man. But the deal depends on that menu.” Which was what Marc had feared. “When I first met with Montgomery Distributions, I was still clinging to the hope that Lexi and I could make it work, especially if we landed the deal. Monte had a few other restaurants he was talking to, and it was Lexi’s food that raised Pairing to the top of his list. We weren’t the biggest or most financially set of the competition, but we had the best food. To change the game now…there’s no way.”
Last spring, Monte, founder and CEO of Montgomery Distributions, had been in town to meet the youngest DeLuca, Trey, whose tendency toward wanderlust had him out of the country more than in. It also had him at a wine sellers’ convention in Prague—when he should have had his ass in St. Helena—negotiating a deal with Monte that would take DeLuca Wines from specialty shops to supermarkets around the globe. Marc, already feeling guilty for skirting his responsibilities in the family business to get his hotel stable, had agreed to cover for Trey and entertain the man.
Over a friendly glass of DeLuca zin, Marc learned that Monte not only specialized in wine distribution but that he was also looking to expand into the specialty-food sector, to bring five-star, fine-dining cuisine to freezer sections everywhere and pair it with the perfect wine. Monte had the contacts and the interest; all he needed was a restaurant and winery to partner with. And Jeff needed the kind of money that a deal like this could bring. It seemed the perfect fit.
Gabe had disagreed, adamant about not mixing friends and the family business. But Jeff had always talked about expanding Pairing, taking it to a national scale; he just lacked the backing and support to get there alone. Marc knew what that felt like. In fact, Jeff was the only one who had wholeheartedly supported Marc’s decision to buy the Napa Grand, which was why Marc had wanted to see this partnership work. So at the risk of pissing off his brothers, he’d made the introduction. Only now he wasn’t so sure that he’d made the right decision.
“Does she know about Monte? About my family’s role in the deal?” At this point, Marc wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.
There was a long pause, as though Jeff was weighing his answer.
“No.”
Marc felt his body relax a little.
“I didn’t think it mattered,” Jeff said. “She had already checked out on the marriage and the restaurant. I knew she’d move home, and I didn’t want to drag you into the middle of everything.”
Funny, because the middle was exactly where Jeff had stuck him the minute he asked Lexi out sophomore year—even though he knew Marc had a thing for her. And the middle was starting to piss him off. Sure, Marc had had a weakness for just about anything with pom-poms—still did—but Lexi’s pom-poms were different. They always would be.
“I know this is a lot to ask,” Jeff went on. “But you guys used to be friends, and this deal needs to close. Until that happens, I need you to keep an eye on Lexi, make sure she doesn’t sink this just because she’s pissed at me.”
“So you want her to be pissed at me? Because the second she finds out we even talked about her—”
“She’s going to be pissed either way, Marc. That’s just Lexi.” Not the Lexi that Marc knew. Then again, he had never been married to her.
Marc closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. So much for not wanting to stick him in the middle. But Jeff was right: this deal couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not after Marc had defended his decision to bring Jeff in on the deal to his brothers. But the thought of Lexi’s dreams shattering didn’t sit right either.
It’s just a cookbook, Lexi. Get a grip.
But she couldn’t. Just like she couldn’t believe that after almost twenty-four hours of culinary bliss, this was happening.
Last night, after covering her ex in a mosaic of spit wads and promising Abby she wouldn’t give up, Lexi had called her grandmère and agreed to cater for the Daughters of the Prohibition.
Yes, she hated catering. But she loved her grandmother. And with Pricilla being the only real family Lexi had, her grandmother’s dream of a bistro trumped everything, so she got her butt in gear, threw on an old CD mix she’d found from high school, and stayed up all night cooking,