“I liked your father. We had dinner one night. Frank Monroe listened to some ideas I had.” His expression turned thoughtful. “He was a really good listener.”
Her throat ached too much to speak, so she merely nodded. She and her father had spent many afternoons in this very room, talking, and not all of their conversations had centered on wine.
“I don’t recall seeing you there,” Zack said.
“San Diego?”
“Uh-huh.”
Jaye wasn’t one to get dolled up, let alone mix and mingle. She was more comfortable in casual pants and loafers than in cocktail dresses and high heels. What’s more she’d never understood the point of making small talk with strangers or chatting about the weather—unless, of course, the local forecast was calling for something that might harm the grapes.
Frank Monroe had often bemoaned the fact that he’d turned his only daughter into a tomboy, so much so that as an adult she was more interested in grafting vines than going out on dates. But Jaye had no regrets. Oh, she liked men and she did date, ending things amiably when her suitors turned serious. She wasn’t commitmentphobic, as her best friend, Corey Worth, claimed. Jaye just didn’t see the point in settling down and starting a family. To her way of thinking, it was better to know now that she wasn’t the wife and mother type than to do what her mom had done: marry, have a child and then take off for parts unknown with nary a look back.
“I’m not a very memorable person,” she told Zack.
He surprised her by replying, “I don’t know about that. You make quite an impression.”
His gaze was direct and it made her oddly uncomfortable. For the first time in memory, Jaye felt self-conscious and wished she’d taken a little more care with her appearance. What exactly she would have done differently, she wasn’t sure. She only knew that compared to Zack, who stood before her in tailored trousers and a designer shirt that screamed expensive, she felt drab and outdated.
She noticed other things about him then. What filled out his clothes wasn’t bad, either. He had broad shoulders, long limbs and narrow hips. He appeared fit, as if he might work out regularly. But he wasn’t overly muscled.
While his body was definitely a prime specimen, it was his face that could make a woman forget her name. Paul Newman–blue eyes peaked out from beneath a slash of brows that were a good two shades darker than the sandy hair on his head. The hair had a nice wave to it, the kind women paid big money to achieve. And he wore it longer than most professional men did. Not quite long enough to pull into a ponytail, but it brushed his shirt’s collar in the back and gave him a slightly dangerous look that was in stark contrast to his otherwise tidy appearance.
Jaye resisted the urge to fiddle with the end of her braid. “Actually, I didn’t go with my dad that time. I stayed behind to look after things at the vineyard.”
“That explains it then,” Zack said. “I never forget a face.”
“I never forget a wine. Your chardonnay was exceptional that year.” It was a relief to return to the subject of grapes. She always felt on firm footing when the discussion centered on business.
“Yes, Holland’s was,” he said. Again, he seemed to distance himself from taking any credit. “I think Medallion’s has the potential to be even better.”
“Really?” she asked, too intrigued to act blasé.
“I wouldn’t have bought this vineyard if I felt otherwise,” he replied.
The reminder of the winery’s change in ownership tempered her enthusiasm. “I see.”
“I was disappointed I didn’t get a chance to meet you when I toured Medallion before making my initial offer,” Zack said.
“I was out of the country at the time.”
He nodded. “A buying trip. France, I believe your mother told me.”
“Margaret is my stepmother.” She snapped out the correction. “I was not informed of your visit until well after my return. In fact, I wasn’t informed that the vineyard had changed hands until after the deal was done.”
He blinked in surprise. “I…I didn’t realize.”
Jaye saw no point in beating around the bush. “Medallion should have been mine.”
“But your father didn’t leave it to you.”
His equally blunt statement had her bristling. “Dad thought he could micromanage a peace treaty between his second wife and me from the grave. He was wrong.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your pity,” she replied.
“Actually, that was an expression of sympathy,” he said, making her feel small.
Jaye paced to the window in an effort to regroup. Her anger, justified as it was, was of no use here. So she moderated her tone and said evenly, “I want the vineyard, Mr. Holland. I’m prepared to offer you what you paid plus a little something extra for your trouble.”
“Why don’t you call me Zack? And it looks like we have a problem.” He joined her at the window. “I want Medallion, too. I’m not interested in selling.”
His reply was nothing less than Jaye had expected. After all, she had made the same offer to Margaret without success. Yet the disappointment of hearing him say the words nearly leveled her.
“Is that going to be an issue for you?” he asked.
She swallowed her outrage along with a good helping of pride. “I don’t have much choice but to accept that you’ll be the one calling the shots from now on.”
To her surprise, he laughed out loud. “Gee, that sounds convincing.”
“I said I would accept it. I didn’t say anything about liking it.”
“Ah. Thanks for the clarification.”
While Zack appeared amused, Jaye was dead serious when she said, “I’m very good at my job. I…I would appreciate it if you would allow me to stay on.”
He nodded. “I’d like that. You know the local people, not to mention the regional quirks of the Great Lakes growing season, far better than I do at this point. I’d like you to manage things.”
“But I’m the head vintner. Tom Worley manages Medallion’s operation.”
“Not anymore. He’ll be reassigned or offered a compensation package. Think you can handle it?”
She bristled at his tone. “There’s not a job at Medallion I haven’t done at one time or another. My father thought it was important to know the business inside and out. He didn’t believe you could be an effective leader without understanding the jobs of the people you were leading.”
“Is that a subtle barb?” he asked.
“Of course not.” Before she could censor the thought, she added, “I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
