Page 83 of Before We Say Goodbye
He shook his head and slid his eyes to Cam. “You keep doing what you’re doing. Show us all how to live. Your brother will get there. We’ll do everything we can to help him.”
If only Lloyd Bramhall would vanish into the ether. The old Otis might have wanted to tie him to the back of a farm truck and drive in fast circles over sharp rocks, but this new Otis wanted the guy out of the picture. The problem was that the cost of buying Lloyd out wasn’t a fixed number. It moved with the success of the winery, and in 1990 they were certainly clearing more than they ever had.
The tenor of their meetings since their ... altercation, if one could call it that, was barely on the side of civil, thanks to Bec steering the way. Where they used to plan their strategies over a bottle of wine and a long lunch, things had changed.
Today, the third of May 1990, Lloyd slid into the driveway in his Ferrari. The car didn’t sound like it used to, didn’t shine anymore. Nor did Lloyd. He finally showed some chinks in his armor, a few new wrinkles, a tad less confident in posture.
No hands were shaken. He did kiss Bec’s cheek, though. Then he sat at one end of the dining room table as Otis took his place at the other. Rebecca took a spot between them, her readers on so that she could see the numbers in front of her. She was the accountant, the business leader, and mediary. And object of desire for both parties, but Otis tried not to dwell on that fact.
Otis had notified her of his recent decisions regarding taking a big step back. She’d agreed with what he had in mind. As much as she liked the financial security, enough was enough.
He actually looked forward to watching Lloyd squirm as he said, “We’ve decided to push back opening the new facility and the tasting room.” Otis added as if he were twisting the knife he’d shoved into Lloyd’s gut, “Perhaps permanently.”
Instant tightness gripped Lloyd’s jaw. “No.”
Otis inclined his shoulders.
“Why would you even consider that?” Lloyd asked.
“I’m slowing down.”
“Slowing down? We’re just getting started.” Lloyd apparently had lost all ability to stay composed, and he reddened by the second.
His fury calmed Otis. “I didn’t like the man I was becoming, and that’s because of this exact mindset. I don’t want to make Heartbreak anymore. I don’t want our finger on the pulse of the newest trends. All I care about is this family and my time with them, and then this farm and putting it into bottle. Lost Souls is the one and only project now, and I don’t want to grow production. It stays where it is.”
Lloyd looked to the woman who he surely wished was his wife. “Rebecca, tell me you’re not on board with this. We have worked too hard. I’ve got giant retailers, hell, I’ve got Annette Alvarez-Peters at Costco begging for our wines. We have a distribution network that any winery would kill for. You can’t tell me you’re going to kill Heartbreak ... or drop production.”
“I prefer the wordslash,” Otis said.
“So you’re no longer interested in making money?”
Otis drew in a breath and sat back against the chair. He took his time crossing one leg over the other. “I’m taking a step back before I kill myself. We’ll see what the future holds. I don’t want to miss out anymore on my boys’ lives, or my life with my wife. Time with them is what I want right now.”
Lloyd’s grin faded, looking a notch less handsome. “You know what I see? A man who has lost his way. When I met you, I had never seen such ambition. I gave you money. A lot of money. We made a deal. Ihave helped you with countless connections. You would not be here without me.”
Otis kept his relaxed position, but he didn’t mince his words. “Slow down, Lloyd. You’re going to get yourself popped in the mouth again.”
“Don’t threaten me.”
“I’m the one under the gun here. We’ve done great things, but I’m taking a step back, and we’re not asking permission.”
Lloyd raised a finger, his big flashy watch sparkling under the light of the chandelier. “Don’t make me talk to the lawyers.”
“Put your finger down, Lloyd.”
Bec held out her hands to keep them from going at each other. “Lloyd, I don’t think threats are going to get us to common ground. Otis is right. This is what we want.”
Lloyd lowered his hand. “I’m tired of him, Bec. Your husband is losing his damn mind. Last time I talked to you, you wanted more money. You wanted your boys to have an inheritance. You wanted to know that you guys won’t starve. Growing production is a must. We have the network, the name. We’re totally set up.”
“You just want people to talk about you,” Otis said, finally having swallowed one spoonful of bullshit too much. “You want people to know that you’re a part of this thing.”
“Isn’t that what you want?”
“Not anymore.” Otis sipped a breath; his heart rate lowered. “I’m done. At least for a while.”
Lloyd took a repositioning breath of his own. “What I know is that we have built something that’s worth a lot of money, and we have to ride that wave.” He paused. “Take some time. You’re exhausted. It’s been a hard run. We’ll hire a sales team. You don’t have to go on the road. Just build the goddamn facility, and let’s move on.”
“I’m not building anything. There’s nothing in our contract that says I have to grow at a certain pace every year. You’re along for the ride.”
