Page 23 of Bordeaux Bombshell (Sunshine Cellars #3)

Nate

“What would you say is the most lasting thing you got from your time in Bordeaux?”

Emma’s last question rings oddly. So far, all her questions for this school assignment have been about the vineyard or how we run the marketing and distribution of the wine, only briefly touching on lessons I learned in France.

I rub a hand on the back of my neck. “Probably the connections. People who have generations of experience growing grapes.” I shrug and push the printed paper of questions she handed me earlier around the table.

A stray drop of red wine soaks into a corner of the paper, spreading quickly through the sheet.

“They’re not much help in the distribution or selling of our wine, since the market in Europe for American wine is small, especially for a grower of our size.

” Calling the work of my grandfather, my father, and myself small rankles, and I twitch in my seat, pushing the feeling aside.

“But in circumstances like now, it’s nice to have experienced people to consult with.

” Somehow, this twenty-one-year-old has got me on the defensive, and I don’t like it.

She taps her pen against her lips before jotting down a few lines in her notebook. “And how close would you say your relationship is with the folks at Vignobles Hermouet?”

I shift in my seat, tugging on my jeans to get more comfortable. “I would consider them professional colleagues.” What is the nepo child after?

“You wouldn’t consider them personal friends?” She’s leaning forward, elbows on the table, and staring a little too intensely.

Clearing my throat, I lift my glass and take a sip of water before answering. “I suppose you could say that. I did live there for several years, after all.”

“Surely you must have formed some close relationships while you were there?” If laser vision were a thing, the look Emma is giving me would qualify. “You and Manon seem pretty friendly.”

There’s no way this child knows anything about my relationship with Manon—the warning bells going off in my mind are just me being paranoid.

“We worked together often in Bordeaux. I suppose you could call us friends.”

Friends. Occasional lovers when the pain of missing the person we truly loved was too much to bear alone. Each other’s consolation prize.

“Oh, just something Manon said yesterday at the shower made me think there might be more to the story.”

She’s so casual that it sets off every alarm bell in my gut. What happened at the party yesterday? Holding my body stiff, I cross one leg over the other, restraining my knee from bouncing in agitation.

“What did she say?”

“It doesn’t matter. Obviously, I was wrong.” She’s taunting me, leaning back in her seat and sipping from her glass, like there isn’t an entire second conversation happening underneath our words.

“If she said something, I would appreciate you sharing.” Dear god, I hope she didn’t say it in front of Sydney. I can’t keep them from meeting, but suddenly, I’m wondering if I should have said something to Manon when she arrived.

Or maybe I should have warned Sydney.

That would require her to respond to a text from me, which I’m positive she wouldn’t. Hence why I haven’t tried.

“Emma…what did Manon say?” There’s a sick, sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.

For all her earlier bravado, Emma’s face blanches at the seriousness underpinning my words. With a hard swallow, she fiddles with the papers on the table between us. “She and Daisy were showing off pictures of their kids. I don’t know exactly what she said.”

Confusion and irritation crash against each other at her words. “Gabriel?” I don’t understand why a picture of Manon’s son would make her think anything was going on between us.

“Is that his name? Cute kid.”

Before I can respond, the door to the tasting room opens, and Max, the pit bull mix, charges inside, followed by Theo Sutton. He arrived with Emma an hour ago but has been out back with his dog, tossing a ball around.

“Still going?” he asks, looking around the space. It’s Monday, so we’re not open, the empty room echoing as we chat. “Do we need to repaint the walls in here? When was the last time they were painted?”

“Probably need to refinish the floors first,” I offer up, peering at the wall nearest me. I suppose it is a little grungy. Truth be told, I can’t remember them ever being painted. “My mom would know.”

Emma stacks her papers and tucks them inside the notebook where she’d been writing. “I think I’m good, Teddy.” She turns to look at me. “I’ll let you know if I have any more questions. And don’t forget the rest of our deal.”

Theo raises an eyebrow at her. “What kind of promise did you extract from the unsuspecting Nate?”

Max comes ambling over to me, his cold nose bumping against my thigh. I’ve always been more of a cat person, but he’s very well-behaved, so I don’t mind him. Scratching his head so I don’t have to make eye contact, I pause to give Emma a chance to answer.

When she doesn’t, I sigh and drop my hand from behind Max’s ears. “Emma wants to work here this summer, and I said yes. We all know I’m useless behind the bar, and unfortunately, Philip’s gone too.”

Maggie’s sister’s best friend slash secret husband helped me out in the tasting rooms last summer.

The South African was a real charmer, and I was happy to let him spend a few months pouring glasses and upselling guests on bottles of wine.

Unfortunately, he and Ophie moved to South Carolina in the fall, so once again, if we don’t find someone else to help, it’ll be up to my mom and me to run the tasting room every weekend. And I’m shit at it, and we all know it.

“She is a natural at sales.” Teddy turns his look on Emma. “Does your mom know about this?”

“Not yet. Please don’t say anything yet. I promise I will tell her by this weekend.” She leaves me at the table and slinks over to Theo, batting her eyelashes up at him winningly until he chuckles.

“Don’t trash any other resumes you’ve gotten just yet, Nate. I’m not sure if my wife will agree to it.” Throwing an arm over her shoulder, Theo drags Emma toward the main door. “I think Sophie was planning to come spend the weekend down here, but we’ll let you know. Come, Max.”

He tosses a wave over his shoulder as they leave, still asking Emma questions while the door closes. “Does this mean you’re going to want to live in the house here for the summer?”

Exhausted from the inquisition, I take a moment to relax before heading back out to the workroom downstairs. Manon is out looking at the north chardonnay vines with Dad, giving me a chance to gather myself.

Between Manon visiting and how much there is to do around here, I’ve successfully distracted myself from the fact I haven’t heard from Sydney since I left her place last week.

Not that we’re in the habit of texting.

In fact, the last text I received from her was right after I got back from France and saw my dad in the hospital. Giving in, I pull out my phone and scroll down to the thread so I can torture myself with it again.

Hellcat: Just so we’re clear, I don’t want anything to do with you. Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t even breathe near me. As far as I’m concerned, you never came back, and you never will.

I wonder if it would have been better if I had stayed away.

Sutton could have found someone to run this place while my dad recovered. For a while, I thought Dad might take breaking his hip as a cue to retire, but he seems determined to hang on to his job here for as long as possible. And until he retires, Sutton promised they could live here rent-free.

Thinking about the future of the Ridge twists my guts up, as usual. When I remember my dad sold it to them without even asking how I felt about it, the urge to punch a wall still burns deep inside me.

And as much as I want to hate Sutton for it, it’s even more infuriating that he did nothing wrong. Both he and Sophie are genuinely nice people who care about this place and its success. Which makes it worse in the end.

It’s not their fault I’ve been obsessed with expanding our winery since I was a kid.

Alone in the empty tasting room, I can’t hide the truth from myself. The Ridge is better off with the Suttons’ money invested in it than if it were still just me and my dad running the show.

The Suttons paid Kel a salary that we never could have afforded, a salary they now pay me. And the investment they’ve made in new equipment has increased our yield each year.

The new reusable bottles we adopted for half of this year’s harvest never would’ve been possible without them.

I have so many reasons to be grateful for them, but each one makes the skin on the back of my neck itch. The same way my fingertips are itching to pick up the phone and text Sydney. If only my mind didn’t keep going blank when I try to figure out what to say.

I miss you.

One taste of you is never enough.

I gave you space because I knew you needed a few days to panic in private, but if I don’t hear from you or see you again soon, I might lose my mind.

Please, please, please let me fuck you again.

Actually, that last message might go over okay. My hellcat always loved hiding her feelings behind a mask of crassness.

The same way her cat Amelia would hiss and spit until the moment you started petting her, Sydney will sass and snark and fight until the moment you get close enough to touch.

God, I want to touch her again.

Now my hands are aching to wrap around her ponytail, tugging as I slam into her from behind. That beautiful round ass cushioning my hips as they pump against her.

My dick twitches in my pants just thinking about it.

I want to fight with her, then fuck.

Or maybe fuck her while we’re fighting. I’m not sure if I want these to be concurrent activities or not.