by Teri Wilson
How was it possible to feel such an intense connection with someone she’d only just met? She’d gone to bed with the man, and she hadn’t even known his last name.
She knew it now, though. Wilde. Ryan Wilde. It was kind of hard not to notice his name and face on every newsstand in Manhattan. Gotham magazine had named him New York’s hottest bachelor or something ridiculous like that.
Of course. No wonder she’d been so charmed by him. There hadn’t actually been anything special about their night together. He was just really, really good at sex. He probably couldn’t even help it. It was an occupational hazard of being the city’s biggest playboy.
Out of all the men in Manhattan, she’d fallen into bed with him. She was so mortified that she hadn’t even bought the magazine with his face on the cover. She wanted to forget that night had ever happened.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t. It was too damned memorable.
She blushed every time she thought about it, and she’d spent far too long trying to figure out why she’d never felt so passionate in bed with Jeremy.
So maybe she hadn’t been as happy with him as she’d thought. Clearly she’d been wrong about things. A lot of things.
But she’d at least been on the verge of having her dream job handed to her on a silver platter. And now...
Now here she was, applying for a position she was in no way qualified for. Her only hope was that the Bennington Hotel was every bit as desperate as she was.
“Have a seat, Miss Holly. The general manager will be with you in just a moment.” The woman behind the reception desk motioned toward one of the lobby’s plush velvet sofas, situated beneath a glittering crystal chandelier.
“Thank you.” Evangeline flashed another smile and headed across the marble floor.
She could do this. The hotel was, in fact, desperate. At least that’s what Colin, one of the study partners in her wine group, had told her when he called to tell her about the job opening. They needed a sommelier, and they needed one fast.
Surely all the best somms in Manhattan were already employed. Evangeline hoped so. If she had to compete for this job against even one sommelier with actual credentials, she was toast.
“Hello,” she said to the three other women sitting in the waiting area. Her competition, she assumed.
Odd.
Most sommeliers were men, particularly the ones who held wine director titles. At the highest certified level—master sommelier—men claimed 85 percent of the spots.
All three women swiveled their gazes in Evangeline’s direction, but none of them returned the greeting. The one closest to her—a glossy brunette wearing a blouse that seemed far too low-cut to be considered professional—looked her up and down and finally spoke.
“Interesting, but I doubt you’re his type.” She sniffed and crossed one tawny leg over the other.
“I beg your pardon,” Evangeline said.
His type?
Whose type?
And what kind of pervy work environment was this?
The brunette shrugged. “Just a hunch. There are a lot of us. It’s going to take more than a tasteful pencil skirt and a red lip to stand out.”
Evangeline blinked and fought the urge to flee.
Don’t let her get to you. You know wine. She’s probably trying to psych you out.
It was working. She was desperate, but not desperate enough to use her cleavage to make an impression.
What am I doing here?
She should have known this opportunity was too good to be true.
She stood, ready to bolt, but someone called her name before she could take a step.
“Miss Holly?” A man in a dark suit extended his hand. “I’m Elliot Ross, the general manager. We spoke on the phone earlier this morning.”
She shook his hand, relief coursing through her when he kept his gaze firmly focused on her eyes. Not her pencil skirt. “Pleased to meet you.”
The other women were no longer paying her any attention whatsoever. Things were getting weirder by the minute.
“The CEO and CFO are conducting the interviews upstairs in the restaurant. If you’ll come with me, we’ll get things underway.” Elliot Ross waved her toward the shiny gold elevator doors.
Evangeline followed.
Once inside the elevator, he pushed the button marked Rooftop. “We appreciate your willingness to come on such short notice. The CEO is keen to fill this position as soon as possible.”
Thank goodness. “I’m available to start right away.”
“Excellent. You’re the last of the candidates to be interviewed this afternoon, and I’m afraid I neglected to include your name on the list. Do you have a résumé?”
She’d hoped to avoid having to talk about her qualifications. A pipe dream, obviously. Couldn’t she just talk about wine? She was good at that, regardless of what her résumé indicated.
“Here.” She handed him a copy of her qualifications, minimal as they were.
Shake it off. This job is perfect for you.
Then the elevator doors swung open, and Evangeline realized she had something much more important to worry about than her lack of experience. Correction: someone.
Someone who’d been naked in her bed the last time she’d seen him, unless spotting his face on all those magazine covers counted.
Someone named Ryan Wilde.
Chapter Three
What was happening?
What was Ryan Wilde, her one-night stand, doing at her job interview—the most important job interview she’d ever had?
“Miss Holly, thank you for coming.” Another man—the only man in the room she hadn’t slept with—had spoken. She’d nearly forgotten he was there. Every bit of awareness in her body was focused squarely on Ryan. “I’m Zander Wilde, CEO of the Bennington.”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” she said.
At least that’s what she thought she said. She wasn’t sure what words were actually coming out of her mouth.
Zander cleared his throat, and Evangeline realized she wasn’t even looking at him. He was talking to her, and she was staring right past him, fixated on Ryan.
She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from Ryan’s chiseled face. He seemed even more handsome than she remembered. How was that possible? She swallowed—hard—and tried to figure out what was different about him.
He was a bit cleaner cut, for one thing. The dark scruff that had lined his jaw the last time she’d seen him was gone. Naturally. He’d probably woken up in his own bed, in his own apartment, where he’d shaved with his own razor.
He was also wearing glasses, which unfortunately failed to lessen the effect of his dreamy blue eyes. In fact, they looked even bluer behind the square cut black frames. Forget-me-not blue.
Zander cleared his throat again, louder this time. “Do you two know each other?”
“No,” she blurted.
Ryan simultaneously said, “Yes, we do.”
Zander glanced back and forth between them. “Which is it? Yes or no?”
She’d just told a bald-faced lie. The interview was off to a stellar start.
“Actually...” She took a deep breath and tried to figure out a way to change her answer that wouldn’t make her sound like a crazy person.
“Actually, it seems I’m mistaken,” Ryan said smoothly. “We don’t know one another. Forgive me... Miss Holly, is it?”
He offered her his hand, and she had no choice but to take it.
“Yes, that’s correct.” Her voice sounded breathier than it should have, and she couldn’t make herself let go of his hand.
It was warm. Familiar. And when she looked down at the place where his fingertips brushed against her skin, all she could think about was the pad of his thumb dragging softly, slowly against the swell of her bottom lip.
> Let go! Let go of his hand.
She dropped it like a hot potato and turned to face Zander. “I’m assuming the wine director reports to you since you’re the CEO.”
Ryan couldn’t be her boss. No way.
Not that she’d gotten the job yet. Her chances were slim to none. Colin had mentioned they’d interviewed a master sommelier. Less than two hundred people in the world held that title. And presumably none of them had had sex with Ryan Wilde.
Zander’s gaze narrowed. “Technically, the position reports to the CEO. But the wine director will work closely with the CFO, particularly with regard to the wine budget. So I suppose a certain amount of compatibility is important.”
“Compatibility.” Evangeline’s gaze flitted toward Ryan, and he sent her a nearly imperceptible wink. She wanted to die. “Right.”
“Shall we proceed?” Zander motioned toward a table in the center of the room.
“Absolutely.” She did her best to ignore the way her knees went wobbly as she crossed the vast space and took a seat.
So it had come to this?
After a six-week-long job search, her only choices were working for the man who’d dumped her or drawing up wine budgets with her one-night stand?
Lovely.
Also ironic, considering she’d so recently been accused of being an ice queen.
But she was getting ahead of herself, wasn’t she? She hadn’t been offered the job at Bennington 8 yet, and at the rate things were going, she wouldn’t be.
She lifted her chin, met Zander’s gaze across the table and decided to pretend Ryan wasn’t even there. “The atmosphere here is stunning.”
“Thank you,” Zander said and glanced up at the glass dome ceiling overhead.
Snow fell softly against the atrium, and the twinkling lights of Manhattan glittered against the darkening sky. The interior of the restaurant was the epitome of cool winter elegance, with crisp white linens and pale blue velvet chairs. Evangeline felt like she was sitting inside a snow globe—trapped inside a perfect world, immune to the swirling chaos outside.
She took a deep breath and gave the snow globe a good, hard shake. “But your wine list is weak at best.”
Ryan let out a quiet laugh, reminding her that he was still there, sitting beside her. She allowed herself a quick glance at him.
He arched a brow.
She kept her expression as neutral as possible and redirected her gaze at Zander.
A muscle flicked in his jaw. “Interesting. The other candidates didn’t seem to think so.”
“Are you sure? Or were they simply trying to flatter you?” She smiled sweetly at him. “I won’t do that.”
“Clearly,” he muttered.
“But that means you can trust me to give you my honest opinion. And my opinion of your current list is that it’s not good enough.” She swallowed. If she didn’t get the job, she’d at least make an impression.
Impressions were important. Being a sommelier was about more than choosing wine. It was about service. A good somm made drinking a glass of wine a memorable experience. There was an art to talking about wine and presenting a bottle—to opening it and pouring its contents.
People often overlooked that part of the job, and it was Evangeline’s biggest strength.
“How would you change the list?” Zander said.
She was ready for this. Bennington 8’s wine list was listed on its website, and she’d committed it to memory.
“For starters, I’d eliminate the pinot grigio. There are far better light-bodied whites.” She studiously avoided Ryan’s gaze, since it was apparently his wine of choice.
Then she told herself she was being ridiculous. He probably didn’t even remember ordering multiple bottles of it all those weeks ago.
He laughed—with just a little too much force—and when she ventured a glance in his direction, the smirk on his face told her that his memory of their night together was just as intact as hers was.
Her face went hot, and she looked away.
“What else?” Zander asked, leaning forward in his chair. “Do enlighten us.”
“I’d cut your California wines by two-thirds. You’ve only got three old-world wines on your list. That’s unacceptable.”
“How so?” Ryan said.
“Wine is about history. The Roman army didn’t march on water. Roman soldiers marched on wine. A good old-world wine lets you experience the past as you drink it. You can taste everything—the earth, the rivers, the sunshine of centuries. There’s nothing quite so beautiful.”
Ryan and Zander exchanged a look that Evangeline wasn’t sure how to interpret. She was either nailing it, or she sounded delusional. There was no hiding the fact that she was a wine nerd of the highest order.
“I’m sure most of your customers walk in here asking for wines from Napa Valley and Sonoma, California, or the Finger Lakes region upstate because that’s what they’re familiar with.” She shrugged. “They don’t know what they’re missing. That’s why you need a wine expert.”
Zander glanced down at the sheet of paper on the table in front of him. “But I’m looking at your résumé, and there’s no mention of a sommelier certificate of any sort.”
Here we go.
This was where each and every one of her other interviews had gone south. Way south.
“I’m self-taught. My family owns a vineyard upstate.” Not anymore, remember? She blinked and corrected herself. “Owned.”
Ryan’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly, and she felt nearly as exposed as she’d been the last time they’d stood in the same room together.
She took a deep breath. “I’m studying for the certification exam, though. I should be prepared to take it when it’s offered next April.”
Zander frowned. “That’s several months from now.”
“Yes, I know.” She smiled, but neither of the men met her gaze. Not even Ryan.
She needed to do something. Fast.
“Let me open a bottle for you,” she blurted. “Please.”
Zander glanced at his watch, which was pretty much the universal sign that time was up. The interview was over. “I don’t think—”
Ryan cut him off. “Let her do it.”
Evangeline felt like kissing him all of a sudden. Not that the thought hadn’t already crossed her mind. This time, though, she had to physically stop herself from popping out of her chair and kissing him smack on the lips.
“Excellent. Why don’t you point me in the direction of your wine cooler, and I’ll select a bottle?” She stood before Zander could argue.
His gaze swiveled back and forth between her and Ryan again, just like when they’d given opposite answers to his question about whether they knew one another.
He knows. It was probably written all over her face. News flash: I slept with your cousin.
Was there a woman in Manhattan whom Ryan Wilde hadn’t slept with? That was the real question.
“Very well.” Zander waved a hand, and the hotel’s general manager appeared out of nowhere. “Show Miss Holly to the wine cooler, please. And bring her a corkscrew.”
She smiled. “Oh, I won’t need a corkscrew.”
* * *
Ryan watched as Evangeline studied the wines lined up on their sides in the cooler on the far side of the restaurant. He knew he shouldn’t stare, but he couldn’t quite help it.
After weeks of resisting the temptation to see her again, she’d fallen right into his lap. Metaphorically speaking, obviously. She clearly had no actual interest in his lap—or any of his other body parts. She didn’t even want to admit they knew each other.
Maybe because they didn’t. They’d shared one night together. What did he really know about her? Nothing. He’d learned more about her in the last half hour than he’d known when he took her to bed, a realization th
at didn’t sit well for some reason. Especially the part about the pinot grigio.
“What’s going on?” Zander muttered under his breath, dragging Ryan’s attention away from the lush curve of Evangeline’s hips as she bent to retrieve a bottle of red. “And don’t evade the question, because something is most definitely going on here. It’s written all over your face.”
Ryan loved Zander like a brother, but he wasn’t about to tell him the truth.
For starters, he didn’t kiss and tell. What had happened between him and Evangeline was personal. She’d made it more than clear that she didn’t want Zander to know they’d spent the night together, and Ryan wasn’t about to out her as a liar in the middle of a job interview.
Because as uncomfortable as working together might be, she was perfect for the job.
“She’s the one,” he said. “Come on, can’t you see it?”
Zander’s eyes narrowed. “No, actually. I can’t. We have at least half a dozen more qualified applicants. I’m not sure Carlo Bocci is going to be impressed by a self-proclaimed wine expert with romantic notions about tasting history in a glass of Burgundy.”
“She knows her stuff. Admit it.” She was smart. Ryan loved that about her. He could have sat there and listened to her talk about wine all night.
And then he would have gone home alone, obviously. Because he sure as hell couldn’t go to bed with her again if she was going to work at the Bennington.
His chest grew tight at the thought. “She’s a storyteller. Customers will eat that up, Bocci included.”
Zander lifted a brow. “Again, why do I get the feeling there’s more going on here than a simple job interview?”
Ryan didn’t bother responding, but he couldn’t manage to tear his gaze from Evangeline, even as Zander glared at him.
“I knew it,” Zander muttered. “You’re attracted to her.”
“Enough,” Ryan said through gritted teeth.
She was walking back toward them, cradling a bottle of Bordeaux in her hands as gently as if it were a baby.
