Chaos Among the Vines (Romancing the Vine Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  CHAOS AMONG THE VINES

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  CHAOS AMONG THE VINES

  Romancing The Vine

  GEMMA BROCATO

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  CHAOS AMONG THE VINES

  Copyright©2017

  GEMMA BROCATO

  Cover Design by Leah Kaye Suttle

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-356-7

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  For my street team,

  Brocato’s Book Lovers.

  Your excitement for my project,

  your support,

  and your friendship

  are greatly appreciated.

  Acknowledgements

  Without help from many quarters, this book might never have happened. My family: Mr. Gemma, and my two children, Erin and Andrew. You support me and cheer me on and remind me of the good that happens when you share a great love.

  My editor, Char Chaffin whose patience, humor, scolding, and mentoring as we worked on this story certainly qualifies her for sainthood.

  And thanks to The KickAss Chicks and my Sassy sisters: you are all strong, inspiring authors. I want to be just like you when I grow up.

  Chapter 1

  The chunky watch Avalon Reese had a love-hate relationship with buzzed her wrist as she navigated into the crowded parking lot. Just what she didn’t need, another distraction in her personal time. She’d carved out fifty-five minutes to visit her best friend and massage therapist, hoping she’d get rid of the massive tension knots in her shoulders. Responding to whatever message just landed in her inbox was going to cut into her ‘me-time.’

  Her wrist buzzed again, and the palms of her hands dampened on the steering wheel. Turning left, she slowly advanced through the lot, looking for a space to park her little hybrid Mini. She’d picked the car because it promised the most efficient gas mileage. And because it was red. And a true joy to drive. A must, giving how much she despised actually being in a car. She shot a glance toward the analog clock on the dash, the second hand ticking away precious time. Spying a vacant place near Beth’s shop, she goosed the accelerator.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught a blur of motion. A hulking Yukon reversed out of a spot on her left. Without checking the traffic lane. Avalon jammed her hand on the horn, desperate to alert the driver before it was too late. The other driver’s head remained focused on her lap.

  “No, no, no, no. No!” Avalon screamed. As if screaming would make any more of an impact than honking the horn had.

  Thud!

  The rear bumper of the humongous SUV collided with the front quarter panel of Avalon’s car. She rocked sideways before correcting in the bucket seat. Stunned, she sat still for a moment. Then frustration, colored by anger, flooded her system. She beat her fist on the steering wheel, blaring the horn one final time.

  The driver of the other car jerked a look over her shoulder—finally—eyes rounded, and mouth opened wide enough for a small canary to dive in. Avalon spied a tablet-sized phone clutched in the woman’s left hand.

  Slamming the gearshift into ‘park,’ Avalon’s wrist buzzed a third time as she exited the Mini. Ignoring the awful pay-attention-to-me-now zap, she inspected the damage as the other driver pulled back into the space she’d been in such a hurry to depart.

  Black scuffs scarred the red paint on Avalon’s crumpled front end. The damage looked to be a good three inches deep. Touching the headlight that dangled by an electrical wire, Avalon pushed it, not one bit surprised when it snapped off in her hand.

  “Oh my God! I didn’t see you. I’m so sorry.”

  Avalon looked up to find the driver rushing forward. The woman paused by her own bumper and gasped. She looked toward Avalon’s mangled mess and covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers.

  Yeah, lady. You did that. Tugging her phone from the pocket of her blazer, Avalon activated the camera. “Let me just get some pictures for my insurance company. Then we can trade licenses and information.” She snapped photos from several different angles, then aimed her camera toward the other car.

  “Do we need to get insurance involved in this? This is my third fender bender this year.” The other driver’s voice was plaintive, bordering on whiny.

  Avalon studied the woman for a moment before answering. Unlike Avalon’s tidy chignon, this woman’s messy mop of curly hair flopped into her eyes, matching her scuffed boots and a gauzy floral dress. Like she was ready to hit a cowboy bar for an evening of line dancing. A denim jacket tied around her waist completed the impression. Her brows soared into her hairline, and she’d tipped her head, making a sad puppy face. The look probably charmed an awful lot of people into doing what she wanted.

  But not Avalon. She was a stickler for following rules and doing what was right, not what someone else thought they could persuade her to do. “I’d be more comfortable, so yeah, I’m going to notify my carrier.”

  Reaching into the cabin of her car, she stretched across the seat to snag her wallet from her briefcase. When she straightened again, the other woman wiped under her eyes with one hand holding a monster of a phone, while she dug through the tiny handbag hanging from her shoulder.

  Avalon refused to
be moved by the tears. This wasn’t her fault but if anyone should be crying, it was her. She hated being late, and this was going to set her so far behind on her schedule. Releasing a pent-up breath, she scrubbed her palms on her thighs. The super-efficient, keep-me-organized watch buzzed again, a different pattern. A quick glance at the incoming text didn’t help even a bit. Are you okay? Her massage therapist and best friend, Beth, checking on her. She was already three minutes late. Completely out of character.

  Her hand trembled as she tapped out a return message. Fender bender. Going to be late. The frustrated sigh she’d been holding back burst from her lips.

  By the time she’d exchanged insurance cards and licenses with the source of her consternation—one Janice Thompson—Avalon resigned herself to the lack of all but a fast chair massage. The tension knotting her shoulders fifteen minutes ago magnified. Shrugging and rolling did little to alleviate the pinching. She laid Janice’s two cards on the hood of her car and photographed them.

  Not sure what she was more upset about, the rumpled bumper or being unforgivably tardy for an appointment, Avalon stared with dismay at the front end. A blue tinted puddle grew near the front tire. God only knew what was leaking from the engine. But the car was still drivable.

  She hoped.

  After double checking Janice’s phone number, and satisfying her suspicious nature by actually ringing a call through to her, Avalon climbed back in her car. Locating a space far away from every other vehicle in the lot, she parked. Footsteps dragging, she trudged into Beth’s shop.

  “Are you all right?” Beth pressed a chilled glass of water into her hands as soon as she entered. “I worried when you didn’t walk through the door a full five minutes before your appointment.”

  Avalon plopped onto one of the plush customer chairs surrounding a low table. In the center a teak tray sat; more cucumber and lemon slices floated in a sweating pitcher. Avalon sipped the water, holding back a grimace. Beth swore citrus in the water helped everything. Avalon never cared for the taste. Lemons brought back childhood memories she’d prefer remained buried.

  “I’m a little rattled,” Avalon confessed. Her wrist buzzed again. Fighting annoyance, she focused on Beth. “Some woman decided looking at her phone was more important than checking her blind spots. I couldn’t do anything except watch her back right into me.” Even saying it made her stomach churn. She sipped again, then set the glass aside.

  “You’d think car manufacturers could work out a way to keep people from starting their vehicles when their phones are on.” Beth topped off Avalon’s water glass.

  Avalon looked at the chunky gadget on her wrist, noting she’d had seventeen new emails drop in her inbox since she’d left her apartment. She worked from home most days, so emails and phone calls came with alarming regularity. She’d set rules to instantly file most in the appropriate folders, but her boss’ messages hit her inbox first. That way she could pay immediate attention to them.

  The most recent email from her had a subject line, NEW ASSIGNMENT.

  “I don’t think I’m going to have time for a massage today.” Avalon lamented the loss of the remaining twenty-three minutes of her personal time.

  “How about just a fast chair massage?” Beth gripped Avalon’s upper arm and yanked her off the chair.

  Stumbling to her feet at the same time she tapped the screen, she read through the body of the message while Beth led her to a treatment room.

  Multi-tasking at its finest.

  “Hmm, looks like my new assignment will eventually take me to wine country.” At least she’d enjoy the work. Maybe.

  “Well, if you’re going, I’m going with you. I’d love a trip to a vineyard.” Beth guided her onto the portable massage chair.

  Avalon switched her watch for her phone and kept it in plain view while her head was buried on the cushioned headrest. Beth’s knuckles dug hard into the rocks that were Avalon’s shoulders. She grunted under the painful pressure. Despite the sting, tension melted away as Beth worked. Moaning, Avalon touched the link for the document attached to the email and began reading up on the new client, Rolling In The Clover Vineyards.

  “You know, this massage would be more beneficial if you’d shut down your God-awful email and just relax for about ten minutes.”

  “If only I could,” Avalon mumbled.

  She’d gotten her job as an efficiency expert because she could manage multiple tasks at the same time. And had a proven track record of whipping disorganized people and systems into regimented, highly effective perpetual motion machines.

  In her line of work, she really couldn’t afford to relax.

  ~ ~ ~

  “I’m telling you, Drake, it’s a bad idea.” Will Bradford strolled along a row of vines, gravel crunching under his boots. He’d escaped the office where his not-so-trusted assistant was arguing with a distributor regarding another missing shipment.

  His best bud, Drake Evans’s scoffing laughter filled his ear. “Dude, it’s the best idea ever. You need someone to organize your business. Now that your label has hit it big thanks to It Takes Two Therapy, you have to streamline your processes to keep up with demand.”

  Tell me something I don’t know. Will pulled a leaf from one of the vines. A strong, earthy aroma filled his senses when he waved it under his nose. These vines were so flipping close—the tang told him it was almost exactly at the right time to harvest. The only thing that gave him more satisfaction was the heady, intoxicating scent of crushed grapes. Recently, he’d been so buried in paperwork, he’d nearly missed this clue.

  The instant his wine label had been featured on the popular television comedy about a group of married friends, demand had picked up. Inquiries from all over the country had filled his answering machine to capacity. Hits on his website had increased dramatically, and emails from wine and liquor distributors, begging to be added to his approved resellers list, had clogged his inbox. In three short months his business had increased by nearly one thousand percent. At the young age of thirty-six, he—or rather, his business—had become a raging success.

  He couldn’t keep up with demand, and the influx of communication paralyzed him.

  As the administrative side of the business overwhelmed, he found himself escaping from the office to hide in the vineyard, focusing on the operations side of the business. And leaving his office manager to handle things. Apparently, she was less capable than he was. Will wasn’t sure why he kept her around.

  Crushing the leaf between his fingers, he dragged his attention back to his conversation with Drake. “Working with the vines is what I do best. I hated my business classes at UC Davis.” Drake already knew this, since he’d sat through most of them as well, and tutored Will in all his accounting and finance classes. “Math has never been my strength, but ask me anything about varietals and soil pH and the best methods of making a vineyard thrive.”

  “Buddy, you should be able to do both.” Disappointment and frustration iced Drake’s tone.

  “I can do both. I only like to handle one. If you’d agree to work for me full-time I would be able to do what I prefer. Bonus . . . now I can afford you.”

  “Not having a circular argument with you again.” There was a pause long enough for an anaconda to slither through.

  Clenching his fingers around his flip phone, Will waited him out.

  Drake never did well with silence. “I don’t want to take a salary from you. I don’t mind you not paying me. My other clients keep me in beer and poker money.”

  “Not the point.”

  “Not even going to consider it. But the organizational engineer I hired will have you whipped into shape in no time. You can expect an introductory call or email in the next twenty-four hours.” The not going to take shit from you vibe in Drake’s voice was palpable over the phone line.

 
“Fine.” It would be easier to capitulate with Drake now, and then do his best to frighten the expert away. “I’ll talk to him, but if I’m not feeling it, I won’t be engaging his services. I’m organized enough.”

  Drake met that remark with hard, amused laughter, which quickly became wheezing.

  Concerned, Will demanded, “Got your inhaler, bud?”

  Ragged breathing accompanied the guffaws. Drake’s asthma was one of the reasons he’d avoided coming to work for Will. The air quality wasn’t always the best for individuals with allergies or breathing troubles. One of the first times Will had witnessed one of Drake’s attacks, it had been bad. Poor guy’s lips had turned blue before he could jam his puffer in his mouth and gulp in the medication. Will had been petrified and pissed because there hadn’t been anything he could do to help.

  A deep, sucking sound reverberated in his ear, telling him Drake had indeed taken a hit from his nebulizer.

  Guilt splashed over Will. He’d caused this episode by lying to himself about being organized. He wasn’t. Everyone who knew him knew that. Will preferred to call his lifestyle organic. What happened naturally was fine by him. The best calendar was the change of seasons, the shortening days leading to harvest, the long dreary winter months while the vines recharged, the endless sunny skies of summer. That’s how he planned his days.

  The last thing he needed in his life was a schedule to live by. Do this now, do that later. Never take time to smell the roses. So not him. But he could suck it up for the sake of a friend who’d provided free accounting services when he’d been barely scraping by.

  “Fine, I’ll keep an open mind. Unleash the Kraken and let’s see if he can work some magic at Rolling In The Clover Vines.”

  “I knew you’d see it my way.” Drake’s voice had lost the breathless wheezy timbre, making Will wonder if he’d been set up.