Page 72 of Corkscrew You
“I need his advice,” I say. “On how to get new customers for Flora Valley Wines.”
“Oh.” Chiara sounds slightly disappointed. “Does Shel know about this?”
“No. And I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell her.”
I wait until I’m graced with a response.
“OK, so he has a window tomorrow between two and two-thirty.”
My instinct is to tell her that Ted can jumpoutthat window, but beggars can’t be choosers. Resentful, yes, but not picky.
“Thanks, I’ll be there.”
“Have a nice day, sir,” she says, knowing full well it will wind me up even further.
A nice day. Filled with women intent on giving me a hard time.
“Knock, knock.”
It’s Shelby. Shit, I hope she didn’t overhear that conversation.
No, she’s smiling. Maybe she has good news? I could do with some.
“Hey, um, Cam gave me this.”
She hands me a piece of scruffy paper that someone’s written on in what looks like builder’s pencil.
“And this is?”
“His recommendation for new barrels. I asked him to do an inventory and tell us which ones we should replace. He’s included a cost for the replacements.”
She points at a number scrawled on the bottom.
“He’s already put the wood order in.”
“Has he?”
“Yeah, so he wondered if we could part pay him this week. That’s what we usually do,” she adds.
In my mind, Cam’s jumping out the same window as Ted, and with luck, Ted lands on him and breaks Cam’s neck. I don’t need unexpected, last-minute expenses. I’ve got barely enough operating capital as it is, and that’s only thanks to JP beingmightygenerous. Why the fuck could Cam not have got his act together sooner? And Shelby, too, for that matter, but I’d prefer to save all my anger for Mountain Moron.
“Sorry,” Shelby says.
She must have picked up on my shitty vibes.
“Any more bills like this coming in?” I do my best not to sound accusatory.
“I … don’t think so.”
There’s a field out there with my name on it. With luck, it’ll be a poppy field and I’ll never wake up.
“Do you want some lunch?”
Shelby sounds worried, like it’s her fault I’m pissed off. Which it kind of is, but let’s not go there.
“I brought a sandwich,” I say.
Not about to confess that Mom made it for me. It’s her way of keeping busy and feeling useful, so I’m hardly going to tell her to stop.
