I glanced at his smooth, delicate hands with his perfectly manicured fingernails.
“So you weren’t actually building the schools yourself, with your own hands?”
“Let’s get to the winery questions, Kate.” He smiled and arched his eyebrows.
“Right. Tell me about the winery. I’d like to know how you turned this place around and learn about your methods of production.”
“Well, I put a pretty penny into this place, I’ll tell you that. I think it’s also about how you handle your employees, letting them know who’s boss, you know?” I unintentionally snickered. “Do you disagree with that?”
“No . . . I guess I’m not surprised. And your method for production?”
“I don’t know much about that. I let Guillermo handle that. I think it’s pretty standard, though. He had worked for the previous owners since the eighties.”
“So Susan is the general manager and Guillermo runs the wine production and distribution.”
“That’s right.”
“What does Jamie do?”
He cocked his head to the side, “So you met Jamie?”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing?”
“He was running an errand. He had some barrels he had cleaned in the back of his truck.”
“Jamie does a little bit of everything around here. He works in the vineyard and also does maintenance. He sometimes works in the B and B and store when the need arises.”
Interesting. A man who knows how to use his hands.
“What sets R. J. Lawson apart as a winery resort and wine producer?”
He glanced down at a notecard and began rapping off facts. “Our winery is almost one hundred percent self-sufficient. Our number one goal is to produce quality wines and a quality experience in a completely sustainable environment. We have a three-acre hydroponic and natural garden and a small ranch to feed our restaurant. Our animals are raised hormone free in the best conditions with the best feed available. We have nine hundred and fifty solar panels installed in various places across the property, which produce one hundred percent of the power we use, solely from the sun’s clean energy. All of our vehicles are clean-energy-running or fuel-efficient—even the tractors and machines we use in the vineyard and ranch. We only use homemade, organic pesticides in the vineyard and gardens. The tradition of winemaking on this property has been handed down for years—we’ve just updated it. We added quality control measures and modern, environmentally sound methods to an old procedure. We take a really hands-on approach, and I believe that’s the beauty of this craft.” He finally glanced up at me with a faint look of trepidation. It was becoming apparent to me that this guy probably sat behind his comfy desk while he waved his giant wallet around and ran his equally giant mouth off at his staff. Why any staff would be loyal to a huge asshole like R. J. Lawson baffled me.
“That’s amazing. I’m really impressed, but are you saying that you actually take a really hands-on approach?” I focused on his unmarked hands again. He stood up, leaned over his desk, and glared at me. “What’s your play?”
“I don’t have a play, I’m just trying to figure out who the elusive R. J. Lawson really is.”
“Let’s head to the tasting room, unless of course you want to skip that part, go straight to my room, and perhaps get a little more personal information on R. J. Lawson?”
“You’ve made three passes at me in the last twenty minutes. You do realize I’m writing an article about you that will be published worldwide?”
“I haven’t made any passes at you. Don’t flatter yourself—you’re too uptight for me. Anyway, why don’t you just stick to writing articles on lipstick and yoga? Isn’t that what you female journalists are good at?”
“What’s going to stop me from writing about what a misogynistic dickhead you are?”
“What’s going to stop me from not approving your shit-ass article before publication?”
I looked at him and cocked my head to the side, completely bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I guess you didn’t know about that clause in the agreement I made with Jerry?”
“No, I didn’t. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
He smirked with pure satisfaction. “Jerry agreed to my approval over the full article before publication. If it isn’t to my liking, he’ll toss it out. So, nosey little Kate, you still think I’m a dickhead?”
My heart was racing. I stood abruptly and leaned toward him, mere inches from his face. I balled my hands into fists and tried to contain the anger building in my chest. I took a deep breath, composed myself, and shot back, “The Verizon guy called. He wants his glasses back.”
R.J. huffed and shook his head. “Time to go. I’ll walk you over there, but I can’t say I’ll stay long. Somehow sharing wine with you lost its appeal the second I met you, and p.s., you have a mouse nose.”
Prick.
What had come over me? I couldn’t believe I was blowing the single most important assignment I had ever been given by trading juvenile insults with this asshole. His behavior was reprehensible, but so was mine, and I wondered how I would ever write an article that would do the winery, the paper, or myself any justice at all.
We headed toward the door, and to my surprise he actually held the door open for me. Susan stood from her desk in the first room and joined us as we headed out. Once outside, I looked down and saw that my suitcase was gone. In its place sat Chelsea. She was like a statue, looking out at the sun, which was slowly disappearing behind the horizon.