a smile. A real one, not that tight, professional one. “How can I not when you tend to rub it in?” she asked.
I laughed, and things seemed chill for all of ten minutes, when they brought out the first wines to sample. The first one was brilliant, crisp, perfectly chilled, and went down smooth.
“We’ve got to get that,” I told Laurel.
“Too dry,” she said, then asked the vineyard employee if they had it in a different year. “You’ll notice the difference right away,” she told me, then turned to mutter under her breath, “At least I hope so.”
The infuriating little know-it-all was back to normal, all right.