A Lot like Love
Page 29

“For five thousand dollars a head, there better be a lot more than one.”
“Now I see why no one drives to this party.” He took Jordan by the hand, turned around, and—
—Nearly ran into Xander Eckhart, host of the party and Nick’s target for the evening.
“I always thought it’s because parking is a bitch around here,” Xander said in response to Nick’s comment. Despite his light tone, his eyes were cold as he stuck out his hand. “Xander Eckhart.”
Nick shook his hand, squeezing a little harder than was necessary. “Nick Stanton.”
“I see you’re here with Jordan.”
“I am.”
Jordan moved to his side. “Xander, I wondered when we’d see you. You’ve outdone yourself tonight, as always.”
Xander broke the stare down with Nick long enough to turn his attention to Jordan. He took in her appearance. “As have you, Jordan. I’m flattered you made it. I know you’ve been keeping a low profile because of everything that happened with your brother. In fact, I was surprised when my secretary told me that you called this week to add a guest to your RSVP. I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone.”
Nick linked his fingers through Jordan’s. “The late RSVP was my fault. I had originally made plans to be out of town this weekend. But when I realized it was Valentine’s Day, I rescheduled my trip to be with Jordan. Couldn’t miss out on the most romantic night of the year, could I?”
“Yes, that would’ve been a real shame,” Xander said dryly.
“Nick and I were just discussing the wines on the tasting menu,” Jordan interjected. “It looks to be a fantastic night.”
“I suppose you could say that I’d been hoping to make a memorable impression this Valentine’s Day. Certain recent developments, however, make me wonder if I’ve overshot a little.” Xander gestured between them. “So I’d love to hear how you two met.”
“At Jordan’s store,” Nick said.
“Oh, are you a wine man, Nick?”
“Can’t say I am. I know white and red.”
Jordan winked at him. “And now pink.”
Nick smiled. True. “And now pink.”
Xander looked between them. Whatever he saw, he didn’t seem to like it.
“Will I sound overeager if I say I can’t wait to see what you have in the cellar?” Jordan asked Eckhart. “You’re always full of surprises, Xander.”
Nick had to admit he was impressed. Not too many civilians could pull off acting this naturally in an undercover job, particularly in front of someone they knew was laundering money for a drug cartel.
Her suggestion worked like a charm.
“Who am I to make such a beautiful woman wait?” Xander gestured to an open door on the opposite end of the wine bar. “I’ll take you down there myself. Follow me.”
ECKHART LED THEM through the door and down a freestanding glass staircase. “Since this is your first time, Nick, I’ll give you the fifty-cent tour.”
Actually, the FBI had already paid five thousand dollars for that privilege. “I appreciate that, Xander.”
“Given the value of my collection, I normally keep that door upstairs locked,” Xander told him. “But I trust my guests tonight. Most of them, anyway. And with the others, I trust the six-foot-five, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound security guard I’ve got stationed downstairs.”
As they descended into the lower level, Nick quickly understood the reasons for Eckhart’s security system. He’d studied the blueprints of the building, and had been aware that the wine cellar took up a large portion of the space. But neither the blueprints nor Jordan’s descriptions had prepared him for the sheer magnitude of the wine cellar he faced now. Or rather, the wine cellars.
They stood before three rectangular glass chambers, each approximately twenty-five feet long and ten feet wide. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass panels, Nick saw rows upon rows of what he knew, through Huxley’s report, to be over six thousand bottles of wine stacked horizontally on slotted ebony wood shelves. Glass doors, several inches thick and flanked by elaborate security panels, guarded each of the three chambers of the cellar.
“Reds; whites; champagne and dessert wines,” Xander said, pointing out the three chambers of the cellar. “Different storage temperatures for each, obviously.”
Obviously.
“Over three million dollars in wine,” Xander continued, making no attempt to disguise his pride. “Granted, a lot of that is for the restaurant. My own personal collection is worth roughly a million.”
Nick resisted the urge to ask how much of that collection had been bought with Roberto Martino’s drug money. “It’s certainly a lot of wine.”
A crowd of about ten people mingled near a door to their right, which Nick knew from the blueprints led to a private tasting room. A robust man in his early forties came over and greeted Jordan enthusiastically.
“Jordan—perfect timing. I need you to settle something. True or false: two years ago at this party, you and I were talking right here when a drunk guy, somebody’s date, came out of the bathroom with his fly open and his tweed blazer tucked into his pants like a shirt. And he spoke to us for five minutes without ever noticing.”
“Very true. He slurred something about how he’d never been drunk in his life because he had such a high tolerance for alcohol.”