Wright Rival (Wright)

I parked my Jeep and rolled my suitcase into the glossy and extravagant interior of the hotel. I checked in at the front desk, and despite the luxury downstairs, the rooms were relatively standard. A package from the competition committee awaited me, including a bottle of champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a bunch of IWAA paraphernalia. I popped one of the strawberries into my mouth. I could get used to this.

After changing out of my travel gear, I put on a pair of black cigarette pants and a blue blouse. I spent the rest of the afternoon checking in at the convention center; wandering the event space, where hundreds of vendors had set up to sell their wares; and going through the book of all the things I could do tomorrow before the award ceremony.

I met a handful of people who were also competing in different categories. We all agreed to meet at the bar downstairs after dinner. I didn’t have dinner plans. So, I ordered room service, then dressed with care and headed down to the bar.

But instead of finding my new friends, I found Mr. Sinclair and Eve seated on circular high-tops. Mr. Sinclair flagged me down.

Fuck, I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t even know what the fuck he was doing here. Had he always planned to come to this thing? Was he here to torment me?

And another thought…what exactly was Eve doing here with him? Sure, they worked together. She was one of his real estate agents. But that had nothing to do with Sinclair Cellars.

She wore a dark blue dress with a slit nearly up to her hip and Louboutins. I only recognized them by the red backs. I didn’t know how well real estate agents were paid, but I didn’t think they could regularly afford a thousand-dollar pair of shoes.

“Miss Medina,” Mr. Sinclair said with a wide smile. “I’d hoped that I’d see you here.”

“Hello,” I said politely. I nodded at Eve. “Hi.”

“Hey there,” she said with a smile, twirling a cherry around in her glass.

“Sit. Have a drink with us.”

“I’m actually meeting some people.” I looked around the bar, hoping to find my new friends but none of them were in attendance. I glanced down at my phone for a quick getaway, but all that was there was a message from my new friend, Yani, letting me know that dinner was running late. Great.

“Just one. I’m sure they can wait.” He gestured to a seat, and reluctantly, I sank into it. “Now, what are you drinking? Amaretto sour, like Eve here?”

“No, thank you. Bombay and lime.”

He flagged down the waiter and put in my order. “Now, Miss Medina…”

“Piper,” I said easily. “You can call me Piper.”

He shot me a Cheshire smile. I could see how he’d be charming if I didn’t already hate his guts. “Of course. You can call me Arnold.”

I had no intention of calling him anything.

“I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” he said once my drink arrived.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, your father mentioned that you were upset when you found out about the vineyard situation.”

I boiled at the thought of my father mentioning my emotional state to this man. I shot him a perfectly blank look. Silence worked better for me than speaking sometimes. I didn’t want him to know the full extent of my rage. In fact, I didn’t want to have this conversation at all.

“It’s understandable. You were running the company, and, without your knowledge, the business changed hands.”

I gritted my teeth and considered stabbing him in the eye with my straw.

“I want to reassure you that it’s going to be no different than before,” he said with that same smile. “I don’t intend to interfere in day-to-day operations. You and your father have the full run of the place. I’m simply going to be bankrolling the winery.”

“I see.”

I tried to find relief in that. He wasn’t going to interfere and ruin the thing that I loved. But somehow, I didn’t. I wasn’t even sure I believed him. I didn’t have a good relationship with the Sinclairs. Not after what they’d done to Wright Vineyard and then their daughter, Ashleigh’s, train wreck. They were gluttonous. Anything they could scoop up, they did. This was another one of their conquests.

“I want us to be partners,” he said smoothly.

“Partners,” I reiterated.

“Of course. The circumstances of it ending up in your father’s hands were a mark on my family name.” My eyebrows rose. He held his hands up quickly. “I respect your father. What he’s done for the place is above and beyond. But for us, for me, my father wanted me to run the winery, and I was more interested in real estate development. I didn’t realize until it was too late that he was going to divest himself of the winery. He took my success elsewhere as disinterest. I have always coveted the property and wanted it to succeed. It brings me no joy to hurt you, but this was a long time coming.”