Chapter Eight
The Zosca vineyard was smaller than most in the area, but it was one of the most beautiful. Grant parked his rental car in front of the offices and got out. He turned to look back at the valley. The vineyard stood on the upper slopes, and the view was magnificent. He stood there for a few moments—taking it all in. He’d traveled the world for his work, but as far as he was concerned, this was the most beautiful place on earth. He knew his affection for the place influenced that belief. He’d always hoped that one day he’d make it back here, back to the place he’d grown up and which held so many of his happiest childhood memories.
“Good morning.” He turned and sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of Chelsea standing at the bottom of the steps. She was so damned beautiful. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she looked fresh and breezy in jeans and a white shirt. He smiled, knowing that he’d be adding this image of her to the growing gallery in his mind.
She gave him a puzzled look, and it was only then that he realized he was staring like an idiot and hadn’t yet spoken.
“Sorry. Good morning. I was just admiring the view.”
Her eyebrows knit together, and for a moment he wondered if she understood that he meant her and not the valley. If she did, she didn’t admit it. She nodded. “It sure is beautiful here. Not many people get to work with this kind of view.”
“They don’t.” Grant pulled himself together. He needed to stop watching the way her mouth moved as she spoke. He needed to get a grip and get started on what he was here to do.
She smiled. “Okay. Can I make a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“Can we just get past this awkward beginning, forget that we already met, and go about this as if we’re strangers, meeting for the first time right now? You know your brief, and I know what you’re here to do, but other than that, we have no knowledge of each other whatsoever.”
He couldn’t help it; he let his gaze slide down over her body. He did have knowledge of what was hiding under her shirt, under her jeans, and he didn’t want to forget it. But he had to. He looked back up and met her gaze with a smile. “Yeah. That’s a great idea.” He stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Grant Dawson. It’s great to meet you. I look forward to working with you.”
When she placed her hand in his, an electric current zapped through him. He’d swear she felt it too. Her eyes widened, and a touch of pink appeared on her cheeks. She covered it well, smiling and pumping his hand up and down before she let go. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Dawson. I’m Chelsea Hamilton, and I’m hoping that we can do good things together.” The pink on her cheeks turned red at the way that had come out.
Grant would love to do all kinds of good things with her, and he wanted to run with the way she’d worded it, but instead, he saved her. “We will. We’re going to do great things with this little winery of yours. I know it. And please, call me Grant?”
She smiled. “Okay, Grant. What do you say we get started? Every day around here starts with coffee and a team meeting. The troops will all be there by now, so, follow me.”
He followed her up the steps, unable to stop himself from watching her rounded little ass as they went. It wasn’t a big building. It felt more like a rustic, Italian farmhouse than an office building. It was warm and welcoming. Grant loved it. She led him through to a big comfortable room in the back. It looked to Grant like some kind of break room, with comfortable sofas, a fridge, microwave, and vending machine. There were maybe twenty people sitting around chatting and drinking coffee. They looked up when he came in, and the chatter stopped. It felt to Grant like all the warmth drained from the room and the atmosphere turned distinctly frosty. He was used to that. He didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms. Whenever he came into a business, people were afraid; at best, they were afraid of change, and at worst, they were afraid of losing their jobs. He didn’t take it personally; he understood. The wave of sadness that swept through him took him by surprise. He didn’t want to be rejected by these people. He wanted to belong here. He wanted to help them. He … what the hell was he thinking? He wanted to do his job, that was all. Resistance from the employees would make it a little more difficult—it always did—but it wouldn’t stop him; it didn’t make any difference.
He smiled warmly at them all, meeting the gaze of anyone who didn’t turn away.
“Morning everyone.” Chelsea smiled brightly at them. “I know most of you have an idea what’s going on, but I’m going to spell it out so that everyone knows. There’s no need for rumors or mixed up stories. We’re all in this together, and I want you all to be in the loop about Grant and what he’s here for.”
She turned to Grant and smiled, but instead of introducing him as he’d expected, she turned back to address her employees again—this time in Spanish. Grant was surprised how fluently she spoke. He didn’t know enough to follow every word, but he gathered that she was just repeating everything she’d said. He looked around the room. Over half of them looked as though they understood much more now. He knew a large percentage of the workforce in wine country was made up of immigrants. He also knew that the language barrier was usually a problem. It seemed it was a problem Chelsea had overcome. Her audience eyed him warily as she spoke, and he wished he’d put more effort into learning the language himself. She said something that made them all laugh and look at him. He shrugged and held his hands out. It seemed it was good-natured laughter, at least.
After she’d spoken for a while in Spanish, she turned and smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll repeat all of that in English now.”
“Maybe not all of it,” called a Hispanic woman, making those who understood laugh.
Grant smiled. “I can take it. I’m used to being called the devil when I first come into a place. It’s usually behind my back. At least you guys are doing it in front of me, even if I don’t understand the words.”
Chelsea shook her head at him. “Actually, I was being very complimentary about you. I was just telling everyone that you are here to help. That you’re not here to fire people; you’re here to make life better for all us by helping us improve the way we do things.”
He nodded, pleasantly surprised that she wasn’t painting him as the devil incarnate.
She turned back to her team. “You all know that my father would like things to change around here and that I’ve fought him every step of the way.”
Grant cocked his head to one side, interested that she was so open with them.
“He brought Mr. Dawson in to assess what we’re doing and how we’re doing it—and to figure out how we can be more efficient.”
“How many of us is he going to fire?” asked a sullen-looking guy sitting by the microwave.
“None,” said Chelsea brightly. “He’s not going to be firing anyone or making any changes.”
“So, why’s he here?” asked a young guy who looked like he was on a break from college, maybe an intern?
“He’s going to assess what we’re doing, but he’s not going to make any changes. He’s simply going to make recommendations about what changes we could make. When he’s done, I’m going to sit down with Father and go through the reports. If I don’t like the changes, then I won’t okay them.”
“And if you don’t?” asked the sullen guy. “Won’t Mr. Hamilton just kick you out and make them anyway?”
Chelsea smiled. “No. He won’t. If we can’t reach a compromise we can live with, then I’ll be looking to buy him out.”
That news was met with big smiles and much chatter, plus some puzzled looks from the Spanish speakers. Chelsea explained herself in Spanish, and they, too, looked happy at the news.
“So, that’s the big news. Mr. Dawson will be with me today, and we’ll work a roster for him to visit with all of you.” She shot Grant an evil grin before adding. “I’ll try to make sure I send him to each of you on your toughest days, so he can get a real picture of how hard we work here.”
“Be sure to send him to me on Friday then,” said an older guy who was leaning in the doorway. “That’s crapper cleaning day.”
Chelsea laughed. “I’ll be sure to put it in the diary.” She smiled at Grant. “You really do need to spend time with our custodian to understand how things work around here.”
He smiled at her through pursed lips, and she smiled sweetly back at him.
~ ~ ~
After the usual morning catch-up, everyone went about their business. Chelsea took Grant to her office and took a seat, gesturing for him to do the same.
“I’m impressed with your Spanish.”
“Thank you. I see it as a necessity. I think teams need a foundation of good communication, and that can’t happen if you can’t even talk to each other.”
Grant nodded, looking thoughtful.
“You don’t agree?” He was probably like most of the guys in the industry who saw the workers as a resource, not as people.
He held her gaze for a moment, looking deep into her eyes. Why, oh why did her body have to react to him? Her nipples hardened, and memories of their naked bodies moving together flashed before her eyes. He smiled, and butterflies swirled in her tummy. “I do agree.”
She struggled to remember what they’d been talking about.
“Teams need to be able to communicate, and most leaders don’t make the effort to make themselves understood—and I’m not just talking about learning another language.”
She relaxed a little. She had to stop being so defensive, and more than that, she had to stop being attracted to him—somehow.
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. So, down to business. My plan for the day is to give you a tour of the place this morning, then after lunch, we should make a plan for how you’re going to spend your time. How does that sound?”
“It sounds great to me. It’s exactly what I was hoping we’d do.”
“Good. Let’s get out there then. We should start in the vineyards.” She got to her feet and made her way to the door. When she reached it, she turned around to speak, but he was right there. He was so close she could feel the heat of him. That heat spread to her cheeks as she looked up into his eyes.
“Sorry.” He held his hands up. “I didn’t mean to crowd you. You stopped so suddenly.”
She nodded. She didn’t think she’d be able to speak, even if she did know what to say. He stared down into her eyes for a long moment, and all she could do was stare back. She really shouldn’t be remembering looking up into his eyes as he’d thrust his hard cock inside her, but she was—and the memory was doing funny things to her insides. All the muscles in her belly and lower tightened, even as she tried to get control of herself.
He brought his hands down and rested them on her shoulders, and she stepped closer. “Chelsea, I …” He lowered his head, and she tilted hers back, no longer in control of anything, simply longing to feel his lips on hers again.
“Chelsea?” The sound of her name being called brought her back to her senses in a hurry. She sprang away from him, and he did the same.
There was a tap on the office door, and then it opened. “Oh, you are in here. I wanted to … Oh, sorry.” Gene smiled at Grant apologetically. “I didn’t realize you had company; I’ll catch you later.”
“No, we were just finishing up here.” Chelsea smiled at the older man. “I’d like you to meet Grant Dawson. Father brought him in to help us turn this place around.”
Gene eyed Grant warily but held his hand out with a smile. “Nice to meet you. I’m Gene.”
Chelsea watched as the two men shook hands. She loved Gene. He’d been her savior time and again over the years, and this time, he’d saved her from herself. What had she been thinking? She obviously hadn’t been thinking at all. Her brain had gone into hibernation while her baser instincts had taken over. She couldn’t allow herself to slip like that again.
“What did you need, Gene?”
“I’m fine. I don’t need anything, I just wanted to let you know that I’m all done going through the accounts.”
Grant raised an eyebrow, and she smiled at him. This could be a good opportunity to get rid of him for a while. “Contrary to what my father may have told you, I am aware that I need to run a tighter ship. I’d asked Gene to help me figure out how.”
“Are you the bookkeeper?” asked Grant.
Gene laughed. “No. I don’t even work here. I’m the pilot.” His smile faded. “Or at least, I was the pilot for Hamilton-Groves.”
Chelsea hated to see him look so sad. “Gene had a heart attack, and he has to wait until he’s passed his new medical exam before he can fly again. In the meantime, he’s been helping me out with Zosca.”
Gene smiled at Grant. “I’ve been flying for the Hamiltons for over thirty years. I’ve learned a thing or two about the business in that time.”
Grant smiled back. “And you can’t stand sitting around waiting to be cleared to fly, so you’re making yourself useful here in the meantime?”
Gene grinned. “That about sums it up. But I didn’t mean to barge in on whatever the two of you were doing.”
Chelsea felt the heat in her cheeks again at the memory of what they had been doing—of what they were about to do. Grant lowered his gaze and looked away.
Gene seemed to pick up on the tension in the air. “I can either catch you later, Chelsea, or I can act as a diversion if either of you needs it?”
Grant looked up in surprise, but Chelsea laughed. Gene was good at bringing things out in the open and getting everyone to move past them.
“Actually, you could be a very welcome diversion at this point, Gene. I’ve just remembered that I have a couple of calls I need to make this morning, but I’m supposed to be giving Grant the grand tour. Would you mind taking him out to the vineyards and I’ll catch up with you in a little while?”
“Sure.” He smiled at Grant. “I always enjoy a walk amongst the vines. Be warned though; I love this place, and I’m a talker. I’ll probably tell you everything you never needed to know.”
“That’s fine by me. I need to know all about it, and I want to know.” He caught Chelsea’s eye as he spoke those last few words. Was he trying to tell her something, or was she just imagining it? What did it matter?
“Thanks, Gene.” She nodded at Grant. “I’ll catch up with you as soon as I get done here.”
“You take your time. Whenever you’re ready will be good with me.”
She nodded but didn’t reply. Was she reading too much into his words again? She hoped so.