The Best Worst Holiday Party Ever by Olivia Waite

Author:Olivia Waite [Waite, Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub

A plum-colored dress, Owen had said, so Isobel waitressed her way through the party until she spotted the woman she was looking for—not inside, with the others, but outside on the terrace by the dying fire. Average height but standing as though she were the tallest person in the world, her skin dark brown, her hair ironed sleek. She had a glass of some red wine that she was glaring into as though it had kicked the crutch out from under a Dickensian orphan. “Pardon me,” Isobel said. “Could I get you a glass of something else?”

The woman flicked a sharp glance up and her chin rose regally. “You’re the sommelier, then?”

“Not a sommelier,” Isobel replied automatically. Then smiled and added, “Yet.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “But you picked tonight’s wines?”

“God, no.” The quick denial caused the other woman to arch a skeptical brow, but Isobel was undaunted. “They’re all from Mr. Lindeman’s cellar. I’m only pouring them.”

The woman’s sharp gaze grew sharper, though her lips were smiling. “So you take no responsibility for what you’ve chosen? It’s all Mr. Lindeman’s fault if I’m not happy with the glass I’ve got?”

Isobel knew a trap when she heard one. “I’m saying Mr. Lindeman is a much better lawyer than a wine collector,” she replied. “If you’ll tell me what you’d rather be drinking, I can find you something more to your taste.”

“My taste.” The woman sighed and stared down into her glass again. “I’m not even sure what that is anymore. Once I would have told you how much I love a good red, something with balance and body and not too much sugar. Merlot, Cabernet, it didn’t matter: my only criteria was quality.”

“Palates change,” Isobel replied. “My first loves were all German Rieslings, but they’re far too sweet for me now.” She held out a hand. “Isobel Arenberg,” she said.

The woman thawed enough to offer her own hand. “Josephine Rosier,” she said. Her hand was soft but strong beneath, a handshake to inspire trust.

“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rosier,” Isobel said, and smiled. “Now, why don’t you tell me a little about what you’re looking for in a wine.”

Ms. Rosier swirled her half-finished glass one more time, and set it dismissively aside on top of a rock wall. “Let me ask you, Miss Arenberg, do you know why I hired Lindeman and Gupta?” Isobel shook her head. “I happen to be the operations director of Rapporteur Wine Imports.” Isobel sucked in a breath before she could stop herself. Ms. Rosier’s lips pursed, and her voice was just a touch smug. “So you’ve heard of us.”

Isobel swallowed and nodded. “I’m the buyer for the Widow’s Welcome. We’ve just opened an account with you.” Isobel had had to lobby the owners for a year to get them to agree. She’d built a solid stable of Washington wines over the past few years, but she wanted a better selection of French and Italian imports—and nobody’s list was better than Rapporteur’s.

Ms. Rosier grimaced. “Yes, about those French wines … We’re about to sign a contract renewal with Daubechies.

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