Charlene Sands - Wed on His Terms - Million-Dollar Marriage Merger

Tony entered the Carlino offices, a two-story building set in the heart of Napa Valley. The older outer structure gave way to a modern, innovative inner office filled with leather and marble. The mortar and stone building had been classified as a ghost winery, once owned by an aging retired sea captain who had run the place in the 1890s until Prohibition put him out of business, along with nearly seven hundred other wineries in the area. While some wineries had been turned into estates and restaurants, some held true to their original destiny, haunted not by ghostly spirits but by the passage of time and ruin.

The place had lain dormant and in a state of wreckage until Santo Carlino purchased the property then renovated it into their office space.

Tony walked into the reception area and was greeted by a stunningly gorgeous redhead. “Hi, you must be Tony Carlino.” The woman—her cleavage nearly spilling out of her top—lifted up from her desk to shake his hand. “Joe said you’d be stopping by. I’m Alicia Pendrake, but you can call me Ali.”

“Hi, Ali.” He grasped her hand and shook.

“I’m Joe’s new personal assistant. Today’s my second day on the job.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tony said, curious why Joe didn’t mention hiring anyone new when they spoke, especially one who looked like an overly buxom supermodel, with rich auburn curls draping over her shoulders, wearing a sleek outfit and knee-high boots.

She pointed to the main office door. “He’s inside, crunching numbers, what else?”

Tony chuckled. The woman was a spitfire. “Okay, thanks.”

“Nice meeting you, Mr. Carlino.”

“It’s Tony.”

“Okay, Tony.” She granted him a pleased smile that sent his male antenna up.

He found Joe seated behind his desk, staring at the computer screen. He made sure to close the door behind him. “Whoa … where did you find her?”

“Find who?” Joe said, his attention focused on the computer.

“Alicia … Ali. Your new PA.”

Joe’s brows furrowed and he took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “I met her in New York last year. She’s efficient and capable.”

“I bet. What happened to Maggie?”

“I had to let her go. She wasn’t doing her job. This place was in chaos when I got here. I remembered Ali, and I called her. Offered to pay her way out here, gave her an advance on her salary to get set up. I didn’t think she’d take the job.”

“But she did. Just like that?”

“Yeah, I got lucky.”

“You got lucky? Joe, the woman is beyond gorgeous. Haven’t you noticed?”

Joe rubbed his jaw. “She’s attractive, I suppose.”

“You suppose? Maybe you need better glasses.”

“My glasses are fine. I’m not interested, Tone. You know that I’ve sworn off women. After what happened with Sheila, I’m basically immune to beautiful women … to all women actually. Ali is smart. She’s dedicated, and she does her work without complaint. She’s very organized. You know how I am about organization.”

Tony’s lips twitched. “Okay, if you say so.”

“So, what’s up? You said you needed a favor?”

Tony tossed the flash drive onto the desk. “I need you to compare these accounts from Purple Fields with ours, for the same dates. I’ve been going over Rena’s books. I just need your expert opinion.”

“How soon?”

“Today?”

“I can do that.” Joe inserted the flash drive into his computer. “I’ll upload the files and let you know what I find out.”

“Great, oh and can you burn them to a CD for me? There’s something else I want to check on.”

“Sure thing. I’ll do that first.” While Joe burned the information to a disk, Tony walked around the office, noting the subtle changes Joe had made to Santo Carlino’s office. Joe had secured even more high tech equipment than his father had used and updated the phone system. He was determined to make the company paperless, sooner rather than later.

It would seem that the only thing left from the older generation of the winery were the vast acres of vineyards—six hundred in all—the grapes that couldn’t be digitalized into growing faster and the wine itself.

After a few minutes, Joe handed him a CD of Rena’s accounts. “Here you go.”

Tony tapped the CD against his palm. “Thanks.”

“So how’s married life?”

Tony shrugged, wishing he knew the answer to that question. “Too soon to tell. I’ll be back later. You don’t have plans tonight, do you?”

Joe shook his head. “Just work.”

“Okay, I’ll see you around six.”

Tony walked out of the office after bidding farewell to Ali, who was as intent on her computer screen as Joe had been. He drove out of town and up the hills to the Carlino estate, waving a quick hello to Nick as he drove off the property with a pretty woman in his car. Tony only shook his head at his happy-go-lucky brother, thinking “been there, done that.”

Tony entered the house and grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator. Taking a big swig from the bottle, he walked upstairs to his quadrant of the house, entered his private office and sat down at his desk. He logged onto his computer and inserted the CD into the slot.

He stopped for one moment, contemplating what he was about to do. Taking another gulp of beer, he sighed with indecision, but his curiosity got the better of him. He searched the files and finally found what he’d been looking for. The screen popped up with the title Vine by Vine by Rena Fairfield Montgomery.

Tony began reading the first chapter.

Roots.

In order to make great wine, you need good terroir, meaning the soil, climate and topography of a region that uniquely influence the grapes. A wine with a certain terroir cannot be reproduced in close resemblance of another, because the terroir is not exactly the same. Much like the DNA of a person each wine has a one-of-a-kind profile.

I guess I came from good terroir. That is to say, my parents were solid grounded people, rich, not by monetary standards but by life and vitality and a grand love of winemaking. My roots run deep and strong. I come from healthy stock. I’ve always been thankful for that. I’ve had the love of the best two people on earth. A child can’t ask for more than that.

My parents, like the trellis system of a vine, show you the way yet cannot dictate the path you will ultimately choose. As I grew I felt their protection, but as I look back I also see the strength they instilled in me. After all, a new vine needs to weather a vicious storm now and again. It needs to withstand blasting winds, bending by its might but not breaking.

I remember a time when I was in grammar school …

Tony read the chapter, smiling often as Rena portrayed anecdotes from her childhood, relating them to the ever-growing vines, taking shape, readying for the fruit it would bear.

He skimmed the next few chapters until he came upon a chapter called “Crush and Maceration.”

The crush in vintner’s terminology is when the grapes are harvested, broken from the vine by gentle hands. The crush happens each year between August and October, depending on the kind of grapes that are growing in your vineyard. For me, the crush happened only once. It’s that time in your life when you break off from the ones that graciously and lovingly nourished you to become your own person. I was sixteen when that happened. I grew from an adolescent girl to womanhood the autumn of my sophomore year. The day I met my first love, Rod Barrington.