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Nothing of Frank Monroe’s belongings remained. She’d cleared out every last note card and paperclip after her stepmother announced the vineyard’s sale. But she could still feel him here. She could smell the tangy tobacco he’d smoked in his pipe, and it took no effort at all to envision his bulky frame sitting behind a cluttered desk wearing his usual uniform of wrinkled khaki trousers, a Greek fisherman’s cap and a navy button-down shirt, the breast pocket of which bulged from his glasses case and assorted other personal effects. Jaye swore her father carried more things in his pockets than most women did in their purses.
“Everything okay?” Zack asked.
The image dissolved. She glanced over to find Medallion’s new owner standing beside her. She’d forgotten all about him for a moment as she’d stared at the empty desk and remembered…mourned. Her father had been gone nearly six months, but the ache had not lessened. If anything, it seemed to grow worse as the reality of never seeing him again set in and festered like an infected sore.
She felt too raw, too exposed, to answer Zack’s question, so she asked one of her own. “What did you want to see me about?”
Zack leaned one hip on the edge of the desk. “I thought that would be obvious.”
She swallowed as a lead weight settled in her stomach. “You’re letting me go.”
“No,” he said slowly, hardly sounding decisive.
Jaye crossed her arms. “You mean, not yet.”
He ran a hand over the back of his neck and chuckled, but he sounded more frustrated than amused when he said, “You don’t like to make things easy, do you?”
She’d lost her father, their vineyard, and now her livelihood was on the line. “In my experience, nothing worth having comes easily.”
She meant Medallion, recalling the backbreaking hours she and her father had spent grafting vines to root stock, fixing trellises, warding off pests and praying for just the right mix of sunshine and rain to produce a good crop.
To her surprise, Zack nodded, as if he understood completely. But what could have been difficult for Mr. Silver Spoon to attain?
“I’d appreciate your cooperation, Jaye. This transition is difficult for everyone, perhaps you most of all, but it won’t become any easier if Medallion’s workers feel they have to choose between us.”
“I’m not asking them to choose.”
“No?” His brows rose.
“I care about them,” she insisted. “They’re good workers, good people. They have families to feed. I don’t want to see them strung along.”
“I won’t string anyone along. But I didn’t appreciate being put on the spot down there.” He waved a hand in the direction of the door.
“I’m sorry.” She tried to sound sincere, but she couldn’t resist adding, “If you felt that’s what I was doing.”
Zack inhaled deeply, but apparently decided to drop the matter because he changed the subject. “I’m impressed with the operation here. It’s well run, and the finished product shows incredible potential. I understand from the workers that you’re largely responsible for making this a first-class facility.”
She wasn’t comfortable with the compliment. “I played a small role. It was my father’s doing. He loved Medallion and liked nothing better than seeing it succeed against bigger and supposedly better wineries both here and around the world.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. I understand that he died this past spring.”
“Yes.” The pain of hearing those words still surprised her, but she managed a polite nod. “Thank you.”
“I met your father once.”
This news had her full attention. “You did? When was that?”
“A few years back at a wine competition in San Diego. It must have been the first year Medallion entered. Your chardonnay did well as I recall.”
Jaye wrinkled her nose. “Honorable mention. I thought it had a shot at silver. Bronze at the very least.”
“It was pretty good,” he said, as if he really remembered.
“Holland Farms took the gold.”
“Yes.” She thought he might gloat over his family’s win, but he didn’t. Instead he said, “I liked your father. We had dinner one night. Frank Monroe listened to some ideas I had.” His expression turned thoughtful. “He was a really good listener.”
Her throat ached too much to speak, so she merely nodded. She and her father had spent many afternoons in this very room, talking, and not all of their conversations had centered on wine.
“I don’t recall seeing you there,” Zack said.
“San Diego?”
“Uh-huh.”
Jaye wasn’t one to get dolled up, let alone mix and mingle. She was more comfortable in casual pants and loafers than in cocktail dresses and high heels. What’s more she’d never understood the point of making small talk with strangers or chatting about the weather—unless, of course, the local forecast was calling for something that might harm the grapes.
Frank Monroe had often bemoaned the fact that he’d turned his only daughter into a tomboy, so much so that as an adult she was more interested in grafting vines than going out on dates. But Jaye had no regrets. Oh, she liked men and she did date, ending things amiably when her suitors turned serious. She wasn’t commitmentphobic, as her best friend, Corey Worth, claimed. Jaye just didn’t see the point in settling down and starting a family. To her way of thinking, it was better to know now that she wasn’t the wife and mother type than to do what her mom had done: marry, have a child and then take off for parts unknown with nary a look back.
“I’m not a very memorable person,” she told Zack.
He surprised her by replying, “I don’t know about that. You make quite an impression.”
His gaze was direct and it made her oddly uncomfortable. For the first time in memory, Jaye felt self-conscious and wished she’d taken a little more care with her appearance. What exactly she would have done differently, she wasn’t sure. She only knew that compared to Zack, who stood before her in tailored trousers and a designer shirt that screamed expensive, she felt drab and outdated.
She noticed other things about him then. What filled out his clothes wasn’t bad, either. He had broad shoulders, long limbs and narrow hips. He appeared fit, as if he might work out regularly. But he wasn’t overly muscled.
While his body was definitely a prime specimen, it was his face that could make a woman forget her name. Paul Newman–blue eyes peaked out from beneath a slash of brows that were a good two shades darker than the sandy hair on his head. The hair had a nice wave to it, the kind women paid big money to achieve. And he wore it longer than most professional men did. Not quite long enough to pull into a ponytail, but it brushed his shirt’s collar in the back and gave him a slightly dangerous look that was in stark contrast to his otherwise tidy appearance.
Jaye resisted the urge to fiddle with the end of her braid. “Actually, I didn’t go with my dad that time. I stayed behind to look after things at the vineyard.”
“That explains it then,” Zack said. “I never forget a face.”
“I never forget a wine. Your chardonnay was exceptional that year.” It was a relief to return to the subject of grapes. She always felt on firm footing when the discussion centered on business.
“Yes, Holland’s was,” he said. Again, he seemed to distance himself from taking any credit. “I think Medallion’s has the potential to be even better.”
“Really?” she asked, too intrigued to act blasé.
“I wouldn’t have bought this vineyard if I felt otherwise,” he replied.
The reminder of the winery’s change in ownership tempered her enthusiasm. “I see.”
“I was disappointed I didn’t get a chance to meet you when I toured Medallion before making my initial offer,” Zack said.
“I was out of the country at the time.”
He nodded. “A buying trip. France, I believe your mother told me.”
“Margaret is my stepmother.” She snapped out the correction. “I was not informed of your visit until well after my return. In fact, I wasn’t informed that the vineyard had changed hands until after the deal was done.”
He blinked in surprise. “I…I didn’t realize.”
Jaye saw no point in beating around the bush. “Medallion should have been mine.”
“But your father didn’t leave it to you.”
His equally blunt statement had her bristling. “Dad thought he could micromanage a peace treaty between his second wife and me from the grave. He was wrong.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your pity,” she replied.
“Actually, that was an expression of sympathy,” he said, making her feel small.
Jaye paced to the window in an effort to regroup. Her anger, justified as it was, was of no use here. So she moderated her tone and said evenly, “I want the vineyard, Mr. Holland. I’m prepared to offer you what you paid plus a little something extra for your trouble.”
“Why don’t you call me Zack? And it looks like we have a problem.” He joined her at the window. “I want Medallion, too. I’m not interested in selling.”
His reply was nothing less than Jaye had expected. After all, she had made the same offer to Margaret without success. Yet the disappointment of hearing him say the words nearly leveled her.
“Is that going to be an issue for you?” he asked.
She swallowed her outrage along with a good helping of pride. “I don’t have much choice but to accept that you’ll be the one calling the shots from now on.”
To her surprise, he laughed out loud. “Gee, that sounds convincing.”
“I said I would accept it. I didn’t say anything about liking it.”
“Ah. Thanks for the clarification.”
While Zack appeared amused, Jaye was dead serious when she said, “I’m very good at my job. I…I would appreciate it if you would allow me to stay on.”
He nodded. “I’d like that. You know the local people, not to mention the regional quirks of the Great Lakes growing season, far better than I do at this point. I’d like you to manage things.”
“But I’m the head vintner. Tom Worley manages Medallion’s operation.”
“Not anymore. He’ll be reassigned or offered a compensation package. Think you can handle it?”
She bristled at his tone. “There’s not a job at Medallion I haven’t done at one time or another. My father thought it was important to know the business inside and out. He didn’t believe you could be an effective leader without understanding the jobs of the people you were leading.”
“Is that a subtle barb?” he asked.
“Of course not.” Before she could censor the thought, she added, “I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
She expected him to be annoyed, perhaps angry. Instead he laughed.
“Do you think I’ve never worked a harvest or shoveled grapes into a crusher?”
“Have you?” Jaye asked.
“Yes. But I don’t think I have to work every job to understand its demands or to appreciate the people I pay to perform it.”
“Fair enough. So, if I’m no longer head vintner, who’ll be in charge of winemaking?” she asked.
Zack only smiled.
“You?” Her tone was incredulous, so much so it bordered on insulting.
“No need to look so shocked. I have some prior experience,” he informed her.
Jaye wasn’t impressed by his claim. All she could see was that she would have her hands full in the coming months, likely pulling double duty while he dabbled. She cleared her throat. “I believe in being honest.”
“That’s good to know,” he said slowly.
“I’ll stay on, managing and assisting with the winemaking when necessary—”
“You’re already assuming I’ll need your help?”
“I said I believe in being honest.”
“Yes, but what about tactful?” he asked wryly.
“I’ll work on it.”
“Fair enough,” he replied.
“As I said, I’ll stay on, but I won’t be doing it for you or even for the paycheck.”
His eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“I’ve got an investment here that goes well beyond money. Your name might be on the deed now, but make no mistake, Mr. Holland—”
“Zack,” he said, for the first time sounding truly annoyed. “My name is Zack.”
“Fine. Zack. I want Medallion. And I plan to keep making you fair offers for its sale until you finally accept one. I don’t give up easily.”
“So I’ve noticed.” Then his expression turned oddly grim. “Do you love it that much?”
“Love it?” Jaye shook her head, not surprised in the least that someone who could walk away from his family’s land would fail to understand the attachment she had to hers. “This vineyard is everything to me.”
“Everything? It’s just a place. It’s not…people.”
“No. It’s more reliable than people.” She hadn’t meant to say that. Thankfully, he didn’t understand her meaning.
“It’s dirt and vines. It’s real estate, an investment,” he countered, blue eyes glittering like ice.
“Is that all it is to you?”
