by Jules Dixon
Champagne Cheers
Holiday Hotties
Jules Dixon
Copyright © 2017 by Jules Dixon
Editing by Charli Mills
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distributions of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in book reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Champagne Cheers: Holiday Hotties
Chapter 1- Matteo Bonacci III
Chapter 2- Janek Becker
Chapter 3-Matteo
Chapter 4- Janek
Chapter 5- Matteo
Chapter 6- Janek
Chapter 7- Matteo
Chapter 8- Janek
chapter 9- Matteo
Epilogue
Thank you!
Coming soon!
About the Author
Champagne Cheers: Holiday Hotties
by Jules Dixon
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Chapter 1- Matteo Bonacci III
“Seize your chance, Matteo. I want to see what you’ve learned and that my money didn’t go down the drain at that fancy school. Show me you are a Bonacci and your blood runs green, too.”
Green. Money. Pressure.
The speech repeated on a loop in my head. My father always refrained from physical affection, but lately, I’d felt more like a business asset than a family member.
Money and connections. These were my father’s loves.
But if I could prove myself with this business venture, then I might get some recognition from him. I had a plan, it was set in motion, and I was prepared to move up in the company. I’d finished an MBA program at Loyola University with concentrations in finance and operations management. At twenty-five, I graduated with high honors, one of the youngest in my program. Even that achievement seemed insignificant to my father, and at the last minute, a business meeting displaced my graduation ceremony as his top priority. It’d been the same with my high school and bachelor’s degree graduations, so I should’ve expected it.
The company plane landed on a small airstrip outside of Niagara-on-the-Lake in southern Ontario, near the famous falls of the same name. I’d done research to familiarize myself with the area. Growing grapes was only a half-century endeavor here, with most vineyards established after 1970. Certainly not the six-hundred-year tradition of my family back in Italy, but still, I was open to the idea of investing in an up-and-coming or a relatively well-established vineyard that needed a boost with a good return for Bonacci Investments.
A blanket of white covered the ground, but this was nothing in comparison to my hometown of Chicago where “cold” meant a pleasant winter’s day and “damn cold” meant breaths froze in your lungs. I slipped on my cashmere lined leather gloves, pulled up my collar on my black, vicuña wool pea coat and stepped down the ladder. The day wasn’t bad, but a gust of northerly wind lifted the edge of my coat to chill me.
A town car was waiting for me and the driver, a tall, middle-aged man with a round middle, opened the back door with a welcoming flourish. He allowed me to get out of the cold before he entered the vehicle and glanced in the rearview mirror.
“Welcome to Niagara-on-the-Lake, Mr. Bonacci. My name is Lucius Sandrone and I’m glad to be your driver for the day.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sandrone. I’m sure my assistant provided my itinerary, and I’d like to be fifteen minutes early to each appointment time.”
The calculated move would catch the vineyards off guard, then I could see how they rolled with modifications to plans and deviations from expected procedures. Wine production always faced surprises by mother nature, marketing, packaging, financing, and a hundred other possibilities. Probably a thousand.
“Very good, Mr. Bonacci.”
“Please, call me Matteo.”
“Mr. Bonacci” was my father’s preferred name, and he’d insist the help call him “sir.” “The help” was what he referred to most of the people who’d been the permanent fixtures in his life for almost as long as I had. I shivered a chain reaction of quakes through my body, thinking of how Father made the offending hierarchical reference sound like they were more family than I was some days. And sometimes, I truly felt he accepted them over me.
“Would you like me to turn up the heat?” Mr. Sandrone was an observant man.
“No, just a momentary chill. The temperature is fine.”
Mr. Sandrone pulled from the runway and out onto a highway. “My friends and family call me Lucky. You are welcome to call me the nickname if you wish, or Lucius is fine, too.”
“Nice to meet you, Lucky. First vineyard, please.” I chuckled while pulling off my gloves. Only I would get a driver named “Lucky” while on a mission to come home with a real win for Bonacci Investments.
Hope your name lives up to its meaning, Lucky.
Rows of trimmed vines passed by with trance-inducing repetition. Interesting row placement and spacing. My families’ Italian vineyards planted vines with the curvature of the soil since the land was hilly. They respected the lay of the plot. In contrast, most of this flat terrain ran vines east to west to get the most of the sun, but a few ran in different directions, indicating varietals that required more or less sun or table wines that were more about quantity over quality. One method wasn’t better than the other, just differences I made note of to start conversations.
“The first of the three vineyards is Paisley Hills Winery. Two generations, Icewine-makers who specialize in Vidal and Riesling grapes…”
Lucky continued to spout his knowledge of the winery. I listened intently to his take because locals often knew inside stories helpful to understanding the vineyards, but I’d already done my due diligence and possibly knew as much he did about the actual owners.
He pulled into a spot in front of the vineyard’s large metal shed.
An hour later and we were pulling back out. They needed a long-term investment of ten or more years, and I required a short turnaround on the Bonacci money, three to five years. Despite our different expectations, they made a succulent Icewine with a strawberry essence. I’d bought two bottles to take home for New Year’s Eve tonight. After my meeting with Father, I’d sit on my couch and enjoy a bottle to myself while reviewing what I’d done right and wrong. He’d communicate both sides to me. Plus, holidays only made me remember what I didn’t have in the way of relationships so I tried to lay low and keep busy.
“How often do you get snow here?” I asked.
Lucky glanced in the rearview mirror. “Toronto gets lake-effect-snow, but usually we’ll only see a dusting or a couple inches, occasionally a few more, but never more than six inches. There’s a storm that might land a couple inches tonight, but you’ll be off on your plane long before that happens, sir.”
“Matteo, please.” My skin turned clammy whenever he’d address me like that. “Sir” was respectful, but it felt wrong.
“Next is the small vineyard of Three Cheers, ran by the Becker family who are originally from Germany. They create wonderful blends. I believe the eldest son is the only one here this week because his brother is off for the holiday with his…” he paused and mumbled something that I couldn’t make out.
In only a few minutes, Lucky opened the door and ushered me into what was a d
ark room.
“Mr. Becker?” he called out, but got nothing in return. “I know he’s here.”
“And how do you know that?”
Lucky ignored my question and walked toward a door in the back. “Let me go to the main house to find him. I’ll be right back.”
And this was exactly why I showed up early to these appointments. If the owners couldn’t adjust on the fly, then they weren’t a good fit for what I was looking for.
I used the flashlight on my phone to light the room. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling and custom built-ins lined the walls. European with a warm feeling that reminded me of my grandparents’ vineyard in Italy. Unpretentious and organized, two vibes that spoke comfort to me, but none of that mattered if there was no meeting.
I remembered the picture of the Becker family I’d seen on their website. I crossed the room to the same one hanging on the wall. Two men, both in their late twenties, maybe approaching thirty. Dirty blond hair, medium builds, and one of them was smiling and the other wasn’t. What the industry grapevine had to say interested me more. The Beckers had a reputation for making bold and creative blended wines that held their own against Italian and German single-variety wines. They also held innovative thoughts on winemaking itself.
Lucky returned. “He’s taking a phone call from his mother in Germany.” His eyes crinkled at the edges. “He’ll be right out.”
“Let’s go.” I turned toward the door.
“But Mr.—I mean Matteo—please, I really think—”
“I’m not paying you to think, Lucky. I’m paying you to drive.” My stomach burned as I released the biting caustic words. How did my father do this hardass presentation every day?
I walked outside. Flurries brushed the flat canvas of the vineyard, leaving a lacy, connect-the-dots pattern on the windshield.
A different voice broke into the conversation. “Mr. Bonacci, I’m sorry. My grandfather is—”
“I’m not here for excuses. I was here to…” I turned and whatever I’d meant to say disappeared into his silver-blue eyes.
Shit, this isn’t in my plan.
Chapter 2- Janek Becker
He cleared his throat and wrapped his black scarf around his neck like he needed the warmth to speak. “Mr. Becker, I’m on a timetable. I’m sorry, but I need to get to my next appointment.”
I squared off my body with him. He wasn’t going to get away with being a cocky jerk just because he had a big, fat wallet.
A fine wool coat doesn’t make a man, Mr. Bonacci.
“Since our appointment was scheduled for one p.m. and it’s only ten until one, I’m assuming that your next appointment isn’t for what, an hour and a half. It’s pretty clear you’re showing up early to see if winery owners can work on the fly, so you have some time to kill. Please, I think you’ll like what I have to say about our facility and the opportunity we’re proposing.”
His mahogany-brown eyes had almost a red tint to them. I’d think they were attractive if he didn’t have that ugly scowl on his face.
The tight muscles in his jaw loosened. “You have five minutes to impress me.”
Five? Impress?
I stepped back. “Fine. Be on your way then.”
I respected people who respected me.
“Glad we understand each other.” Mr. Bonacci waited for Lucky to open his door.
After it was shut, Lucky turned and his big brown eyes spoke of regret. He’d tried to warn me with a text, it was my mother who’d been insistent to continue the phone call, reinforcing her “family first” mantra.
I was sure my mother had told Lucky of the Three Cheers struggle in one of their several dinners at the Irish pub downtown this year. I didn’t think they’d gone further than friends, but my mother’s reluctance to find happiness after my father’s passing was my burden to share as well. My brother had found a special someone and every moment around Jürgen and his husband David had me wanting the same. That we’d both come out as gay had surprised our mother, but it didn’t surprise either of us. We’d confided in each other over the years, being brothers of the deepest kind when we thought no one else would understand. Thankfully, Mom understood. She’d welcomed David like he was her own son and I couldn’t wait for a man I cared about to experience her genuine care and selflessness.
“I’m sorry, Janek,” Lucky mouthed to me.
I nodded. “Happy New Year, Lucky.”
“Thank you.” He opened the driver’s door and gave me one last head nod before he got into the car.
I walked back into the house adjacent to the winery. The house was not only our home, but also a bed and breakfast during the summer tourist season and holidays. However, with my mother in Germany, taking care of our ailing grandfather, and Jürgen and David in Mexico for their anniversary trip, I was alone. But alone didn’t discourage me. I was ready to relax by the fireplace with a glass of Paisley Hills Icewine I’d picked up at the weekly gathering of area vintners and maybe watch a movie or read a book. After all, tomorrow would be a new year and although times weren’t great at our winery, there was nothing I could do until the bank opened on January second.
With over forty wineries within close proximity, one could assume intense competition abounded, but it wasn’t that way. Each of us knew that if one of us went down, it could be the slump for us all. That’s why we’d meet once a week to share issues, thoughts, and then implement new strategies. And of course, we’d try each other’s wines, giving suggestions when there were concerns and accolades when someone made a noteworthy wine. Egos were put aside.
Except for mine.
I’d neglected to share all of our woes at Three Cheers. I’d explained how the last year’s crop had suffered from a fungus that lowered harvests substantially. I’d shared the steps we’d taken to stop the spread, but I hadn’t described the financial ramifications. After the previous year’s successful crop, I’d purchased promotions for this year’s crop with a loan against the house to pay for the advertising. The balloon payment was now due and the crop was half the size anticipated.
But when this year’s Icewine grapes turned out to be a bumper crop, I’d thought the bank would let us ride for another twelve months with payment of the interest only. I’d been wrong.
Coming up with $80,000 … how?
My stomach gurgled, reminding me I’d skipped a few meals lately. I opened the freezer, viewing container upon container of goulash, stews, and roasted meats with sides. My mother was a food angel, but my stomach tumbled with an avalanche of nerves.
I grabbed a bottle of water and downed half. The cold air of the fridge added to my chilly thoughts of what might actually happen to this place. How could I tell my family? And now I’d sent away the one man who really could’ve helped us. My pride and ego overshadowed my brain and gut.
I slammed the fridge door. I’d eat later, maybe next year. It was only a night away.
I stood in front of the back sliding door. The snow was coming down at what we’d consider to be a heavy pace now.
My phone rang on the table. I ignored it. It rang again and then again. I lifted it.
Lucky?
“Hello.” I tried to sound upbeat cause he didn’t deserve my deteriorating mood.
“Hey, Janek, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
I brushed a hand through my hair that needed a cut, but there were bigger things on my worries list.
“Been better.”
His breath rustled through the phone. “I’m sorry Janek, I tried to let you know—”
“No worries, Lucky. Everything’s fine here.” I brightened my voice in the last sentence trying to sound as “fine” as I claimed.
While on the phone with my mother, I’d heard the beep in of a text, but my mother had been ocean’s deep crying about Opa’s dementia and how she’d wanted him to say her name one more time. If I’d looked at the message, I’d have seen that Lucky was trying to let me know they’d be early. But I didn’t regret staying o
n the phone with my mother. I only regretted not giving Mr. Bonacci a bigger piece of my mind.
Him and his smug tight-lipped smile and piercing gaze that made me feel bared to my boxers in the cold weather.
“You know you’re not a very good liar, right?” Lucky sighed.
I chuckled. “I’m that bad?”
“Yeah, you are. I’ll stop by tomorrow to chat.”
“Sounds good. Hope that Mr. Bonacci isn’t continuing his ‘holier-than-fuck’ tirade.”
“Nah, he’s getting coffee right now and then off to Edelweiss.”
Not Sam and Doug? They were too nice to deal with that amount of arrogance and condescension.
He sighed into the phone again. “You think I should—”
“Yes, call them and warn them that a goon from the Bonacci mafia is on his way. Not sure what Mr. B is looking for in an investment, but if it’s someone to kowtow to him, he’s come to the wrong place.”
Although the thought of being on my knees in front of him wasn’t totally objectionable, it just wouldn’t involve me owing him anything. I pushed the errant thought out of my head. It’d been a long time since I’d been with a man. This year had been concentrated on the vineyard only, my other needs weren’t important when it came to supporting my family.
Lucky cleared his throat. “I think he’s a nice guy. He’s just…”
I waited for him to finish the sentence, but he didn’t. I couldn’t either.
I leaned my forehead against the glass of the door, allowing the chill to enter my body and calm the rolling thoughts. “I’ll hope that someone gets his money even if it isn’t us.”
“Me, too. Talk to you tomorrow, Jan.”
