Francis’ gaze darted to his entourage. They blanched. There was an 80/20 girl to guy ratio and the guys were musicians, not muscle. Eden was surprised they didn’t take one look at the Hammerhead Sharks and run screaming. She put herself between Francis and the football players. “Guys, there’s no need for this.”

No one looked at her, not even Willow. She turned to Francis. “What the fuck did you say to him?”

“Nothing, just that you’ve got the supporting slot on my tour.”

A whistling rushed through Eden’s ears. “You… I…?”

“It’s done. The spot’s yours.” Francis fumbled for his phone. “I’ll show you. You should have an email from Magda about it.”

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” one of the footballers demanded.

He didn’t care; he just wanted Francis to say something else so he could punch him in the face. Eden took Willow’s hand. “Babe, whatever happened, we can sort it out. Please just tell these guys to lay off.”

Willow’s jaw twitched and for a heart-stopping moment, she thought he’d ignore her. Then his expression softened, became Willow again. He turned to his friends. “It’s alright, boys. Go back to the table.”

“You sure?” asked a giant blonde. “We’ve got your back.”

“I appreciate that, but this is under control.”

Nobody moved.

Francis shifted behind her and with a thrill of terror, Eden sensed he was about to say something stupid.

“You guys don’t do enough man-wrestling on the field? You need to come after me?”

“Fuck me dead.” Willow threw out an arm as one of the guys surged forward. “Why would you say that, you silly prick?”

Panic burned in Eden’s throat like acid. The Sharks were going to kill Francis and she’d lose the slot on his tour and Willow would get sued and…

“What’s happening, guys?” Mara tottered forward in her sky-high heels, Beth at her side. To Eden’s amazement, the footballers looked at their shoes, shuffling like schoolboys.

“What is it?” Mara repeated. “Do I need to get Derek?”

A few guys flinched. Eden guessed Derek had laid very specific ground rules around not fucking up his bachelor party.

“Sorry, Mara,” the blond guy mumbled. “It’s all good.”

“Yeah, nothing’s happening.”

“Great.” Mara beamed at them. “I ordered espresso martinis to your table. You better go drink them!”

“Thanks, Mara.”

“Yeah, you’re the best.”

With a final glare at Francis, the gang sloped away into the crowd.

Francis gave Mara a slow clap. “Nice work, sweetness.”

Willow started forward, but Beth pressed a hand to his stomach. “Easy, tiger.”

“You tell him to get out of here,” he snarled, never taking his eyes from Francis.

Beth glared at the DJ. “Your set’s about to start, shouldn’t you be behind the decks?”

“I’ve got plenty of time.”