Tyler
I STARED AT the bottle of Henny.
Funny how things can change so quickly. One minute your up, the next your down. And I was down all right.
The fact that California Jane was in trouble and I didn’t fucking know anything about it left me speechless.
Sitting at my kitchen table for the very first time, I ran my hands down my face. My emotions were a maelstrom of turmoil.
I was confused.
I was upset.
I was fucking pissed.
The truth of her deception coupled with my own ignorance left me trembling to the bone.
Numb.
Questions shot like a pistol at a target range through my brain. How did I not notice I hadn’t seen any financial statements all year? And why the hell had I been so self-absorbed in myself to see the company wasn’t performing well?
Sure, we were outsourcing product, but the equipment had been slowly being updated and functioning well. Okay, so yeah, the marketing was a bit outdated and the brand had lost some of its luster from long ago, but failure hadn’t been spray painted on the walls for fuck’s sake.
Stupid.
The truth was times had changed and we hadn’t kept up with the pace, which is why I’d been relentless in the idea of pursuing other boutique labels.
No wonder she wasn’t interested.
But this—keeping the near collapse of my family’s legacy from me—it was more than irresponsible of her—it was shameful.
As hard as I tried, there was no containing my fury over the blatant omission. I couldn’t shake the blistering anger echoing in my ears with every word she spoke.
After she laid CJ’s situation out in one big, fat, messy picture for me, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths and then practically barked, “How could you have let things get so bad?”
She looked into her coffee cup. “I didn’t realize they had until it was too late and even then, I still thought I could turn things around before your birthday,” she answered.
A blinding fury rushed through my veins and I pounded my fist on the wooden surface so hard her espresso flowed over the rim. “You thought?” I barked. “You just thought you could turn numbers like that around?”
“Yes, I did.” On an exhale, Wilhelmina set an almost pleading expression on her face, like she knew I was about to blow and was begging me to calm down.
When my disposition remained harsh, she used the spill as an excuse to escape my wrath. Getting up, she slowly walked toward the sink. “You know in the ten years I’ve been running California Jane since your father passed away—”
“Passed away?” My voice was hard when I interrupted her. “He didn’t just pass away and you know it.”
That sympathetic look she always got on the few occasions I allowed the topic to be discussed entered her eyes and I scowled at her. Shutting that memory down for the both of us as fast as I could, I snapped, “Go on.”
After taking a breath, she continued. “You know the company has experienced its fair share of ups and downs for quite a while. Still, somehow, I’ve always managed to push through the tough times and come out stronger.”
“Until now,” I gritted.
Wilhelmina stopped wiping up the liquid with a paper towel and met my harsh stare. “Yes, until now. But I have a plan.”
“And let me guess—this plan involves me moving back to Calistoga?”
She nodded, and when she did, she dropped her gaze. It didn’t matter, I’d already seen it—the slight trepidation that appeared in her eyes.
I knew Wilhelmina Holiday, and I knew she never hesitated to go after what she wanted, so I had to admit, I took a moment to gloat.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I lifted both brows and glowered at her. “And what else does it involve? Me donating a kidney?”
Her gaze lifted and she met my stone-cold stare dead on. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tyler. Nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
“All you have to do is marry Paris Fairchild.”
My shit-eating grin instantly faded. “You can’t be serious?”
“Yes, I am.”
“No fucking way is that ever happening,” I snapped at her.
I had three hers in my life. Three women whose names I couldn’t stand to say out loud so I referred to them as her. There was the older her, the middle-aged her, and the younger her.
Wilhelmina Madeline Fox Holiday was actually more than my step-grandmother. She was also my step-mother but that cluster fuck of a story was for another day.
Audrey Miller, the middle-aged her, was the unwed vessel that delivered me.
Then there was the younger her, Paris Elizabeth Hollis Fairchild. She was my old high school flame and number one on the list of hers of whose names I couldn’t stand to taste on my tongue.
“Listen to me—” Wilhelmina insisted.
I cut her off. “No, I won’t. You’re insane. You’ve officially lost your fucking mind if you think I’m going anywhere near that woman. You know I can’t stand her.”
Pleading with me, she went on. “Tyler, you need to let the past go. Let bygones be bygones. It’s imperative that we join forces with Highway 128. It’s the only way.”
Shaking my head, I spoke with an edge to my voice I couldn’t hold back. “Just for pure entertainment value, I’m going to ask, why them?”
Her gaze showed nothing but determination. “Because they still have their vineyards and proximity wise, combining with them is a no-brainer.”
Looking to the ceiling, I rubbed the scruff under my jaw and tried to keep my shit together.
Right.
A no brainer.
“Look, Tyler,” she sighed. “They aren’t doing any better than we are after the fires. In fact, they would be doing even worse if it wasn’t for that tasting room of theirs. We might have lost our vineyards, but they lost their equipment. Without capital, once their inventory depletes, there’s no way they can stay afloat.”
The fires.
The damn raging fires that roared through the valley last year did that much damage to their business and they hadn’t attempted to fix it yet?
I had no idea.
Fuck.
I knew we’d been outsourcing our grapes, compromising on quality, taste, and paying a higher price, and I had accepted that we had to wait until this month to correct things. But that acceptance was before I knew money was an issue.
How the hell could we restore the vineyards?
Without cash, there was no way the rejuvenation of the acreage could possibly be underway. The future looked bleak. Capital would be needed to sustain the higher cost of product and obviously, we didn’t have that. Then again, neither did Highway 128.
Confusion creased my brow. “Joining forces with them doesn’t make any sense,” I muttered, still reeling from the mere thought of her crazy suggestion.
“It makes perfect sense.”
“How’s that? You just said they’re about to go under?”
“That’s why we need to merge. In the short-term, they have the product and we have the means of production. And then in the long-term, we form a single, healthy entity with plenty of grapes and working production equipment. It’s the only way for both companies to survive.”
Long-term.
I snickered. That was a laugh. Paris and I wouldn’t last two days together. I could guarantee that.
“I’m serious,” Wilhelmina huffed.
I pointed my finger at her. “If you feel so strongly about your crazy idea, you marry her.”
She curled up her sarcastic grin. “This isn’t funny, Tyler.”
I shrugged. “No, it isn’t. Just like marrying me off to Paris Fairchild isn’t either.”
“Unless you’re a miracle worker, it’s the only way to save California Jane.”
“I got it,” I tapped my temple, “how about you go talk to old man Malcolm instead of trying to marry me off to his daughter, the devil?”
Wilhelmina rolled her eyes. “First of all, she’s not the devil, Tyler. And secondly, you don’t think I’ve tried to arrange a meeting? The old geezer won’t return a single one of my calls.”
“Why the hell not?”
“You know exactly why. He hates me by proxy to your grandfather.”
For some reason, that reality really pissed me off. A feud started more than fifty years ago couldn’t possibly still be going on. Could it? “That’s fucking ridiculous,” I told her, my voice dripping ice in a way that helped calm my nerves.
“Well, it’s true. And besides, Paris is a very lovely woman and much more reasonable than her father.”
A dark laughter roared from my throat. “You really are deranged. Haven’t you seen the headlines lately? Her and some super rich gigolo are all the rage with the party circuit in L.A.”
Gran-gran shook her head. “Tyler, come on, you know first-hand how the press likes to embellish. The guy’s rich with estranged family issues. Of course it’s going to make the news. And honestly, you shouldn’t believe everything you read.”
Did she know something I didn’t?
“Whatever,” I said, refusing to ask. “In love or not, she’s still a hot mess,” I added, because the photos of her partying with the rich French dude were all the evidence I needed of that.
That penciled-in eyebrow arched. “Sure, Tyler, she likes to have her fun, but that doesn’t mean she’s not good at her job. You do know she left that big-wig marketing firm she was working for in L.A. to work at Highway 128?”
I blinked, surprised. “No.” I kept it short.
“Well, she did. And I’ve done my research. She’s running Highway 128 and from what I can tell, she’s the only reason her father’s company is still in business. That club and tasting room of hers has done wonders. Come to think of it, she could be the female version of you, Tyler. So what’s the problem?”
I slapped my palm to my forehead. “Oh, hell, when you put it like that Wilhelmina, it makes perfect sense for us to get married.”
The sarcasm I used had those false eyelashes of hers fluttering up and down.
“I mean, I get it,” I went on. “Paris and I are obviously a match made in heaven.” Or hell, I thought before adding, “I have no idea why I thought marriage should involve things like love and respect when clearly partying is all you need to make it work.”
Wilhelmina balled her hand into a fist and pounded it on the table. The sound was so loud, I jerked back. “This isn’t a joke, Tyler. If you don’t want to lose everything your grandfather worked so hard for, you’ll do what I’m telling you to do and make amends with her. It’s the only way.”
My heart pounded too fast and my mouth went dry.
No way.
NO WAY.
There was no fucking way I was going to ‘make amends’ with Paris Fairchild. I drew in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. I had to keep my cool. Seemingly nonchalant-like, I shrugged. “Then you go talk to her. See if she’s willing to entertain the idea of making amends with me and merging the two companies, and we’ll go from there.”
I already knew Paris would never agree to such a thing. I might have hated her—but she hated me so much more. And I was certain she’d rather fail than see my face ever again.
Wilhelmina’s perfectly sprayed hair moved, that’s how hard she shook her head. “No, even if she is willing, the merger couldn’t possibly work under those circumstances. It would be too risky.”
This was getting more amusing by the second. “And why is that?”
“I don’t trust her or her father.”
I snickered low under my breath. “And yet, you want me to marry her?”
Her shoulders squared. “Yes, I do. If you marry Paris, you’ll create a tie that can’t be broken or cheated.”
My chin took on a defiant tilt. “You should know.”
She bit off bitter laughter but ignored responding to my jab. “Marriage presents a mutual benefit for each of you—you get her grapes, she gets your equipment. I’ve spoken to Mr. Dane, and he agrees with me. Marriage is the only way to assure that no one will get screwed.”
Screwed.
She had that right.
Done with this bullshit, I pushed away from the table and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. “Yeah, well, it’s not going to happen, Wilhelmina. Not in a million fucking years.”
I’d rather donate a kidney.