A Lot like Love
Page 27
Nick grabbed one of the tasting menus from the bar. “All right. Let’s see how good you are. Call the first one.”
“A sauvignon blanc,” Jordan guessed. “Likely one from the Loire Valley. Then a Riesling, a pinot gris, and a California chardonnay.”
He looked impressed. “Not bad.”
She shrugged. “I know my way around a tasting.”
“Except you screwed up the chardonnay.”
Surprised, Jordan took a look at the menu. In the past, Xander had always picked a California chardonnay, but this year’s selection was from Burgundy, France.
“Interesting, don’t you think?” said a man to her left.
Jordan turned and saw Rafe Velasquez, co-owner of a lucrative hedge fund based out of Chicago. Like her, he was a regular of the party. She greeted him with a smile. “Hello, Rafe.” She looked around the room. “Where’s Emily?”
“She decided to stay home—most reluctantly. Our youngest has been fighting the flu all week, and she didn’t feel comfortable leaving him with the nanny. I think something’s going around. Everyone I talk to these days is sick.”
Jordan thought back to Huxley, sprawled across the couch with his blond Mohawk. Something was going around all right, and it wasn’t pretty. Turning to Nick, she made the introductions. “Rafe Velasquez, Nick Stanton.” As the two men shook hands, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d made it through the first intro without screwing things up.
“So you must be proud of yourself,” Rafe said to her.
She cocked her head in confusion. “Meaning . . . ?”
Rafe pointed to the wine menu. “The reds?”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet—I’m still stuck on the fact that Xander didn’t go with a California chardonnay.”
“Forget the chardonnay—check out the cabs.”
Jordan’s eyes skimmed over the menu. She pulled back in surprise when she read the names of the two cabernets Xander had chosen for the evening.
“What do you make of that?” Rafe asked slyly.
She didn’t answer immediately. She had a feeling she knew what Rafe was suggesting, but it couldn’t mean . . . well, that.
“Looks like somebody has a secret admirer,” he said.
Nick frowned, suddenly very interested in their conversation. “I think I’m missing something here.”
Rafe explained. “At last year’s party, Xander, Jordan, and I got into a discussion about his red selections. See, Xander always picks Screaming Eagle as his cabernet—which is a fantastic wine, don’t get me wrong. But Jordan jokingly said that if he ever wanted to shake things up, she’d be happy to give him some suggestions. So Xander asked what her favorite cabernets are.”
Nick turned to Jordan. “What did you tell him?”
“I . . . may have mentioned the Vineyard 29 estate cab,” she said.
Nick checked out the tasting menu. “That’s on this list.”
Yes, it was.
“And she also said that she was a huge fan of the Quintessa meritage. Which I completely agree with, by the way,” Rafe said.
Nick checked again. “That’s also on this list.”
Yes, it was.
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “So to be clear: two of the five red wines on this highly exclusive list are ones that you said are your favorites?”
Well, when he put it that way . . . Now on the defensive, Jordan felt the need to point something out. “I do own a wine store, you know. This is likely a professional compliment, not a personal one.”
“Are you sure about that?” Nick’s green eyes probed hers intently.
Before answering, Jordan thought through her recent interactions with Xander. Nothing jumped out at her as abnormal, no conversations she could immediately recall that signaled any particular interest in her. Sure, Xander came by the store often, but so did a lot of her regular customers. And he flirted with her from time to time, but Xander flirted with everyone. He was a notorious womanizer and constantly dated women he met in his clubs—usually leggy brunettes under the age of twenty-five. Being blond, five-foot-five if she stood really straight, and thirty-three years old, Jordan met none of his criteria.
But now that she was specifically thinking about it . . . there had been that one slightly odd conversation—five months ago, right before Kyle had been arrested, and just after she’d gotten back from a trip to the Napa Valley. Xander had dropped by the store, and she’d filled him in on some of the new wines she’d discovered.
“Must be a tough life, going to the Napa Valley several times a year on business,” Xander had teased her as he perused the store’s shelves.
Jordan had chuckled as she handed him a glass of a new pinot noir she’d just opened, not disagreeing with him. “Oh, and you have it so bad. You go wherever you want, whenever you want.” She should know, he bragged about his exotic trips whenever he visited the store.
Xander took the glass of pinot from her. “Yeah, but Napa’s different. That’s not the kind of place you want to go alone. You should be with someone who can appreciate the experience.” He took a sip of the wine. “It’s good.”
“A waiter recommended it to me. I liked it so much I had two cases shipped back here.”
Xander followed her over to the bar. “Where did you stay while you were out there?”
“Calistoga Ranch. Have you been?”
“A sauvignon blanc,” Jordan guessed. “Likely one from the Loire Valley. Then a Riesling, a pinot gris, and a California chardonnay.”
He looked impressed. “Not bad.”
She shrugged. “I know my way around a tasting.”
“Except you screwed up the chardonnay.”
Surprised, Jordan took a look at the menu. In the past, Xander had always picked a California chardonnay, but this year’s selection was from Burgundy, France.
“Interesting, don’t you think?” said a man to her left.
Jordan turned and saw Rafe Velasquez, co-owner of a lucrative hedge fund based out of Chicago. Like her, he was a regular of the party. She greeted him with a smile. “Hello, Rafe.” She looked around the room. “Where’s Emily?”
“She decided to stay home—most reluctantly. Our youngest has been fighting the flu all week, and she didn’t feel comfortable leaving him with the nanny. I think something’s going around. Everyone I talk to these days is sick.”
Jordan thought back to Huxley, sprawled across the couch with his blond Mohawk. Something was going around all right, and it wasn’t pretty. Turning to Nick, she made the introductions. “Rafe Velasquez, Nick Stanton.” As the two men shook hands, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d made it through the first intro without screwing things up.
“So you must be proud of yourself,” Rafe said to her.
She cocked her head in confusion. “Meaning . . . ?”
Rafe pointed to the wine menu. “The reds?”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet—I’m still stuck on the fact that Xander didn’t go with a California chardonnay.”
“Forget the chardonnay—check out the cabs.”
Jordan’s eyes skimmed over the menu. She pulled back in surprise when she read the names of the two cabernets Xander had chosen for the evening.
“What do you make of that?” Rafe asked slyly.
She didn’t answer immediately. She had a feeling she knew what Rafe was suggesting, but it couldn’t mean . . . well, that.
“Looks like somebody has a secret admirer,” he said.
Nick frowned, suddenly very interested in their conversation. “I think I’m missing something here.”
Rafe explained. “At last year’s party, Xander, Jordan, and I got into a discussion about his red selections. See, Xander always picks Screaming Eagle as his cabernet—which is a fantastic wine, don’t get me wrong. But Jordan jokingly said that if he ever wanted to shake things up, she’d be happy to give him some suggestions. So Xander asked what her favorite cabernets are.”
Nick turned to Jordan. “What did you tell him?”
“I . . . may have mentioned the Vineyard 29 estate cab,” she said.
Nick checked out the tasting menu. “That’s on this list.”
Yes, it was.
“And she also said that she was a huge fan of the Quintessa meritage. Which I completely agree with, by the way,” Rafe said.
Nick checked again. “That’s also on this list.”
Yes, it was.
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “So to be clear: two of the five red wines on this highly exclusive list are ones that you said are your favorites?”
Well, when he put it that way . . . Now on the defensive, Jordan felt the need to point something out. “I do own a wine store, you know. This is likely a professional compliment, not a personal one.”
“Are you sure about that?” Nick’s green eyes probed hers intently.
Before answering, Jordan thought through her recent interactions with Xander. Nothing jumped out at her as abnormal, no conversations she could immediately recall that signaled any particular interest in her. Sure, Xander came by the store often, but so did a lot of her regular customers. And he flirted with her from time to time, but Xander flirted with everyone. He was a notorious womanizer and constantly dated women he met in his clubs—usually leggy brunettes under the age of twenty-five. Being blond, five-foot-five if she stood really straight, and thirty-three years old, Jordan met none of his criteria.
But now that she was specifically thinking about it . . . there had been that one slightly odd conversation—five months ago, right before Kyle had been arrested, and just after she’d gotten back from a trip to the Napa Valley. Xander had dropped by the store, and she’d filled him in on some of the new wines she’d discovered.
“Must be a tough life, going to the Napa Valley several times a year on business,” Xander had teased her as he perused the store’s shelves.
Jordan had chuckled as she handed him a glass of a new pinot noir she’d just opened, not disagreeing with him. “Oh, and you have it so bad. You go wherever you want, whenever you want.” She should know, he bragged about his exotic trips whenever he visited the store.
Xander took the glass of pinot from her. “Yeah, but Napa’s different. That’s not the kind of place you want to go alone. You should be with someone who can appreciate the experience.” He took a sip of the wine. “It’s good.”
“A waiter recommended it to me. I liked it so much I had two cases shipped back here.”
Xander followed her over to the bar. “Where did you stay while you were out there?”
“Calistoga Ranch. Have you been?”
