“Highway robbery. Come on. I’ll show you your new wheels.”
He led me to the equipment barn near the main winery building, then past tractors and harvesting equipment to a side area where several vehicles were parked.
Bas gestured to a luxury SUV with a flourish. It was black, pristine, and the exact kind of thing my father would’ve expected me to drive.
“Ta-da! This beauty is yours. Comes with the position.”
My chest tightened as I stared at it. “Bas, no. Absolutely not.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s an eighty-thousand-dollar car! I don’t want any special favors. I want to be hired on the same terms as anyone else.”
This was exactly what I’d come here to escape. The pampered life, the luxury, and the assumption that I expected special things just because of my last name. I needed to change. To prove I could make it on my own merit, not on Baron’s money or the Van Orr name. I couldn’t continue living like his spoiled daughter, accepting handouts and calling it independence.
The vehicle represented everything I was running from.
“Izzy, I’m serious. This is a company car. The marketing director position includes it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You calling me a liar?” His brow arched. “That hurts, Izzy. Really hurts.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not lying! Our last marketing director drove it. Ask my father if you don’t believe me.”
I folded my arms and glared at him.
“There are three other company vehicles here.” He pointed to a truck and two SUVs. “Want to see the onethe vineyard manager drives? The operations director? They all get cars, Izzy. It’s standard.”
He moved closer. “Look, I get it. You want to prove yourself. You want to earn everything. I respect that. But this?” He gestured to the SUV. “This is just how we do business. Same package anyone in this position would get.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist on an older model, a cheaper alternative. But I couldn’t without seeming ungrateful.
“Fine. But if I find out you’re doing this because?—”
“You’ll what? Quit? Storm off in a huff?” He smiled. “Come on. I’ve known you too long for the dramatic exit routine.”
“I’m serious, Bas.”
“So am I. Now, can we please go turn in your rental before you waste another hundred bucks? That’s like… three bottles of good wine. Priorities, Izzy.”
I drove the rental car to the return location, Bas following in his truck. When I climbed into the Whitmore SUV afterward, the contrast hit me. Butter-soft leather seats. The latest dashboard technology. Everything about it screamed privilege and wealth—the world I was trying to escape.
My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. It was just a company car. Not special treatment. Just a job perk that anyone in this role would receive. But it felt too nice. Too easy. Too much like my old life.
Back at the cottage,I unpacked my suitcase. Fifteen minutes and I finished. My clothes hung in the small closet, my toiletries lined the bathroom shelf, and my phone stayed off in the bedside drawer.
This was mine. The first place that had ever been truly mine—albeit a perk of the job. The point was, it wasn’t a Van Orr property.
I stood at the window, looking out at the rows stretching toward the horizon. No pressure. No expectations. No one watching me, waiting for me to fail or cause another scandal.
The memory of Kick’s goodbye at the airport surfaced unbidden. The way he’d looked at me like he knew something was wrong. Maybe he even guessed I didn’t plan on returning—ever. On the other hand, maybe he drove away and never looked back. Didn’t think about me at all. I pushed the thoughts away and changed into jeans and boots.
An hour later, Bas arrived for our tour. We walked through rows of dormant Pinot Noir while he explained their sustainable practices, soil composition, and yields per acre. I asked questions about clone selection, fermentation processes, and how they balanced innovation with the traditional methods his grandfather had established.
We stopped at a section where the soil shifted from clay to volcanic loam. Bas crouched down, grabbed a handful, and let it crumble through his fingers.
