dead man and a seventy-nine-year-old grandmother.”
Gabe laughed. “Have you met ChiChi?”
He had a point.
“Getting back at us is one thing. But if he ruins the Showdown, it will hurt the whole town.” Marc shook his head. “There is no way he would be willing to do that. What could he possibly gain besides a town boycott of his wine?”
“I have no idea, but a man who lost the love of his life and his best friend on the same day when his only crime was being honest?” Gabe gave a low whistle. “Yeah, I don’t think he needs much more of a motive.”
“If you didn’t know about the ad, then why did you call?” Nate said, looking at Marc.
Because I didn’t want to admit that I screwed up—again—over the phone.
Marc ran a hand through his hair and shifted in his seat. He didn’t know why, but he had the sudden urge to see Lexi, even if only through the window. A little smile or her cute wave sounded nice. Only she wasn’t there.
He turned back around. “I got an e-mail this morning from Bo Brock’s manager.”
“Ah, shit.” Gabe leaned back in his chair.
“It was to inform me that Mr. Brock must regretfully decline to participate in the Tasting Tribunal.”
“Christ, Marc. Do you have any idea how screwed we are?” Trey said from the doorway, looking both constipated and like he needed to punch someone. And from his pointed glare that someone was Marc. “Without a celebrity judge, the Tasting Tribunal will be—”
“Yeah, I get it.” Marc let out a breath. “No celebrity judge, no panel. No panel, no Showdown. You don’t need to explain, Trey. Plus, I thought you were on your way to New York.”
“And I thought you were handling your shit.”
“I am,” Marc grumbled.
“Yeah? Well, then, explain to me how a guy who signed a contract would bail at the last minute,” Trey challenged, taking an aggressive step forward.
Marc had been trying to figure that out for himself. The e-mail gave no concrete reason for why Mr. Brock wanted out, just a few lame lines about a serious man with serious commitments who took his job seriously.
“Take a seat,” Gabe said, kicking out the spare chair in invitation, although his tone left no room for refusal.
“Do you know how important this event is?” Trey demanded, but took his seat.
“We could sue,” Nate threw out, trying to get them back on track. “Who knows, maybe the threat of a public suit will scare him into coming.”
“That’s all we need,” Marc said. “A pissed-off judge picking the winner. Not the way we want to start our first year as hosts.”
“First year? You expect to do this again?” Trey asked.
Marc stopped, his chest going heavy. Sure, there had been a few snags along the way, but outside of a dog on the jury and losing the judge, he had done an incredible job, and he didn’t understand why his brothers couldn’t see that. Their constant criticism was getting old.
The only thing keeping him from kicking his kid brother out was that if this went south, and it was looking like it already had, the fallout would affect everyone. And he couldn’t do that to his family. Especially Gabe.
His oldest brother might be a hard-ass when it came to the family name, but Marc understood. Gabe had sacrificed a lot over the years to ensure that his siblings could have as normal a life as possible after their parents died. He’d also worked tirelessly those first few years to keep the DeLuca vineyards running, and he’d eventually turned it into one of the largest wine empires in the country.
Marc had also worked hard, trying to make up for his wild youth and prove to his family that he had what it took to go the distance and make this hotel a success. He’d gotten into business school at Berkeley and, if he hadn’t dropped out his second year to take a job managing a small luxury hotel in Tuscany, would have graduated with honors. More importantly, Marc had worked in several hotels around the world, taking every job possible, busting his ass to move his way up the ranks to learn as much as possible about the hospitality industry.
In his mind, he’d cut his learning curve in half, and what his brothers dismissed as dropping out of school and floating from job to job Marc saw as the best possible way to master an industry. By twenty-six he had worked in some