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“You got this,”I whisper to myself as I pack my bag and head to the Tube to get home to my girl.
Chapter 5
Vicente Godoy
Today felt incredibly long. Between the three-hour time difference with London my brand-new assistant and not thinking she needed to have everything online for me to access, it was a nightmare.
I’m not sure I’ll be able to give her the six-month trial period. I need someone professional—and anyone who signs off emails withLet’s boogie, boss!is definitelynotit.
“Vicente,hijo. How’s everything going?” I hear my father’s voice once I hit answer on my phone.
“Hello, Father. It's going. How’s Italy?” I say, sagging into the chair.
I used his studio as my office today. It feels surreal to think that, in the near future, this will bemyactual office. I’m not sure how to feel about it.
On one hand, it’d be nice to keep things as traditional as possible—to run the business from the hacienda, like my father does, like Abuelo Henry did.
On the other hand, it would be nice to create my own space. Maybe a farmhouse-style office—something new to add to the vineyard. A place that feels likemine.
But would my father like the idea? Or would he frown upon and call it an unnecessary change?
I push the thought aside. I can think about all this stuff after I decide whether I want to take charge of the vineyard.
“It’s going great,” my father says. "We just finished getting ready to go out for dinner with Isabella and Gabo.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re enjoying your free time,” I reply, though I can hear the venom in my tone.
I could be fine dining in London right now, helping Owen close the deal we discussed. Instead, I’m stuck in a village in a small town.
“Listen,hijo. I don’t want to take much of your time. I just wanted to ask you to please listen to Fernando, talk with the workers. Figure out what we can do better and more efficiently at the vineyard.”
“It’s interesting you mentioned that, Father. When Fernando picked me up at the airport last night, he said he wanted me to check on a few things. I looked at the numbers today, and everything seems to be in order. We are even on track to make two percent more profit than last year’s harvest.”
“Hijo, listen to me. Not everything in this life is about numbers and profits. Listen to the people. See what we can improve.”
His voice softens, almost pleading, and for the life of me, I cannot comprehend who is on the other end of the line. Is this really the same man who raised me? The one who drilled into my brain the idea that when my time came, I needed to build on his legacy and take Hacienda Carmen to the next level of greatness? Why is he talking about not caring about profit anymore?
Not wanting to prolong the call, I assure him I’ll do as he asks. After a million goodbyes from everyone in Italy, we hang up.
Once dinner is finished, I open a bottle ofElegant, my favorite wine from our vineyard. It is a mix of cabernet franc and carménère grapes, cold-pressed separately for five days. As I uncork the bottle, strong notes of blueberries and blackberries fill the air. I inhale deeply, savoring the fruity aroma. With a full glass in hand, I take my wine to the terrace.
As soon as it touches my tastebuds, a pleasant smile spreads across my lips. It’s soft and decadent. I've had bottles worth thousands of pounds, but none will ever come close to this one.
The weather this time of year is beautiful. The air is cool with a faint breeze that rustles the vines. Crickets chirp in the distance, creating a symphony I haven’t enjoyed in a long time.
Every time I come back here, I’m always in a hurry—constantly working despite being “off.” I need to make time to catch up with Fernando and hear what’s on his mind. I also need to meet with every single employee. With over a hundred workers, it’s going to take forever.
Maybe I could do small hearings instead? No, “hearings” sounds like they did something wrong, and I’m the judge. Maybethis is a task I can delegate to Camila and see what she comes up with.
Taking another sip, I let the wine fill my taste buds and close my eyes, getting comfortable in my chair. My mind drifts to my new assistant. Her voice was bright and sweet. Maybe that’s why I was such an arsehole to her today? I’m allergic to kindness, and she definitely sounded too nice, too chirpy for my liking.
I take my phone out of my pocket, thinking about how to ask Camila to set up these meetings with my employees. It’s not her fault she’s new. But things were so easy with Mrs. Evans—she anticipated my thoughts before I even voiced them. We made a great team.
From: Vicente Godoy “[email protected]”
To: Camila Flores “[email protected]”
Date: March 17, 2025. 10:21 pm