a sizable beverage order. “It’s an honor to work at The Barn Door, sir.”
I study Xavier’s face. It’s not that the server’s smile is fake, necessarily. It’s that it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Interesting.
“What Samuel means to say”—Beau cuts his brother another look—“is that our family has lived on Blue Mountain for generations. We were known for many things—some of them great, some of them not so much—but one thing that always stood out was our Beauregard hospitality. Whoever visited the farm could count on a warm welcome and a square meal that stuck to your ribs. We’re biased, but our mama is the best cook in these parts, hands down. Daddy wasn’t so bad at breakfast, either. I inherited their good looks—”
Samuel lets out a scoff.
“While Samuel here inherited their love of sharing good food with good friends and family. So when the farm passed to us, we knew we wanted to continue that tradition.”
“And so The Barn Door was born,” I say, glancing up at the beamed ceiling. “For y’all’s first restaurant, I have to say you absolutely killed it.”
“Chef Katie’s killing it,” Beau replies. “As is our staff. We’re just along for the ride.”
I like Beau. He’s got fame, and he’s got money, but he’s still humble. He’s not afraid to give praise where praise is due. He’s clearly a smart guy who’s surrounded himself with smart people.
But Samuel doesn’t say a word. Just stands there in his lavender suit looking like a pissed-off, albeit finely sculpted, block of stone.
“How about the wine list?” I say. “Let’s take a look at that.”
Chapter Two
Emma
Beau looks at his brother. “Samuel?”
With a heavy sigh, Samuel heads for the hostess stand. He comes back with a binder, its brown leather cover fashionably scuffed up like a well-loved pair of hunting boots.
“Quite the bible y’all have.” I hold up the binder. The pages inside are a combined two, maybe two-and-a-half inches thick. I glance at Samuel before opening the cover. “So. What’s your gospel?”
“My gospel?”
“What’s your story? Why this wine”—I poke my finger into a page of pinot noir—“for this restaurant? The food you serve is second to none. It’s interesting, it’s innovative, and it’s got a great story to tell. How does this wine enhance that story? How does it deepen the meaning of a shared meal at a place like The Barn Door?”
Samuel’s expression goes blank. Pink smudges appear on his cheekbones.
I allow myself a small smile. I imagine not many people challenge him. He’s used to having his way, and he’s used to not having to explain why.
I look forward to disabusing him of that habit.
“The farm is and always has been a family place,” Samuel says, slipping his hands inside the front pockets of his trousers. “Our hospitality is the best of the best. I wanted our cellar to reflect that.”
I keep flipping. Page after page of big name, big-ticket wines. “Best of the best. Right. I can definitely see you went that direction.”
“You don’t sound impressed,” Beau says.
“To be honest?” I glance up from the binder. “I’m not.”
“That’s the biggest and best collection in the state, if not the South. If you don’t get that it’s special, then you don’t get wine.” Samuel’s reply is cold. But his eyes are suddenly hot.
“Bigger doesn’t always equal better,” I say.
I shouldn’t take pleasure in pissing off the guy who has the power to make or break my future. Samuel is not only Blue Mountain’s food director but he’s also got a large ownership stake in the resort itself.
All six members of the Beauregard family own and operate Blue Mountain Farm, a five-star resort in the Great Smoky Mountains. The brainchild of Beau, the oldest Beauregard brother who retired several years ago from a successful pro football career, the resort has been developed over the past five or so years to encompass luxurious guest accommodations, a spa, stables, a smokehouse, gardens, outdoor entertaining spaces, and the South’s most awarded new restaurant, The Barn Door.
Unsurprisingly, Beau’s got plans to expand the resort even further. He hopes to build additional rooms, a sports complex, and another restaurant on the twenty acres of untouched land to the resort’s east. Meaning I could one day be wine director of not one top-notch, James Beard Award-winning restaurant, but two.
Still, I can’t help engaging in a little sharp banter with Samuel. Could be the fact that I’m still a little keyed up from the exceptional cybersex I had with Blue last night. I thought he might just