“No. I suggested a location. The location is a tactical consideration, Quinn. It’s not a deal breaker. We take the location into consideration—”
“Uh-huh. Have your information people given you the lowdown on the Drakeses’ farm?” I interrupted before I actually started buying into Champ’s can-do, rah-rah bullshit. “It’s wayyyy over on the west side of the Thicket, out past the elementary school and Diesel Partridge’s junkyard.”
He frowned. “There’s nothing out past the junkyard but the Christmas tree lot and that giant… Oh.”
“Oh,” I agreed grimly. “The old Windy Pig farm.”
“The one with the…”
“Big, rusted-out green silo from the ’50s that still says ‘Windy Pigs’? Yeah. Tommy Drakes’s great-uncle on his mother’s side was a Windy.”
Champ shook his head. “I don’t wanna know how you know that. If the wedding planning doesn’t work out, I could use another background analyst.”
I refused to be charmed. “That farm is a giant pork-filled mud patch. They still keep pigs, in addition to horses. The house is gorgeous, according to the pictures I’ve seen, but the rest of the place?” I shook my head. “Precisely how many burly men do you have at your disposal? Enough to paint an enormous silo? Move some livestock? I can only imagine Carlotta hasn’t been out here in years and doesn’t remember the state of the place, or she would have pitched a fit.”
“Damn.” Champ whistled. “I didn’t know.”
“I figured. But that didn’t stop you from parachuting right into my carefully planned event and throwing out mental images of supermodels cavorting on picturesque farms like hand grenades, did it? God forbid Carlotta ever asks Brailey Driscoll who her wedding planner is, or I’m sunk.” I sighed.
“That… is another tactical consideration,” he agreed.
I rolled my eyes. “Right. Look, I’m gonna fix this. Somehow. I generally do. But you’re fired as my fake wedding-planning assistant. I will not be providing you a reference. And also—please try to control your disappointment—I think it’s time for us to consciously uncouple. Our engagement had a great run, buddy, but we wouldn’t be the first folks who couldn’t handle the trials of wedding planning. It’s not you, it’s me. Please remember to collect your dog before you leave for good.”
I tried for a smile and failed miserably. I felt shaky and overwhelmed, and I wanted nothing more than to be home—by myself—where I could vent my anger and frustration, probably drink an entire bottle of wine, and remember why alone was always, always the safer bet.
I shifted the car into Drive and started to pull out onto the street.
“Wait, no!” Champ said in a panicked tone that made me stomp on the brake again. “Wait. Look, I really am sorry, Quinn. I had to make a decision on the fly without all the intel. I fucked up, but we can recover from this if we stick together. As a team.”
“Stick together?” I snorted. “That would imply that we’d been working together in the past. But one of us—it was you, by the way—decided to go rogue and make unilateral decisions that got us into this situation. That’s the opposite of teamwork. What would you do if one of your men did that?”
I saw that point hit home. Champ sucked in a breath. He stared at me for a long moment. Then he said, “You’re right.”
“Thank you.” I nodded, pleased that he agreed, even if I was less than thrilled at what his agreement meant. “So, like I said, I think it’s best if we—”
“Go out for a late lunch.”
I blinked. “Um, no. The opposite, in fact. No more lunches. Or meals of any ki—”
“I’ll take you to SATCO.” He paused dramatically, waiting for my reaction.
He was gonna have to keep waiting. “What’s a SATCO?”
“Are you serious? It’s impossible that you lived in Nashville and never heard of San Antonio Taco Company. It’s a Tex-Mex place near Vandy. It’s world-famous. Or at least Nashville famous. Seriously, you’ve never been? Oh, God, I’m about to change your life. The tacos and enchiladas will make you cry, they’re so delicious. If you thought my peace-offering donuts were good, wait until you try my peace-offering tacos.”
That was exactly what I was afraid of. I was all kinds of weak-willed where Percy Champion was concerned.
I shook my head resolutely. “I have leftovers at home.”
“Please, Quinn,” he said softly. “It’s the least I can do after this morning.”
“You’re not trying to make up for something. You’re trying to con me into going along with your scheme so that you can have access to the farm and search for Tommy Drakes’s… whatever the heck you’re looking for, even though it’s going to destroy my business. Hard pass.”
“No! I’m trying to call a team meeting. Kinda.”
I scowled. “A what?”
Champ spread his hands and regarded me earnestly. “Look, you asked what I would do if someone on my team had pulled the stunt I pulled on you this morning, right? Well, it has happened. Last November, as a matter of fact, on an op in South America. And like you, I was pissed immediately after the fact, with good reason. I made that fucker take so many classes on communication, he could get his own daytime TV show. I made the whole crew do team-building exercises until their eyes rolled back in their heads. But what I didn’t do was get rid of the guy. I didn’t say, ‘Fuck it, I’m gonna do everything myself from now on.’ Instead, I figured out where the issue was and fixed it. The guy felt bad about what went down, and now he’s the hardest-working teammate I’ve got, and I can be that for you. Just let me fix this.”