come to the Showdown?” Marc barked, setting down his beer. “The Showdown is the day after tomorrow!”
It was only a little past two in the afternoon, but when Frankie called him out of the blue, asking him to meet her at the Spigot and bring his brothers, he knew that this was going to be a drink-mandatory kind of chat.
“Well, that wiped the stupid-ass smile off your face,” Frankie said, popping her neck from side to side. “It was starting to piss me off.”
Both Gabe and Trey started laughing. Which pissed Marc off, so he flipped Trey the bird and said to Gabe, “Hey, let me get you a beer, bro. On me.”
His brother had been harassing him all week about Lexi. Although Marc had admitted to being in a relationship, he hadn’t said a thing about them sleeping together. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t anybody’s goddamned business what was going on between them.
A point that he’d made clear to his family. Only Gabe just offered up a shit-eating grin and slapped him on the back with a welcome-to-it chuckle. Marc was still trying to figure out what the hell his brother meant.
“He figured if he pulled Simon without telling you, then the tribunal would be lacking a Baudouin,” Frankie said.
“And we wouldn’t have time to find a replacement the night of,” Trey guessed. “Wait, your brothers—”
Frankie shook her head. “Dax is still deployed, Adam is out of town, and Jonah won’t judge the Showdown no matter who asks. And if you go after any of my great-uncle’s side of the family, Grandpa will claim they aren’t Baudouins. Which means there would be no one to fill in and you’d have to cancel the wine-tasting part of the Showdown.”
“There’s you,” Gabe said, and all three brothers shared a look. If they could get Frankie on their side, just for one night, the whole event would be saved and Charles couldn’t do anything else to screw it up.
Frankie inhaled, only to pick up her beer and take a long swallow.
“This isn’t about the DeLucas versus the Baudouins. This is about the town.”
“You think I don’t know that? I get it, believe me. It’s why I’m here.” Her voice was tough as nails, but Marc noticed the way her hands shook and how she couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. She didn’t look like the ballbusting, tough-as-shit tomboy that he knew and avoided. She actually looked a little unsure and a whole lot scared.
She must have seen him staring, because she grabbed a fork off the table behind them and said, “Keep staring and I’ll stab you in the scrotum. Got it, pretty boy?”
Marc leaned back in his chair and put one hand up in surrender; the other was shielding his goods.
“Why is he even doing this?” Gabe asked. “Sabotaging the Showdown would hurt the town and smaller wineries more than it would the DeLucas.”
“Because this isn’t about the Showdown,” Nate said, approaching the table.
“Great.” Frankie rolled her eyes, and Marc noticed her grip tighten on the fork. “You’re here.”
“Good to see you too, Francesca.” Nate took the only empty chair, which happened to be right next to Frankie, who immediately scooted closer to the wall. Didn’t matter. Nate leaned in, pressing all of his anger and size in her face. He wasn’t as big as Marc, but he was a big man and when riled could be intimidating as hell.
So he didn’t blame Frankie when she leaned back, her eyes wide and her shoulders hunched. He’d never seen his brother act like this, especially toward a woman. Hell, Frankie goaded him all the time; normally he let it roll off his back. But today—today Nate was pissed.
Gabe must have sensed it too, because he put a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Reel it back a little.”
Nate shrugged off Gabe’s hand, zeroing in on Frankie. “When were you going to tell me that your grandpa has been talking to Montgomery Distributions? And that all of this BS surrounding the Showdown and the judges, and a fucking dog on the panel, was to discredit my family so that Charles could swoop in and steal the Monte contract right out from under us?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Frankie argued.
“Really?” Nate yelled. “Then explain why Adam is in Santa Barbara, right now, looking at a piece of land that will produce enough grapes to fulfill the contract?”
“I don’t know, but none of my brothers give a crap about wine, which is why