Mr. Red Page 8

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nico

  The forty-minute drive to the bar on the outskirts of Yountville where the monthly meeting takes place goes too fast, and I hate the loss of her body when she slides off the bike. She pauses at the door, worrying her lower lip.

  “What is it?” I ask gruffly, stomach sinking as I prepare for her request.

  “So… inside…”

  “Yes?” I prompt. I’ve already noticed that when she’s nervous, she doesn’t cut to the chase the way she does the rest of the time. She toes a rock with the tip of her boots. “Let me guess,” I fill in. “You want me to make myself scarce.”

  My voice must convey my disappointment, because her eyes snap to mine. “It’s not like we’re on a date. We’re not even partners,” she adds defensively.

  I open my hands. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll make myself scarce.” I get it, I do. She wants to make her mark, all on her own. But part of me hates her blanket rejection. I pull open the door and wave her in. “Holler if you need anything.”

  She nods and passes, and I make no attempt to hide the fact that I’m staring at her ass the whole way in. There’s so much I’d love to do with that ass, with all of her, and I have to sternly remind myself that I’ve firmly placed her in the one-night stand column.

  She pauses at the table to fill out a name tag, and hands over the bag with the wine. I haven’t been to one of these since before all my family drama. I only started going because Ronnie started dragging me to these sometime last year. I should have suspected then that something was up, but once again, I was too self-absorbed to read the clues. I fill out my name tag and brace myself for a handful of awkward conversations.

  “Can I get a picture of you two?” A young woman I’ve never seen before asks as we leave the table.

  “With him?” Alison asks, giving me a skeptical glance.

  “Sure,” I grin, slipping my arm around her waist and pulling her into my side. “You bet.”

  “I’m Brittany, the communications intern for the winemaker’s association. Can you tell me your names?”

  “I’m Alison Walker, winemaker at Fieldstone Wineries on Mt. Veeder, and this is Nicholas Case.” On the outside, she’s all smiles, but I can feel the tension running through her body.

  Brittany’s eyes go wide. “As in Case Family Wineries?”

  I’d be rich if I got a nickel every time someone asked that. “Indeed.”

  Brittany whips out a notebook. “So is Fieldstone Wineries a new Case venture?”

  “No,” Alison says forcefully. “Not at all.”

  “Oh, do you own the vineyard, then?”

  Alison tenses, but keeps her smile in place. “I’m just the winemaker.”

  Just the winemaker, my ass. I’ve only been there a short time, but already I can see she’s a helluva lot more than ‘just the winemaker.’

  “So who’s the owner then?”

  She gives me another sidelong glance, jaw ticking. “Declan Case,” she says quietly.

  “So it is a Case venture?” Brittany says excitedly. “Do I have permission to scoop this? This is big news. I’d love to help create some buzz for you.”

  I can sense Alison deflating, and I take a breath to say something, but she squeezes my forearm, hard. “Sure. Be my guest,” she answers with a wry smile. “It was bound to get out sooner or later.”

  Brittany bounces on her toes. “My boss will be so excited. Can I call you for an in-depth interview later?”

  “Of course.”Alison makes her excuses and slips out of my embrace, disappearing to the other side of the room.

  Pride swells in my chest as I watch her stop and speak with another winemaker. Alison is the picture of graciousness- not only to the young intern, but to everyone she encounters - a trait Ronnie never bothered to perfect. I shouldn’t compare the two, but it’s hard not to. For the most part, the crowd is friendly. The first part of the evening is always meet and greet, then after, any winemaker who wants, can step up and pour samples. It’s supposed to be a supportive environment where winemakers can do a little bragging about a reserve, or get opinions on whether or not a wine is ready to release. But Napa isn’t without its competitive sharks, and there are enough of those types here tonight, I worry that Alison might be their chum.

  “So glad to see you haven’t gone into permanent hiding, Case,” a familiar voice comments while a hand slaps my back. My skin crawls. Kevin Martin is an asshat of epic proportions. I’m pretty sure he spent every one of these meetings trying to crawl into Ronnie’s panties. He’s a talented winemaker, but I’d never work for him, or let anyone else I know work for him.

  I extend my hand while stepping back, creating distance. “Nice to see you, Kevin, how’ve you been?”

  Kevin eyes me. He’s an opportunistic fuck, and my guess is that right now he’s trying to decide if it’s in his best interests to butter me up or to give me the cold shoulder. “Fine, fine. Say… what can you tell me about the fat chick you came in with?”

  I grind my teeth, fisting my hand at my side. But with Kevin, it’s always best to stay cool. He’s got a nasty habit of pushing people to the breaking point, then somehow coming out squeaky clean. He’s not going to best me today. “You mean the winemaker? Alison Walker?” My eyes land on her, and I bite my tongue to not give away anything. I lift a shoulder, doing my best to look bored. “Don’t know anything about her.” Except that I fucking love her pussy, and the way she cries out my name when she’s coming all over my cock.

  Kevin’s eyes narrow. “That so? I heard she was working for your brother.”

  News travels fast, and gossip travels faster. It’s no secret she’s working for Declan, and I’m guessing the info came from one of the staff members at Central Valley. “Yeah, she is,” I acknowledge.

  “What’s her background?”

  I smirk. “Sizing up the competition?”

  Kevin scowls. “It’s just that nobody’s heard of her.”

  “And your point is?” I know what his point is. There’s a small cadre of winemakers, led by Kevin and a few others, who believe that Napa’s being polluted with highly stylized wines marketed to millennials.

  He lowers his voice. “You know. We just want to keep Napa’s winemaking practices pure. You know, Napa for Napa.”

  Fuck him. I clap him on the back with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Did anyone tell you that you win the award for being Napa’s biggest douchebag? If not, let me congratulate you.”

  His facial expression as what I’ve said sinks in, is worth burning the bridge, and there’s no doubt I’ve burned a bridge, but I don’t give a shit. “You…you…” he sputters, mouth moving but no sound coming out.

  I lean in, so only he can hear. “And let’s get one thing straight, asshole. If I hear any shit circulating about Alison, I’ll burn your goddamn vineyard down. That’s a promise.” And I’ll get Danny to help me. I give him one last smile and move away, feeling immensely satisfied.

  I scan the room and find Alison talking with another woman, older- maybe mid-forties. She’s easily the youngest here by a good ten years. As I make my way through the room, another person catches my arm. “So the prince has lost his crown,” a feminine voice says with an edge meant to cut. “What makes you think you’ll find it here among the poor masses?”

  I turn, smiling grimly. “Hello, Susan. Nice to see you again.” Susan Hughes works for one of our competitors, because when Dad bought the vineyard she was working at, he fired her. What she doesn’t know, was that it was me who suggested it. Maybe she’s figured it out, or maybe she’s hated us ever since. Either way, there’s no love lost here.

  She glares at me, green eyes glittering with icy shards. “Why are you here, Nico? Come to scout another acquisition?”

  “Nope, just here to enjoy a little company and conversation.” And look after Alison.

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Nice to see you, Susan,” I say, forcing myself to
remain polite. Nobody loves dog piling more than a group of people with a bone to pick, and as I survey the room, I can guess that a good chunk of these guys have a bone to pick with me, one way or another.

  I scan for Alison again and see she’s moved to another group of men. I’m instantly on alert because one fucker keeps stealing looks at her chest. I watch with half fascination and half possessive jealousy. She angles her body away from the guy and keeps chatting with two others. But when he puts his hand on the small of her back, my feet propel me forward. I wonder how fast I’d get blacklisted if I rearranged his face? Hell, from the sneers and sideways glances I’m getting from half the room, I’m probably already blacklisted. Fuck ‘em. Only polite while they know you have money and influence. Only polite because they have to be, ‘cause they think you’re an asshole, the dark voice inside my conscience reminds me. I deflate a little at the thought.

  I join their group with a smile. “I see you’ve met my brother’s winemaker.” I can feel the temperature cool twenty degrees. Alison shoots me a glare and gives a subtle shake of her head, but I’m all in and coming to her rescue. “Has she told you about the wine she discovered in the cellar? She brought some to taste tonight.”

  “But it’s not yours,” a guy I don’t know clarifies.

  Alison opens her mouth, but I beat her to it, in full CEO mode. “She didn’t make it, but it’s indicative of how the grapes perform, and we’re very pleased. We’ll be releasing this fall.”

  “Where you gonna sell, China?” The man from Angel Heart vineyards asks, eliciting a chuckle from the group.

  I glance at Alison, who is shimmering fury. I can feel it sparking off of her, and it’s directed at me. Before I can step in to put the asshole in his place, she clears her throat and speaks in a voice that demands attention. “While China is a burgeoning wine market that I’ll definitely be exploring. This wine is special, and extremely limited. I’ll be selling them by subscription for around $300 a bottle.”

  “You’ll never get that,” the Angel Heart guy says. “No one knows who you are. You have no reputation.”

  Alison smiles sweetly at him, but there’s fire in her eyes. “The wine speaks for itself. And I bet you didn’t have a reputation either, when you came to Angel Heart?”

  “I had a pedigree.” The guy looks to the others, who nod their approval. “I worked with some of the best winemakers in California before coming to Napa. And while Case here may get his friends to buy wine that’s not yours, good luck getting anyone to take a chance on an unknown selling premium wine.”

  “Yeah, this is the big leagues, honey. You’re not in Kansas anymore,” the leering asshole says, still eyeing her boobs. I want to throat-punch him.

  Alison glares at the guy. “Never underestimate the power of a young woman from Kansas to flatten assholes,” she says, clearly referencing the Wizard of Oz. I want to kiss her for that. “And for the record, I’m from Missouri, not Kansas, where we eat assholes for breakfast. With chopsticks.”

  The look on his face is priceless, and I want to fist-bump Alison, or at least give her a high-five for putting these dickwads in their place. But she’s not through yet.

  She gives all of us, including me, a dark smile, and extends her hand. “If you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I have to go prepare my offering. Thank you for your time, it’s been a pleasure.”

  The men are too surprised to not shake her hand, and when she gets to me, she grips my hand, fingers like talons. It might be intimidating if her hand wasn’t so tiny, but I get the message, loud and clear. She’s pissed as hell at me, and I’m sure to hear about it later. I open my mouth to speak but she cuts me off with a small shake of her head, and a look that would freeze a lesser man’s balls.

  When she’s gone, Angel Heart guy, who I can see from his name tag is named Joey lets out a low whistle. “She’s a firecracker.”

  The others chuckle and nod their agreement. “Yeah, I’d like to tap that,” adds the fucker who’s been eyeing her tits all night. “I bet she’s an animal in bed.”

  “Fat girls always are,” says the third.

  For a minute, my vision spots, I’m so pissed. “I thought this was a winemaker’s meeting,” I grit, barely keeping my anger in check. “Not speed dating for asshats.”

  Joey’s eyes widen before he scowls. “Calm down, Case, we’re just having a little fun.”

  I step closer, flexing my hand to keep from forming a fist and breaking his nose. “At my brother’s winemaker’s expense.” My voice drops low. “Let’s get this clear, Joey. If I hear even a peep about Alison Walker that is in any way disparaging or anything less than sunshine and roses, you will feel the full force of the Case family name rain down upon you.”

  Behind me, titsperve scoffs. “And how far are you going to get now that Daddy’s cut you off, and you’re flat broke? Save your heroics for people who give a shit, Case.”

  One of them claps me on the back, and with a laugh, they all move off. Karma taunts the dark voice. I don’t feel like mingling anymore, so I search for Alison, and find her in the corner behind the bar where a table has been set up for the winemakers to pour their tastes. “Can I help?”

  Alison turns to face me. “You’ve helped more than enough, Nico,” she says, voice shaking. “Please. Just leave me alone.”

  “But those guys were being assholes.”

  “And you weren’t?” She steps closer and lowers her voice. I’m close enough to see that her eyes are glimmering with unshed tears. “You stomped all over me back there.”

  “No I didn’t, I was helping you.”

  She makes a derisive noise in her throat. “That was not help. I asked you before, now I’m telling you. Leave. Me. Alone.”

  “But-”

  She holds up a hand. “Go home Nico.”

  “But I’m your ride.”

  “I’ll Uber.”

  “Like hell you will,” I growl. “Not with the dark windy road and suspect drivers. No fucking way.” I cross my arms. I’ll leave her alone, but I’m not giving on this point. Not where her safety is concerned.

  “I can handle myself. Now, leave me the fuck alone.”

  The bartender, who’s as big as I am, steps out from behind the counter. “Is there a problem?”

  Alison shakes her head. “No. He was just leaving.”

  Fuck. This guy is covered in tatts, and probably outweighs me by fifty pounds. I’m a big guy, but not that big, and I don’t want to cause a scene. My presence here tonight has already caused a stir. I eye the bartender. I know when I’ve lost a battle. “Just make sure she gets a safe ride home.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nico

  It’s another hour before the winemaker’s meeting breaks up. I’ve moved my bike into the shadows, because I don’t want to look like I’m waiting for a parking lot fight. Although I’d gladly take on a half-dozen of these assholes, at least. No, my motives are much more altruistic tonight. I don’t trust Uber drivers, not with all the crazy reports of women being kidnapped and raped, or worse, murdered. I just want to make sure Alison gets home in one piece. Safe.

  She’s one of the last to leave, and I’m heartened to see the bartender was good with his word. He’s watching from the entrance. Alison scans the parking lot, and then, as if psychically aware, she turns and looks straight at me. I can’t look away. Now that she’s alone, I see the toll the evening has taken on her. She looks… defeated. My chest sinks, because how much of that is because of me?

  She marches over, back ramrod straight. “I thought I told you to go home.”

  “And I thought I told you I don’t trust Uber drivers.”

  She snorts. “What were you planning on doing, following me all the way home?”

  “Yep.”

  She stares at me for a long moment without saying anything. Finally, she asks in a small voice, “Why?”

  The answers flood my head. Because against my better judgment, I like you. Because I don’t want anything to happe
n to your pretty little ass. Because I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. Because I fucked up. But I go with the safe answer, because all the answers bouncing around my head are far, far too dangerous to speak aloud. “Because Declan would kill me if anything happened to you.”

  Her shoulders slump the tiniest fraction, and I realize I’ve said the wrong thing, at least in her mind. My chest sinks further. I need to fix this. I want to fix this. I hate seeing her upset like this, with the fire snuffed out of her. Start by apologizing, asshole, the dark voice in my conscience tells me. That gives me pause. Now that I think about it, I can’t remember ever apologizing to anyone but her. Maybe to my folks when I was a little kid, but never as an adult. Never Apologize could be the Case family motto. We’re pretty much right, all the time. We’re justified.

  Ha. You’re a fucking dumbass, my conscience counters. I clear my throat, pulse kicking erratically. I swallow, stomach clenching. “Look, back there… I was out of line. I’m sorry.”

  She eyes me with suspicion.

  “I was trying to help. Those guys are douchebags, and one of them only looked at your tits-”

  “You saw that too?” she says with a small laugh.

  “I wanted to rip his balls off,” I say darkly.

  “I can handle myself, Nico.” Her face pulls tight. “And you need to let me.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “Look, I-”

  “Let me make it up to you,” I blurt. “Please?” I’m not used to pleading, not like this at least. The last time I begged for anything was when I was eleven, and my older brother Jason had tied the three of us up in the barn and was threatening bodily harm. I swore after that it would be the last time I begged for anything. I didn’t beg Veronica to stay, hell, I didn’t want her to. But this is different, and my instincts shout that the stakes are higher. “Please, Alison? I know this spot. We can grab some snacks and finish off the wine and just… talk.” I open my hands, “No funny business.” I cross my heart. “I swear.” Unless she wants, and then I will funny business to her heart’s content.