Rare Blend (Red Mountain #1)

17. Ethan

CHAPTER 17

Ethan

I LOOK LIKE A BARN ANIMAL

I used to consider myself a morning person, but a steady schedule of waking up at 4:00 a.m. has me thinking otherwise. Thankfully, we’re now on the tail end of harvest, with less than three weeks left. It’s been a few years since I’ve actively participated, having stayed in Woodinville, so I’m a bit rusty, and it shows. It’s what the entire year is about. Everything leads to these few months, andthere’sa certain pressure that comes with making sure it’s a success.With the late nights and early mornings, now paired with anadded layer of stress as CEO, I’m going to need to sleep for a month when this is all over.

Though I hate to admit it, some of my sleep loss might be attributed to the brown-eyed girl next door. Ever since I managed to turn things around with Marisa, she’s been occupying my thoughts a lot more than I’d prefer. I have no business looking at her as anything more than a temporary neighbor, someone to be cordial with. At least that’s what I keep reminding myself of. I was doing fine, great even, until I bumped into her the other day while I was walking Goose. She ran out of her cottage as if she had been waiting for us and offered Goose a treat. It was a quick exchange, a hi and a bye before she skipped back. But the whole time I felt like a tongue-tied idiot, rendered speechless because she thought of my dog. That’s how easy I am apparently. It didn’t help that she was wearing a thin tank top that did nothing to hide her hardening nipples as they battled the chilled air.

I’m aware that she’s pretty. She’s more than pretty; she’s fucking beautiful. But she’s also sweet and has a sassy bite when she’s provoked. I want to know things about her, I want to ask questions. It’s fucking terrifying.

When I helped her set up that ridiculous coffeemaker, that’s when I knew I was in trouble. I pathetically tried to flirt with her, which completely threw her off. She even called me out on it. Of course she was confused; hell, I was confused. It was as if her cloud of vanilla drugged me into thinking I was someone else. Someone who wasn’t a total asshole.

The last thing I want or need right now is to start catching feelings for someone whose time here is limited. Not to mention the fact that there’s no way she would ever think of me like that. A woman like her wants a refined guy, not some rough around the edges, anxious mess.

It’s still dark when I get to the winery. The windows on the second floor, where the offices are, illuminate the front of the building.Tawny beat me to the office.

“Happy hump day,” she says, entirely too chipper for this God-awful hour.

“You’re here early,” I mumble.Typically, she gets in around 6:00a.m.

Her eyes perk up. “Never went to bed. I was up all night with Charlie, he caught some stomach bug atschool,so I snorted a line of coke to keep me going.”

I jerk my head at her, hoping she’s joking.

“Kidding.” She smirks. “I made a quad-shot latte.” She shakes her tumbler at me, the ice rattling against the glass straw.

“That’s good. I’m not above firing family.”

She laughs like I said a joke. “You can’t fire me. You’d be lost without me.”

I quickly run through my emails, ensuring nothing major has come up since last night. Thankfully, nothing has, and I make my way downstairs and out to the back parking lot to grab one of the buggies. TheSyrahsare scheduled to be harvested today.

Alex, theforeman, and Miguel, the vineyard manager, along with the permanent and seasonal staff are already hard at work. Miguel is overseeing the picking process, and Alex is gathered with a group at the sorting tables.Workers are picking up the clusters of grapes and inspecting them for imperfections, discarding the ones that are below standard.The smell of fermenting fruit sits heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the vinesand soil. It’sa familiar, comforting smell.Despite not having any energy earlier, one whiff of this has me ready for the day.

“How’s it going?” I ask Alex.

He peels off his gloves and stands off to the side of the sorting tables to get out of the way. “We’re ahead of schedule.I’m thinking we’ll be able to hit thecabsafter lunch.”

“That’s good, man, good work. I’ll haveTawnyget you guys set up with water and coffee before first break. Shane is stopping to get pan dulce, too. You guys have been working hard. I want to make sure everyone feels appreciated.”

After Tawny pointed out that I have not been as approachable as I should be, I’ve been trying to make more of an effort to be friendly.

Alex chuckles. “Trying to buy our love with food?”

I laugh. “Whatever works, right?”

After making sure the crew is set up with their break supplies, I check in with Gavin at the crush pads, and from there the day continues at a rapid pace. There’s an equipment issue with the grape harvester, a pipe leak with the irrigation system, and one of the transport trucks breaks down halfway to the warehouse.

By two o’clock, I’m tired, I smell, and I’m starving.

“Did you check your calendar for the day?”Tawnyasks as I walk by her desk, heading to my office.

“No, that’s what you’re for,” I snap.

She lets out an exaggerated exhale, trailing behind me. “There’s someone from the Herald coming by in about thirty minutes to interview you.”

I halt immediately. That’s today?

Fuck!

Dirt covers my worn jeans, and crusted sand cakes my work boots. My shirt is disgusting, stained with sweat. I look like a barn animal, and I probably smell like one too. Marisa is going to show up here in one of those little business looks I catch her in when she’s coming and going to work. I wonder if it’ll be a skirt. I really enjoy the days she wears those tight skirts that hit below her knees, the way they hug her ass?—

“Did you hear me?” Tawny asks.

“Yeah.” I flick my wrist to check my watch. “I have thirty minutes, right?”

Her arms cross. “That’s what I said.”

Digging in my pocket, I fish out my keys. “Here.” I hand them to her, and she reluctantly grabs them. “Go to my place and bring me back a change of clothes.”

Her eyebrows raise. “You’re going to let me dig through your things?”

She’s wasting time, and she knows it.

“Yes. Can you do it or not?”

A smile splits her face. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing now?”

I knew I should’ve fired her. “Look at me,” I deadpan.

Her eyes narrow and lips lift to a questioning smile. “Does this have something to do with a girl?”

Definitely getting fired. “Tawny! Can we talk about this later?”

She smiles, pleased. “Alright, alright. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Make it quick,” I snap.

At the pace of a sloth, she starts to walk out of my office and then lingers in the hallway outside of it. “Any preference in clothing?”

Jesus Christ. I could’ve been there and back by now with how long this is taking. “Something clean. You know what I wear.”

“Okay, be right back,” she says, practically bouncing with glee.

While she handles that, I take inventory of my office, meticulously scanning for anything that looks messy or out of place. Except for a few stray stacks of paper, everything looks to be in order. I tend to keep my office organized.

I pop a beta blocker for good measure and attempt to deal with my mussed hair. I look like hell. Bags hang heavy under my eyes. My hair is a lost cause from sweating on and off all day. A hat it is.

Slathering on a thick layer of deodorant, I continue to glance at the giant clock that hangs on the wall, praying time will slow down enough for Tawny to get back here with my change of clothes before Marisa shows up.

I try to not allow myself the time to overthink the nerves taking hold of me at the thought of Marisa coming into this space. It’s one thing to see each other in passing. It’s quite another to let her infiltrate this version of me. Though I try my damndest to maintain a facade of composure around the staff, the cracks begin to surface when I’m forced to engage one on one with someone. Given how often Marisa has seen the worst parts of my personality, it shouldn’t be hard for her to see past the image I work so hard to uphold. It’s draining, actually, the energy it takes to keep my overactive, racing thoughts from being written all over my face.

Tawny made quick work of her task and is back to the office with time to spare. I suppose she can keep her job. I use the private en suite to change into the fresh jeans and flannel she packed me, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. So much for that beta blocker. My clammy, trembling hands can hardly button and zip my pants. This is going to be a disaster. I’m already a mess, and the interview hasn’t even begun.