eastwards towards the sea. Stretched out across the horizon in front of him, high-rise marvels of modern architecture reached tall into the sky against the backdrop of landmark ancient cathedrals and majestic stone buildings that made up the city of London.
A fresh breeze wafted up the river and Rick inhaled deeply, his chest rising under his white open-necked shirt and soft black leather biker jacket.
Fresh air.
Just what he needed to clear his head after being cooped up inside an aircraft and then underground trains for the past four hours.
He ran his fingers back through his tousled dark brown hair.
Yesterday he had spent the afternoon talking wine over a plate of antipasti in a sunlit garden on a Tuscan estate with a young Italian couple who had sold everything they had to buy a tiny prestigious vineyard that he knew would be taking the world by storm in time. And today he was in London under a cloudy sky with only patches of blue peeking through to lighten the grey stone buildings.
He knew exactly where he preferred to be and it certainly was not here!
It was on mornings like this that it hit more powerfully than ever that it should be his older brother Tom who should be getting ready to go into a crucial sales meeting with one of the most prestigious private dining venues in London. Not him.
Tom had been the businessman. The IT genius who had transformed a small chain of family wine shops into Burgess Wine, the largest online wine merchant on the West Coast of America.
Rick shook his head and chuckled. He had a pretty good idea of what Tom would’ve said about the crazy enterprise he was just about to launch in this city and the language would not be fit for his parents to hear.
Tom had been a conservative businessman to the core. He would never have taken a risk with a group of independent young winemakers making tiny amounts of wine on family estates across Europe.
Not all of the wine was remarkable yet. But some of it was amazing.
It was going to have to be if he had any chance at all of redeeming himself in the eyes of the media. As far as the wine trade press were concerned, Rick had certainly never earned his place on the board of directors of Burgess Wine. Far from it.
To them, Rick Burgess would always be every bit the renegade who had walked away from a job with the family wine business to become a professional extreme sports personality. What did he know about the modern wine trade?
And they were right.
If Tom was still alive his business ambitions would have stayed in the world he knew—professional sports and adventure tourism. They had always been his passion and still were.
But Tom was dead. And there was nothing he could do to bring him back.
Just like he couldn’t change that fact that his parents were both in their sixties and needed him to take Tom’s place and work for Burgess Wine.
It had never been his decision or his choice. But as they said, there was nobody else. Burgess Wine was a family business and he had just been promoted to the son and heir whether he wanted the job or not.
Mostly not.
He didn’t like it. They didn’t like it. And they still didn’t completely trust him not to mess things up or run back to his old life.
Emotional blackmail only went so far.
This was probably why they’d set up this sales meeting with an important client he had never met. Of course they would deny it if he questioned them, but he had been long enough in the sports world to recognise a challenge when he was presented with one.
This sales pitch was just one more way they were asking him to prove that he could pull off his crazy idea to open a flagship wine store for Burgess Wine in London.
Which in his book was even more of a reason why he had to make the wine world take him seriously. And fast. Even if he did detest every second of these types of business meetings.
The upbeat rhythm of a popular dance track sang out from the breast pocket of his jacket and Rick flipped open his smartphone.
‘Finally! Were you actually planning to check your emails some time this morning, Rick?’
‘Angie, sweetheart.’ Rick chuckled. ‘How delightful to hear your welcoming voice. I have just got off the plane and getting used to being back in London. Turns out I miss my chalet in France almost as much as I miss you.’
‘Sweet talker! Sometimes I don’t know why I put up with you. Oh. I remember now—you pay me to sort out the boring stuff in your life. But forget sightseeing for the moment—I’ll take you on a tour later. Right now I need you to take your head out of the latest extreme sports magazine and flip over to the message which I am sending…now. I have some news about the sales meeting this morning, but don’t worry, it’s all under control.’
Rick straightened his back and turned away from the river, suddenly very wide awake.
‘Good news or bad news? Talk to me, Angie. I thought we locked down this meeting weeks ago.’
His personal assistant knew him well enough to immediately gush out, ‘We did. But do you remember those two TV wine experts who we approached to help promote the new store in the build-up to the launch? The ones who were so terribly busy appearing on cookery shows to get involved with yet another wine merchant? Well, guess who emailed me late last night. Apparently they heard a rumour that Elwood House might be investing in the new generation wines and suddenly they might be interested after all.’
Angie laughed down the cellphone. ‘Turns out your mother was right. The Elwood Brothers connection has paid off.’
Rick exhaled slowly, pushed back his stiff shoulders and flicked through the research information on the people he was going to have to convince to take him seriously.
‘Got it. I should be there in about ten minutes. And thanks for sorting out things at the London end, Angie.’
‘No problem. We have an hour before the presentation. Catch up with you soon.’
Rick closed down the phone and stared at it for a few seconds before popping back into his pocket with a snort.
So that was how the game was played.
The top wine experts he needed were only prepared to turn up and listen to what he had to say if he had the credibility of a famous name in the wine trade like Elwood Brothers behind him.
Yet another example of exactly the kind of old world narrow-minded network he detested. Instead of asking what he could bring to the business, all they were looking for was the validation of the old and worthy established family of wine merchants.
Rick exhaled slowly.
Was this how it was going to be from now on?
This was not his life! His life was base jumping and pushing his body to the limit under blue skies and cold air. Not walking into a conference room and selling the idea for Rick Burgess Wines to closed minded traditional hotel owners who had already made up their minds before they heard that he said.
He was about to take the biggest leap in his life and launch a flagship wine store in the centre of London. His name above the door. His future on the line.
Only this time it was not about him or his reputation as a daredevil sportsman. This time it was about passion. A passion for life, a passion for wine, and a new passion for championing small businesses.
Rick Burgess the mountaineer. Rick Burgess the champion paraglider. And now Rick Burgess the wine merchant. Same passion. Same determination to prove that he was up to the challenge he had set himself, even if it had been foisted onto him.
Frustration burned through his veins.
He inhaled slowly, pushed off from the railing and strode away over the bridge.
He needed this to work for the