He held out his hand, waiting. “Sweetie?”

Right. In a couple of slow strides, Jordan crossed the distance between them and slid her hand into Nick’s. His grip was warm, firm, and strong. She caught the satisfied expression on his face. “You’re enjoying yourself quite a bit this evening, aren’t you?”

He laughed, tilting his head in acknowledgment.

“More than I’d thought, Rhodes. I’ll give you that.”

Twelve

FROM A CORNER in the far end of the VIP room, Xander Eckhart stood in a circle of his friends. He watched as Jordan and Stanton walked in and made their way over to the bar. When she smiled at something Stanton said, Xander’s eyes narrowed.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Will Parsons, one of Bordeaux’s two managers. “Excuse me for a moment. I need to check on something.” Xander stepped away from the group.

“Seems like the night is going well so far,” Will said when he approached.

Sure, Xander thought. Except for the part where he had to watch some jerk-off who owned rental property and didn’t know the first thing about wine get cozy with the woman who was supposed to be with him tonight.

“I need you to call Gil Mercks for me,” he said, referring to the man they often used for what one might consider “sticky” situations. “Tell him I need to see him immediately. He should go around to the back door and call me on my cell phone when he gets here. It’s important the guests don’t see him.”

Will sounded surprised. “You need Mercks tonight? Is there a security issue? I just checked the cellar and spoke to the guard. He wasn’t aware of any problem.”

If there was one thing Xander didn’t like, it was people who asked too many questions. “It’s a personal matter. Just call Mercks and tell him to get here as soon as possible.”

XANDER WAITED DOWNSTAIRS in his office. Mercks had left him a message, letting him know that he was five minutes from Bordeaux. He appreciated the notice, having needed a few minutes to slip away from the many guests who wanted to corner him and gush about the wine. Normally he basked in such adoration, but not tonight.

He eased back in his desk chair and ran his hand through his hair. For five months he’d foolishly waited to make a move on Jordan. He’d had his chance that afternoon in her store, when they’d talked about her Napa trip, but her damn assistant had cock-blocked him. Then her brother had pulled his Twitter stunt and she’d become consumed with family matters. After a few weeks had passed without the right moment arising, and then a couple months, he had decided to create the perfect moment himself—at his party. Wine was their thing, after all, a passion they shared. Jordan would know what he’d been trying to tell her when she saw the tasting menu, without him even having to say the words.

So much for the best-laid plans.

Xander had the business side of his life nailed down. He was the top restaurant and nightclub owner in Chicago, and a year ago he’d set some things in motion to expand far beyond that. With the very private assistance of the notorious—but powerful—Roberto Martino, he planned to take on the big four scenes in the nightclub industry: New York, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, and Miami. In exchange for mixing Martino’s drug money into the cash flow of Bordeaux and his other clubs and restaurants, Martino—through a tangled web of dummy corporations—financially backed the projects Xander had in development. That included the properties he had purchased in Los Angeles and New York, clubs that were set to open this summer, as well as a sixth restaurant in Chicago that he planned to renovate and reopen the following spring.

Sure, in exchange he had to deal with Trilani and the annoying cash drop-offs and accountings for all money running through his various clubs. And, of course, there was the small problem that what he was doing for Martino was illegal. But Xander had never been afraid to bend the rules when it came to business—in fact, some would claim that he was downright ruthless—and in his opinion, the payoff was worth skirting around a few federal laws. The way he saw it, the world was his oyster, and he planned to slurp it down with a bone-dry Sancerre.

His personal life, on the other hand, had not been blessed with the same abundance of riches.

He was a picky man. Sure, he’d f**ked plenty of the gorgeous women who came to his clubs and restaurants, but that was just mindless sex. To date, he’d only come across one woman who he considered his equal, both with her business savvy and her love of wine, and that was Jordan Rhodes.

And the half billion dollars she stood to inherit one day sure as hell sweetened the pot.

With that kind of money at his fingertips, he wouldn’t need Roberto Martino’s financial backing—an arrangement he certainly didn’t plan to continue indefinitely. Which meant that Jordan Rhodes, and that beautiful, incredible inheritance of hers, was definitely a cause worth fighting for. And the first step in any battle was to know one’s enemy.

Xander’s cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re outside?” he answered.

“At the back door,” Mercks said.

“I’ll be right there.” Xander left his office, being careful to make sure no one was around. He could hear the voices of his guests carrying over from the other side of the staircase. Luckily, the back door was at the far end of the hallway in the opposite direction of his wine cellar and tasting room, which meant that nobody should see him with Mercks.

He punched the code into the security panel next to the back door, silently deactivating the alarm. When he opened the door, Mercks stepped inside. He was an average-looking man with glasses and nondescript thinning brown hair. He wore a gray overcoat and appeared entirely innocuous. Xander supposed that was the point.