Blame It on the Champagne. Nina Harrington
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which lay under that surface layer of clothing. Tempting the men and impressing the women. She could turn on the heat for the men and the friendly girl power for the ladies.
A clever girl with a hot body wrapped in a teasing and intriguing package.
A frisson of excitement and anticipation sparked across Rick’s mind.
It would be quite a coup if he could sign up Margot Elwood’s niece to stock his wines and serve them to her guests before the store even opened.
Perhaps that would be the proof he needed to convince his parents that their reckless and, in their eyes, feckless second son would not let them down after all?
Now all he had to do was talk her into it.
Rick glanced around the table. Everyone was seated. They had their promotional material and Saskia was already scanning each page.
The game was on!
‘I have just spent the last two years tracking down the finest wine from the new wave of young winemakers all over Europe and persuading them to supply it exclusively to my new flagship wine store right here in central London. Every wine on our list has been personally chosen and vetted.’
‘You can say the same thing about every family run wine shop in London, Mr Burgess,’ the girl he now knew as Saskia Elwood replied in a light soft voice as her pen tapped onto the cover of his glossy brochure. ‘Standards are high.’
‘Yes, I know. You heard it all before. But this is new. This is a direct personal connection between the winemaker and the consumer.’
‘How confident are you that these new cellars will deliver?’ she asked. ‘A new prestigious wine store in the centre of London is one thing, but what assurances can you give me that these winemakers will come back to you year after year? I need to know that I can rely on a guaranteed supply of any wine I add to my list.’
Rick caught her sideways sigh and downward glance but, instead of stomping on her, he grinned and saluted. Her question had not been asked in an angry or accusatory tone. Far from it. She genuinely wanted to hear his answer.
‘Great point. What can I give you? My energy and my commitment. I took the time to travel to the vineyards and meet these winemakers. It was not always easy to persuade them to work exclusively with Burgess Wine, but there’s one thing I know from my work as a sportsman. Passion recognises passion. These young winemakers have invested everything they have because they are obsessive about creating the most amazing wines using modern and traditional techniques. I see that in them. That’s why I want to champion these ten small family estates because that is the only way I can guarantee that there will never be such a thing as a boring wine ever again.’
He walked around the table slowly, gesturing to the impressive brochure his parents’ marketing team had spent weeks perfecting.
‘Right now there’s a team of marketing experts back in the Californian headquarters for Burgess Wine working on websites for each of the individual growers. When you buy a bottle from this store you will have access to everything you need to know about the wine and the passion of the person who made it. I think that’s special.’
‘Sometimes passion is not enough, Mr Burgess. You need to have the experience and expertise to create a remarkable wine. And these new winemakers are still learning the trade. Not everybody is as… adventurous as you are.’
Rick wrapped his hands around the back of the solid antique dining chair and nodded down the table, making sure that he could capture the attention of Saskia and the three new members of his sales team.
‘They don’t have to be. The ten growers I’ve chosen are all part of a mentoring scheme I’ve created with well-established major winemakers who have been supplying Burgess Wine customers for years. My parents are happy to invest in the wines we select.’
‘Don’t you mean the wines you select?’ Saskia asked with a touch of surprise in her voice. From where he was standing, Rick could see that her gaze was locked onto the back cover of the brochure, which carried an impressive colour photograph of Rick in full climbing gear on a snowy mountain. ‘If I am reading this correctly,’ she whispered, ‘you already have a career as a professional sportsman, Mr Burgess. Does this new store mean that you have turned your back on adventure sports?’
And there it was. Just when he thought he might leave his past behind for a couple of hours and be taken seriously.
Rick pressed the fingers of one hand tight into his palm and fought back his anger. He had to stay frosty.
‘Let’s just say that I’m focusing on the less hazardous aspects. I haven’t broken anything important in years and I have every intention of staying around for a lot longer. So much wine, so little time!’
A ripple of laughter ran around the room but he could almost hear the unspoken question in the air which even his sales team were not prepared to ask out loud but were obviously thinking.
What would happen to this store if Rick Burgess jumped off some mountain with a parachute strapped to his back and the wind caught him and sent him crashing against the rocks before he could regain control?
It could happen. In fact it had already happened. One accident only a few months after Tom died.
How could he forget that day? It had been his first trip to the mountains since the funeral and he’d needed it as badly as any other addict needed that cigarette or fix of their choice.
The oppressive atmosphere of the family home and the overwhelming grief had finally become too much to bear and there was only one way he knew to try and get some balance and peace back into his life. Not trapped in a house all day staring at the four walls until he wanted to hit a wall. And go on hitting it until the pain subsided.
He needed to climb a high mountain with a specialised parachute strapped to his back. He needed to feel the rush of adrenalin as the wind caught in the parachute and he felt the power of the air lift him into the sky.
Free. Soaring like a bird. Released from the pain and trauma and grief of Tom’s death.
This was what he did. This was what had taken him to the awards podium of the European paragliding championships for three years in a row.
And for ten minutes of glorious tranquil flying in long winding curves he had been precisely where he wanted to be. Doing what he loved best.
Until one simple gust of wind in the wrong direction had ruined an otherwise perfect day.
But that was all it had taken to leave him with a broken collarbone and a badly sprained ankle.
His parents had been shocked and traumatised and full of complaints about how reckless and uncaring he had been. How very selfish and irresponsible. But that was nothing compared to the fall in the company credibility in the press.
The media loved to see a reclusive, obsessive sportsman with the golden touch take a fall. And this accident had given them the ammunition they needed to focus on one thing—his lifestyle.
Tom Burgess had been a strategic genius. But his brother Rick? What was he going to bring to the business? He might have taken Tom’s seat on the board but maybe the company was taking too much of a risk by bringing in their untrained and reckless second son.
Suddenly major wine producers who had supplied Burgess Wine for years were sucking in their cheeks and wincing about the management team at Burgess Wine.
Never mind the fact that he’d worked tirelessly to be a world-class paraglider and reach the top of this field. Never mind that he was prepared to give the same energy and determination to Burgess Wine and the family business that his brother Tom had transformed into an international company.
Never mind that he had spent the last two years since Tom’s death coming up to speed with the business to the point where his family were prepared to even listen to his ideas, despite their misgivings.
Time to make this deal swing his way. Time to