Читать книгу Wed on His Terms: Million-Dollar Marriage Merger - Charlene Sands - Страница 14

Tony entered the Carlino offices, a two-story building set in the heart of Napa Valley. The older outer structure gave way to a modern, innovative inner office filled with leather and marble. The mortar and stone building had been classified as a ghost winery, once owned by an aging retired sea captain who had run the place in the 1890s until Prohibition put him out of business, along with nearly seven hundred other wineries in the area. While some wineries had been turned into estates and restaurants, some held true to their original destiny, haunted not by ghostly spirits but by the passage of time and ruin.

The place had lain dormant and in a state of wreckage until Santo Carlino purchased the property then renovated it into their office space.

Tony walked into the reception area and was greeted by a stunningly gorgeous redhead. “Hi, you must be Tony Carlino.” The woman—her cleavage nearly spilling out of her top—lifted up from her desk to shake his hand. “Joe said you’d be stopping by. I’m Alicia Pendrake, but you can call me Ali.”

“Hi, Ali.” He grasped her hand and shook.

“I’m Joe’s new personal assistant. Today’s my second day on the job.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tony said, curious why Joe didn’t mention hiring anyone new when they spoke, especially one who looked like an overly buxom supermodel, with rich auburn curls draping over her shoulders, wearing a sleek outfit and knee-high boots.

She pointed to the main office door. “He’s inside, crunching numbers, what else?”

Tony chuckled. The woman was a spitfire. “Okay, thanks.”

“Nice meeting you, Mr. Carlino.”

“It’s Tony.”

“Okay, Tony.” She granted him a pleased smile that sent his male antenna up.

He found Joe seated behind his desk, staring at the computer screen. He made sure to close the door behind him. “Whoa … where did you find her?”

“Find who?” Joe said, his attention focused on the computer.

“Alicia … Ali. Your new PA.”

Joe’s brows furrowed and he took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “I met her in New York last year. She’s efficient and capable.”

“I bet. What happened to Maggie?”

“I had to let her go. She wasn’t doing her job. This place was in chaos when I got here. I remembered Ali, and I called her. Offered to pay her way out here, gave her an advance on her salary to get set up. I didn’t think she’d take the job.”

“But she did. Just like that?”

“Yeah, I got lucky.”

“You got lucky? Joe, the woman is beyond gorgeous. Haven’t you noticed?”

Joe rubbed his jaw. “She’s attractive, I suppose.”

“You suppose? Maybe you need better glasses.”

“My glasses are fine. I’m not interested, Tone. You know that I’ve sworn off women. After what happened with Sheila, I’m basically immune to beautiful women … to all women actually. Ali is smart. She’s dedicated, and she does her work without complaint. She’s very organized. You know how I am about organization.”

Tony’s lips twitched. “Okay, if you say so.”

“So, what’s up? You said you needed a favor?”

Tony tossed the flash drive onto the desk. “I need you to compare these accounts from Purple Fields with ours, for the same dates. I’ve been going over Rena’s books. I just need your expert opinion.”

“How soon?”

“Today?”

“I can do that.” Joe inserted the flash drive into his computer. “I’ll upload the files and let you know what I find out.”

“Great, oh and can you burn them to a CD for me? There’s something else I want to check on.”

“Sure thing. I’ll do that first.” While Joe burned the information to a disk, Tony walked around the office, noting the subtle changes Joe had made to Santo Carlino’s office. Joe had secured even more high tech equipment than his father had used and updated the phone system. He was determined to make the company paperless, sooner rather than later.

It would seem that the only thing left from the older generation of the winery were the vast acres of vineyards—six hundred in all—the grapes that couldn’t be digitalized into growing faster and the wine itself.

After a few minutes, Joe handed him a CD of Rena’s accounts. “Here you go.”

Tony tapped the CD against his palm. “Thanks.”

“So how’s married life?”

Tony shrugged, wishing he knew the answer to that question. “Too soon to tell. I’ll be back later. You don’t have plans tonight, do you?”

Joe shook his head. “Just work.”

“Okay, I’ll see you around six.”

Tony walked out of the office after bidding farewell to Ali, who was as intent on her computer screen as Joe had been. He drove out of town and up the hills to the Carlino estate, waving a quick hello to Nick as he drove off the property with a pretty woman in his car. Tony only shook his head at his happy-go-lucky brother, thinking “been there, done that.”

Tony entered the house and grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator. Taking a big swig from the bottle, he walked upstairs to his quadrant of the house, entered his private office and sat down at his desk. He logged onto his computer and inserted the CD into the slot.

He stopped for one moment, contemplating what he was about to do. Taking another gulp of beer, he sighed with indecision, but his curiosity got the better of him. He searched the files and finally found what he’d been looking for. The screen popped up with the title Vine by Vine by Rena Fairfield Montgomery.

Tony began reading the first chapter.

Roots.

In order to make great wine, you need good terroir, meaning the soil, climate and topography of a region that uniquely influence the grapes. A wine with a certain terroir cannot be reproduced in close resemblance of another, because the terroir is not exactly the same. Much like the DNA of a person each wine has a one-of-a-kind profile.

I guess I came from good terroir. That is to say, my parents were solid grounded people, rich, not by monetary standards but by life and vitality and a grand love of winemaking. My roots run deep and strong. I come from healthy stock. I’ve always been thankful for that. I’ve had the love of the best two people on earth. A child can’t ask for more than that.

My parents, like the trellis system of a vine, show you the way yet cannot dictate the path you will ultimately choose. As I grew I felt their protection, but as I look back I also see the strength they instilled in me. After all, a new vine needs to weather a vicious storm now and again. It needs to withstand blasting winds, bending by its might but not breaking.

I remember a time when I was in grammar school …

Tony read the chapter, smiling often as Rena portrayed anecdotes from her childhood, relating them to the ever-growing vines, taking shape, readying for the fruit it would bear.

He skimmed the next few chapters until he came upon a chapter called “Crush and Maceration.”

The crush in vintner’s terminology is when the grapes are harvested, broken from the vine by gentle hands. The crush happens each year between August and October, depending on the kind of grapes that are growing in your vineyard. For me, the crush happened only once. It’s that time in your life when you break off from the ones that graciously and lovingly nourished you to become your own person. I was sixteen when that happened. I grew from an adolescent girl to womanhood the autumn of my sophomore year. The day I met my first love, Rod Barrington.

I had a big crush on Rod from the moment I laid eyes on him. He was new to our school, but his family was well known in the area. Everyone knew of the wealthy Barringtons, they owned more property in our valley than anyone else.

While my friendship with Rod grew, I fell more and more in love with him. For a young girl, the pain of being his friend nearly brought me to my knees. I couldn’t bear seeing him tease and joke with other girls, but I kept my innermost feelings hidden, hoping one day he’d realize that his good friend, Joanie Adams might just be the girl for him.

Tony read a few more passages, skimming the words on the page quickly, absorbing each instance that Rena relayed in the story, vaguely recalling the circumstances much like Rena had written. It was clearly obvious that though Rena had changed the names, Rena had written about his relationship with her, reminding him of the love they once shared. As he read on, the smile disappeared from his face, Rena’s emotions so bold and honest on the page. He knew he’d hurt her but just how much he hadn’t known until this very moment.

In winemaking once the grapes are gently crushed from the skins, seeds and stems, allowing the juices to flow, maceration occurs. The clear juice deepens in color the longer it’s allowed to steep with its counterparts, being in direct contact with stems and seeds and skins. Time blends the wine and determines the hue and flavor, intensifying its effect.

And that’s how I felt about Rod. The longer I was with him, the more direct contact I had with him, the more I loved him. He colored my every thought and desire. I knew I’d met the man of my dreams. We blended in every way.

Tony skimmed more pages, his stomach taut with regret and pain. He stopped when he came to a chapter titled “Corked.”

He knew what that meant. He forced himself to read on.

Wine that is “corked” has been contaminated by its cork stopper, causing a distinctly unpleasant aroma. The wine is ruined for life. It’s spoiled and will never be the same. Fortunately for wine lovers, only seven percent of all wine is considered corked or tainted. A sad fact if you’d invested time and energy with that bottle.

Wine shouldn’t let you down. And neither should someone you love.

Tony ran his hands down his face, unable to read any more. But a voice inside told him he had to know the extent of Rena’s feelings. He had to find out what happened to her after he’d left her. He continued to read, sitting stiffly in the chair, woodenly reading words that would haunt him.

“Rod called today, after his first big sale. It killed me to talk to him, I felt selfish for wishing he’d flop in his high-powered position in New York. I was dealing with my mother’s terminal cancer, needing him so badly.”

After reading Rena’s story, which ended abruptly when Rena’s mother died, Tony slumped in the seat. Drained, hollowed out by what he’d learned, he simply sat there, reliving the scenarios in his mind.

Eventually Tony logged off of his computer, leaving the disk behind, but Rena’s emotions and her silent suffering while he was winning races and pursuing his dreams would stay with him forever.

He met Joe at the office at six o’clock as planned, his disposition in the dumps. “Did you find anything unusual?” he asked his brother.

“No, not unusual. Dad did screw a lot of people over, but I’ve never seen it so clearly as now.”

Tony groaned, his mood going from gray to black in a heartbeat. “I was hoping I was wrong.”

“No, you’re not wrong. Your instincts are dead-on.” Joe shuffled papers around, comparing notes he’d written.

“Looked to me like Dad deliberately undersold cabernet and merlot to the retailers to drive Purple Fields out of business. We make five kinds of wine, but he chose the two Purple Fields are famous for to undercut them. From what I’ve found, he sold for a slight loss for at least ten years. He knew he could sustain those losses without a problem, while Purple Fields couldn’t compete.”

Tony winced, hearing the truth aloud. “I’d asked Dad to leave Purple Fields alone. To let them make a living. But I’m betting he did it to spite me.”

Joe’s brows rose. “You think he singled them out because you chose a different career?”

“He’d never approved of my choices. He didn’t want me to succeed. He wanted to dictate the course of my life, and it pissed him off that I wouldn’t listen to him. I chose racing over him.”

“Yeah, Dad was angry when you took off. He wanted to hand down his business to his firstborn son. Hell, he wasn’t too fond of me not sticking around either. I’ve got a head for business, not grape growing.”

Tony’s lips curved halfway up. “You’re a computer geek, Joe.”

“And proud of it,” Joe added, then focused his attention back on the subject at hand. “Dad was an all-around brute. I bet he used the same tactics on half a dozen other small wineries to drive them out of business.”

“Doesn’t make it right. Hell, he made millions. He didn’t need to shut down his competition.”

“Apparently, he didn’t see it that way.”

Tony let go a frustrated sigh. “At least there’s something I can do about it. I’m going to renegotiate those contracts. We’ll sell our wine at a fair price, but we won’t undercut anyone, especially Purple Fields.”

Joe nodded and leaned back in his chair. “That should make Rena happy.”

“Yeah, but it won’t make up for all the past pain this family put her through.”

“You’re not just talking about Dad now, are you?”

Tony took a steadying breath and shook his head. “No. But I plan to make it up to Rena. Whether she likes it or not.”

“Those sound like fighting words, Tone.”

Tony rose from his seat. “They are.”

“Oh, before I forget, someone called for you today.” Joe shifted through a pile of notes, coming up with one. “Something about your racing contracts. They’ve been calling the house and couldn’t reach you.”

He handed Tony the note, and when he glanced at the name, he cursed under his breath. He didn’t need this right now. “Okay,” he said, stuffing the note in his pocket. “Thanks. I’ll take care of it.”

Now he had three things to deal with, the note he tucked away being the least of his worries. At least he knew now how to save Purple Fields, but after reading Vine by Vine, Tony wasn’t sure how he could repair the damage he’d done to Rena.

The promise he made to David far from his mind, Tony wanted to save his hasty marriage for more selfish reasons. He couldn’t deny that reliving the past in these last few hours made him realize how much Rena had once meant to him.

He got in his car and drove off, speeding out of town, needing the rush of adrenaline to ward off his emotions and plaguing thoughts that he was falling in love with Rena again.

Tony entered the house, and a pleasing aroma led him straight to the kitchen. He found Rena standing at the stove top stirring the meal, her hair beautifully messy and her face pink from puffs of steam rising up. She didn’t acknowledge his presence initially until he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her against him. He kissed her throat, breathing in her citrus scent. “Looking good.”

“It’s just stew.”

“I meant you,” Tony said, stealing another quick kiss. Coming home to this domestic scene, something grabbed his insides and twisted when he saw her. “You’re beautiful behind the stove. I want to come home to you every night.”

She frowned and moved slightly away. “Don’t say those things.”

“Why?” he asked softly. “Because I’ve said them before and now you don’t believe me?”

Rena kept stirring the stew. “You’re astute.”

“And you’re being stubborn.”

She shrugged, moving away from the stove to grab two plates from the cabinet. Tony took out cutlery from a drawer and set two glasses on the table.

So now they were resorting to name-calling? This certainly wasn’t the scene Tony pictured in his mind when he first entered the house.

“Did you find out anything from Joe?” Rena asked.

“Yeah, I did. But let’s eat first.”

“Whenever someone says that to me, I know the news is not good.”

“There’s bad news and there’s good news. I think we should eat first before discussing it.”

Rena brought the dishes to the stove top and filled their plates, adding two biscuits to Tony’s plate. She served him and sat down to eat. Her long hair fell forward as she nibbled on her food. She wore jeans and a soft baby-blue knit blouse that brought out the vivid color of her eyes. She hardly looked pregnant, except for a hint of added roundness to her belly.

Sweeping emotions stirred in his gut. He wanted to protect Rena. He wanted to possess her. He wanted to make love to her until all the pain and anger disappeared from her life. So much had happened to her in her short thirty-one years from losing her mother and father, to losing David, but it had all started with him. And Tony determined it would all end with him as well.

After the meal, Rena started cleaning up. Tony rose and then took her hand. “Leave this. We’ll take care of it later. We need to talk.”

She nodded and followed him into the living room. Oak beams, a stone fireplace stacked with logs and two comfortable sofas lent to the warmth of the room. Tony waited for her to sit, then took a place next to her.

They sat in silence for a minute, then Tony began. “What I have to say isn’t easy. Joe and I went through the records and have proof now of how my father manipulated sales in the region.”

“You mean, my father was right? Santo set out to destroy us?”

Tony winced and drew a breath. “I can’t sugarcoat it, Rena. My father undercut Purple Fields, even at a loss to his own company to drive you out of business. Joe’s guess is that it wasn’t personal. He’d been doing the same to other small businesses for years.”

Rena closed her eyes, absorbing the information. “My father knew. He didn’t have proof. His customers wouldn’t talk about it, except to say that they’d found better deals elsewhere. They’d praised our wine over and over but wouldn’t buy it.”

“My father probably strong-armed them into silence,” Tony said.

Rena opened her eyes and stared at him. He couldn’t tell what was going on in her head, but he suspected it wasn’t good.

She rose from her seat and paced the floor. “My mother was worried and anxious all the time. She loved Purple Fields. She and my father poured everything they had into the winery. They worked hard to make ends meet. She held most of it in, putting up a brave front, but I could tell she wasn’t the same. My father noticed it, too. He’d stare at her with concern in his eyes. And that all started around the time when we broke up and you left town.”

Tony stood to face her. He owed Rena the full truth or at least the truth as he saw it. His voice broke when he made the confession, “I think he targeted Purple Fields after I left.”

She stiffened and her mouth twisted. “My God,” she whispered, closing her eyes in agony. “Don’t you see? The stress might have triggered my mother’s illness.”

Tony approached her. “Rena, no.”

She began nodding her head. “Oh, yes. Yes. My mother was healthy. There was no history of that disease in our family. Mom was fine. Fine, until the winery started going downhill. She worried herself sick. The doctors even suggested that stress could be a factor.”

Rena’s face reddened as her pain turned to anger. She announced with a rasp in her voice, “I need some air.”

Tony watched her walk out of the house, slamming the door behind her. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration rising. “Damn it. Damn it.”

He’d never hated being a Carlino more than now. He could see it in Rena’s eyes—the blame, the hatred and the injury. When she’d looked at him that way, he understood all of her resentment. He knew she’d react to the truth with some degree of anger, but he’d never considered that she’d blame his family for her mother’s illness.

Could it be true?

Tony couldn’t change the past. All he could do now was to convince her he’d make things right. He gave her a few minutes of solitude before exiting the house. He had to find his wife and comfort her.

Even though in her eyes, he was the enemy.