Page 50 of One Week Wingman

And it didn’t feel like just an act.

I figured I could get my caveman instincts under control and behave myself for this vineyard trip, but here she is, smiling softly at me in the candlelight, like she really belongs to me. And that dress! It skims over her body, plunging in all the right places. All I want to do is undo the ribbons I tied and let it fall to the floor so I can—

“Sebastian isn’t here to push you out,” Natalia tells Franco, pulling me out of my X-rated fantasies. “We talked about this. It’s just time to consider other ideas, a fresh outlook.”

“Fresh?” Franco scowls. “I know I’m old, but I’m not dead yet. And I don’t need the help.”

I try to get my head in the game. I brought Roxy to help me win this deal with Franco, not distract me so much I’m left a silent, stammering idiot.

“It wouldn’t be help,” I speak up, deciding to cut straight to the point. “I want to buy into the vineyard. I want a partnership. And your experience and expertise are the most valuable things here, they’re essential to this place.”

“Essential until you’ve learned everything you need to know,” he grumbles. “And then you can throw out my legacy—along with me.”

“Absolutely not,” I vow. “It’s that heritage I want to be a part of. Do I want to change a few things? Yes, but I’m talking about streamlining, updating. Taking the passion you’ve put into this vineyard, and making it work for you. Bigger profits, more possibilities.”

“Not everything’s about the money,” Franco say, steely.

“No, but it’s necessary,” I point out. “I’d imagine the property taxes on this kind of acreage don’t come cheap. You need updated presses, processing tools. I can guess some of your financials just from your last few yields, and this place is barely hanging on. One bad harvest, and you’ll take a big hit. Two? You’ll be wiped out.”

Franco looks stormy, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far.Shit.

“What Sebastian means is, what you’ve built here deserves to last,” Roxy speaks up. “I don’t know much about it, but a partnership seems like the ideal solution. You get to keep doing the things you love but have someone else around to deal with the business side of things.”

“Exactly,” Natalia says, looking relieved. “You know that I don’t want to take over.”

“But you could,” Franco says, almost petulant.

“I could,” Natalia agrees. “But I don’t want to. This isn’t my passion, Dad. It never has been. It’s yours.”

“And mine, too,” I add.

“Why?” Franco asks, looking over at me.

I pause. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you care about winemaking, about the grapes?”

I take a sip, collecting my thoughts. I know my answer matters here, which is why I want to tell him the truth. Not just some pat answer to give him what he wants to hear, but something honest. I need to start this potential partnership off right.

“I didn’t grow up knowing much about wine,” I begin, swirling the red liquid around my glass. “My parents had a bottle knocking around for dinner, but I didn’t even taste a Merlot until college. There was this little French wine bar, around the corner from the library. I went there on a date once and got stood up.” Roxy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yes, believe it or not, I was stood up quite often back then,” I add to her with a wry grin. “So anyway, I’m sitting there, feeling like an utter fool, and the bartender pours me a glass of red. 2010 Chateaux Lascombes.”

Franco gives a nod. “Good year.”

“It was.” I smile, remembering it. “The guy told me all about the provenance, and how the rains that year affected the sugar levels, and all kinds of other things. I’d never thought about wine that way, like a complex scientific equation, that needs to be just so.”

“People don’t,” Franco agrees. “But the balance has to be perfect.”

“It was fascinating to me, a whole world opening up. I wound up going back every week, drinking my way through their list, learning all about it. And that was just the beginning. Every time I found myself in a new city, I’d look up the best wine bar – not the most impressive, or hottest new ticket,” I add. “But the place where they really knew their stuff. I’d go, alone, order the most interesting thing on the menu, and get talking. Wine has a way of making friends out of anyone. You can travel the world in just one glass, learn about the culture, the history of a place…”

I stop, realizing I’ve probably said too much. But Franco is looking at me with, if not warmth, then certainly less hostility. And Roxy…

Our eyes lock across the table, and I feel that damn prickling in the back of my neck again.

“You never told me that,” she says softly.

I shrug, self-conscious. “You never asked.”

After dinner,Natalia urges her father to give us a tour of the wine cellars. “We have over a thousand bottles laid down,” she explains.

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