She felt a blush coming on as she buttoned her blazer, knowing the wine stain would still be visible above the lapels. Her chest was clammy and damp, redolent of old-vine zin.

“A brief history, if you’ll indulge me,” Rupert began. One of his favorite things was to wax on about the background of the family wine distribution business. “When my grandmother Clothilde put me in charge of Pinnacle, she said, ‘You have one job.’” He did a spot-on imitation of his grandmother’s French accent. “‘To bring wine to the world, and to be excellent.’ And the way to do that is to work only with excellent colleagues.” He stood aside and gestured for Natalie to step up. “My friends, Natalie Harper embodies that mandate. So today, I give you our new vice president of digital inventory.”

A subdued smattering of applause accompanied her to the podium. Rupert beamed, his veneered teeth gleaming. In a small, petty corner of her mind, Natalie believed he knew she’d been keeping him afloat while he glad-handed with suppliers and accounts and played golf on company time. That was probably the real reason for this promotion.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly, unused to being in the limelight. Spoken aloud, the new job title sounded geeky, or perhaps even slightly made-up. That was the nature of the field she was in, she supposed. She had chosen this job for its stability and marketability. There would always be a place for someone who could manage information technology and logistics, because those were matters that 99 percent of people had zero interest in and couldn’t stand doing.

Managing inventory was not like being a diplomat, a deep-sea diver, a winemaker, a bookseller—jobs people might actually enjoy. “I’m grateful for this opportunity,” she continued, “and I’m looking forward to what we can accomplish.”

Truth be told, she couldn’t stand the job, either, but that was not the point. The point was to have a steady career that would never let her down.

“Another bit of history,” Rupert said, winking at Natalie and taking the mic. “Once upon a time, this young lady came to me looking for a position here at the firm, and I, in my infinite wisdom, signed her up immediately.” He paused. “Now look at her—she’s got those puppy dog eyes, and the instincts of a barracuda, and probably more smarts than all of us combined. What she did with our inventory system was nothing short of a miracle. Thanks to Natalie taking the lead on this, we’ve had our biggest year ever here at Pinnacle.” He laughed. “Okay, yeah, I can see I’m boring you. So I will wrap this up with one final announcement. Governor Clements’s only daughter is getting married to the owner of Cast Iron.” Cast Iron, a group of wildly popular luxury restaurants, had been founded by a wildly popular internet star. His creative food and wine pairings were taking the foodie world by storm. “As you can imagine, it’s going to be the wedding of the year in our fair state.” Another pause. “What’s that got to do with us, you ask? Well, I’m going to have Natalie explain.”

She caught a whiff of herself as she took the mic. Spilled wine and nervous sweat. How lovely. “I’ll try to make a long story short. Pinnacle Wines now has an exclusive deal to supply the wine to Bitsy Clements’s wedding. And afterward, we’ll be the exclusive supplier to Cast Iron.”

Her words didn’t begin to convey the complicated and tense negotiations she had gone through. Natalie had driven her team to their limits, putting together the perfect combination of products and discount rates. The multimillion-dollar deal was nearly complete.

There was one more deadline to meet—the procurement of a rare Alsatian white wine the groom insisted on. Once that was confirmed, the details would be finalized. “I’d like to thank my team—Mandy, Cheryl, Dave, and Lana—for helping with the project.” That was a white lie, she privately conceded. The team had been an encumbrance every step of the way, requiring constant vigilance on her part.

“And with that, let’s all have a drink,” Rupert said, turning on the charm as he took over the mic again. He, too, had been challenging throughout the process. Though his intentions were good, he lacked the business and financial acumen needed to put together a complicated deal. He was happy enough to take credit, though, and decent enough to reward Natalie with a new position.

Glasses were raised. She gazed around the room at all the people talking and laughing, enjoying the view from the upper offices of the building.

With the promotion came a new office a good distance away from the cube farm where the inventory department resided. Now Natalie would have a corner space of her own. She had been eager to show it to her mother—a floor-to-ceiling window framing a forever view of the rolling Sonoma landscape, a refuge from the constant, unproductive chatter of her coworkers.

Rupert launched into more charming banter about the upcoming nuptials, which was already being compared, with hyperbolic enthusiasm, to a royal wedding. Natalie stepped down, took out her phone. Her daily affirmation flashed on the screen: I trust that I am on the right path.

She swiped it away and hit redial, but as expected, her mom’s phone went to voice mail: You’ve reached Blythe Harper of the Lost and Found Bookshop here in the heart of San Francisco’s historic district. Leave me a message. Better yet, come see me at the bookstore!

Natalie didn’t leave a message. Her mother rarely checked voice mail. Natalie sent a text—You didn’t miss much, just me getting red wine thrown on my shirt and being awkward at the mic.

Then she noticed a message awaiting her. She slipped out of the room, knowing no one would miss her. She had always been an under-the-radar type of person. She went down the hall, seeking the quiet of her new office. Most of her things were in boxes on the floor. She’d been hoping her mom would give her a hand organizing the place during her visit. Pausing at the window, she took a phone picture of the impressive view. Then she texted the photo to her mother. Even better in person, she wrote.

The voice mail was from Rick’s number. She cringed ever so slightly as she listened. Hey, babe, sorry to miss your big day, he’d said in his deep, friendly voice. Couldn’t get out of this test flight today. Looking forward to the weekend. Love you.

Did he? Did he love her? Did she love him?

A part of Natalie didn’t want to contemplate the answer, but if she was being completely honest with herself, she would have to concede that the spark had gone out for them a while ago.

On the surface, she and Rick seemed like the ideal couple—an ambitious wine executive and a busy aviation engineer and pilot. He was good-looking and came from a nice family. Yet one thin layer below the surface, there was a flat line of predictability. Sometimes she worried that the two of them were together simply because it was comfortable. If comfortable meant an unimaginative, unchallenging relationship.

It was possible that each was waiting for the other to end it.

She was stirred from her thoughts by the doorbell ding of an incoming email. It was probably a work-related matter that could wait until Monday, but she couldn’t not check her computer. And then she couldn’t not see the boldface subject line that nearly stopped her heart: Urgent: Licensing Deadline Missed.

What the hell?

She plunked down bonelessly in her ergonomic rolling office chair, feeling the blood drain from her face. The message was from Governor Clements’s executive social manager. Ms. Harper, I’m sorry to inform you that the licensing deadline from the Board of Equalization was missed and the agreement will be canceled pursuant to . . .