“So. Let’s go over my plan.” He makes a final drumroll with his fingers on the dash and ends with a flourish of air guitar. “I have it all figured out.”
I grip the wheel tighter as I pull out of the parking lot. “Okay…”
“We need to present a united front, you see. Convince the Bellantis that we have decided to make a go of the winery. If they think we are not willing to let go, it will drive up the price.”
The thought of playing the happy wife with Rico has zero appeal to me.
“Why don’t we just put an offer on the table and say we’re firm on it?” I suggest.
Rico looks over with a frown. “Frankie. We have to play hard to get. The more we resist selling, the higher the price will go. Can you imagine what they might offer if they think we are going to keep it? They would not just be losing the vines, they would have a rival next door.”
“You’re right,” I say. I hate that I agree with him on this.
The Bellantis have already invested quite a bit in the Abbott vineyards. Not only that, but rolling out the specialty blend from our mutual grapes was very costly. Canceling all those orders might be committing retail suicide with the vendors, not to mention destroying all the goodwill that’s been built up. And Armani would have a public relations nightmare on his hands.
“I will do all the talking,” Rico says smoothly.
“We’re fifty-fifty owners,” I remind him, annoyed. “Plus, I know Dante a lot better than you do. He’s not the kind of man who—”
“I know what kind of man he is. He will appreciate talkingda uomo a uomo.”
Man to man. Right. I roll my eyes at the expression. Rico just grins beside me.
Minutes later, I turn into the gates of the Bellanti estate. I pass the offices and continue down the drive to the main house. I’m hoping it’s far enough away from the eyes of curious employees…and malicious ones named Jessica.
I park on the side of the house and quickly get out of the car, taking a deep breath to steady myself. Rico goes on ahead, as if he knows exactly where he’s going. I used to think his swagger indicated confidence. Now I just think it makes him look like a dumbass.
“Wrong door, Rico. That’s the kitchen,” I call to him. “Follow me.”
Gesturing to the front door, I walk over without waiting for him. When I ring the bell, the door opens with a welcoming smile from the housekeeper that falters a bit at the sight of Rico. I pause just over the threshold and smooth my hands over my pencil skirt and fitted jacket, which I’m wearing with a light blue blouse beneath. My outfit doesn’t scream wealth the way it did when I was a Bellanti, but it’s the best I could do and I’m going to own it.
“Nice place,” Rico says. The housekeeper just nods.
We’re shown down the hall, to the dining room. Everyone else is already gathered there and waiting—Marco, Dante, and Armani seated on one side of the table and goddamned Jessica standing behind Dante with her tablet poised to take notes.
Dante’s eyes sweep over me, dark and impassive. I’m glad I can’t read his mind. I can only imagine what’s going through his head as his gaze turns to Rico.
Armani clears his throat and gestures at the empty chairs on the other side of the table. “Please, take a seat. Coffee?”
“No thank you,” I murmur at the same time Rico says, “Of course.”
Alain appears out of nowhere and deposits a steaming cup in front of Rico, who takes his sweet time mixing in cream and sugar while everybody waits for him to finish clanging his spoon around in the cup. He takes a long slurp, and I try not to squirm in my seat. I’ve never felt so awkward.
“I would like to get right to the point,” Rico announces, setting his cup down. “We have decided we are keeping the winery.”
Armani flicks an eyebrow. “You’re…keepingthe winery.” It’s obvious he’s shocked.
Rico leans back in his chair. I almost expect him to kick back and cross his ankles on the tabletop. “We have it all planned out. We will fill all the outstanding orders right away, then have the grapes picked, get them pressed, and start expanding promotions to get more sales.”
It’s taking everything in me to not cringe. When it comes to vinification, or even simply running a business, Rico has no idea what he’s talking about, and it’s obvious.
He’s completely ignorant about choosing the right grapes, primary and secondary fermentation, racking, aging, and blending. Even if it were possible to rush Abbott grapes to pressing right away, good wine takes time—and great wine takes longer. I wouldn’t expect Abbott wines to be available in any kind of saleable quantity for eighteen months, minimum.
Before Rico can go on further about his “big plans” for the Abbott Winery, Dante smooths his tie and says, “Unfortunately, you can’t fill any outstanding orders without inventory—which the Abbotts don’t have at the moment. It’s also a bit late in the season to harvest as many grapes as you’d need to fill all those orders. Not to mention, Bellanti Vineyards has already harvested a good portion of the crop. I doubt you’ll have a decent wine for…oh, I’d say eighteen to twenty-four months. Though I suppose you could fill your backorders then. Assuming the wine turns out well enough.
“But I doubt the vendors will still be interested in your wine by then—or now, even. If anything, they’d probably prefer refunds over having their backorders fulfilled. Of course, you’ll have to get them to talk to you first, which will be…a challenge. The Abbott name isn’t worth much around these parts, thanks to the way your father-in-law ran his business.”
Dante’s cold tirade is hitting me like a knife in the gut, but every word of it is true.
