Читать книгу The Bachelor's Baby Surprise - Teri Wilson - Страница 12

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 that 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.

“Just wait,” he said. “Wait and see what she does with this bottle.”

In actuality, Ryan wasn’t sure what was about to happen. He just knew that if she didn’t need a corkscrew, something interesting was sure to go down, possibly involving a butcher knife. Or maybe a hammer. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d opened the bottle with a karate chop to its slender glass neck. Anything was possible.

“Gentlemen.” She smiled and set the Bordeaux on the table. Then she swiveled her gaze back toward Elliot. “I’ll need three glasses, a decanter and a small ice bucket filled with cold water.”

“Of course.” He gave her a little bow and disappeared to do her bidding.

She didn’t even work there yet, and the staff was already treating her like she ran the place. Ryan couldn’t help but smile. Even Zander was beginning to look intrigued.

Evangeline started removing items from her tote bag, one by one. First up was an old-fashioned shaving brush—the kind barbers used in the sort of establishments that had a striped pole as part of the decor. The next thing out of her bag was a small copper pot of red wax.

Just as Ryan was feeling a stab of disappointment that nothing resembling a weapon had made an appearance, she pulled out a long metal contraption with wooden handles and two arms that formed a ring where they touched.

He had no idea what he was looking at. The apparatus had sort of a medieval torture device vibe, which he supposed he shouldn’t rule out as a possibility.

Beside him, Zander tilted his head. “Um...”

“Port tongs,” Evangeline said. “They were invented in the eighteenth century, but these are a tad newer.”

“Naturally.” Ryan bit back a grin.

But it was the last item she plunked down on the table that was clearly her trump card.

It wasn’t a butcher knife.

It was worse.

“Is that what I think it is?” Zander asked.

“An upright blowtorch?” She nodded. “Yes.”

A look of intense alarm crossed Zander’s face but before he could object, she fired it up. It made a whooshing sound, and a steady blue flame, tipped in orange, shot six or so inches into the air.

Here we go.

Elliot returned, carrying the requested items, and stopped a safe three feet away from the table. Evangeline thanked him, smiling brightly.

She’s enjoying this, Ryan thought.

So was he—probably more than he should have been.

Once the items were arranged to her satisfaction, she presented the bottle of wine and described it, identifying the vintage, the vineyard and the specific area of France where it came from—the Médoc region on the Left Bank. She told them to expect a deep red liquid, with fruit scents and notes of cassis, black cherry and licorice.

Ryan had always been partial to white wine, but he had a feeling that was about to change.

Finished with her brief monologue, Evangeline set the bottle back down, picked up the port tongs and held them over the open flame until the ring burned bright red. Ryan was suddenly consciously aware of his own heartbeat and a heady combination of awe and dread pumping through his veins, as if he were on the verge of being branded.

What was happening to him? Did Zander feel it, too—this strange, sublime effect she had?

He couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t willing to take his eyes off her long enough to venture a glance in his cousin’s direction. But he doubted it, because what he was experiencing felt an awful lot like desire.

He swallowed.

Maybe Zander was right. Maybe they’d be better off going with someone else, because having Evangeline around on a daily basis was sure to be complicated.

But that was absurd, wasn’t it? He was a grown man. He could resist temptation.

Light glinted against the wine bottle in the center of the table, flashing a glimpse of the dark liquid it contained. Shimmering garnet red. Then Evangeline removed the tongs from the flame and slipped the ring over the bottle’s narrow neck.

She pressed the ring in place and then loosened the tongs, rotating the ring slightly and pressing again. Satisfied, she removed the tongs altogether, placed them in a shallow pan of water and then dipped the shaving brush into the ice bucket. The bottle made a cracking sound, like ice under pressure, as Evangeline ran the brush over the spot where she’d heated the glass.

Instinct told Ryan what was coming next, but he was still thoroughly impressed when she wrapped a cloth napkin around her hand to take hold of the top of the bottle and it snapped off cleanly in her grasp.

“Voilà,” she said quietly. Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth as her gaze collided with his.

Temptation.

Most definitely.

“Impressive.” Zander arched a brow. “What exactly did we just witness?”

“It’s called tonging,” she explained as she held the little pot of red wax over the blowtorch’s flame. “Traditionally, this method is reserved for opening vintage port. Aged properly, port sits for twenty, sometimes fifty years. The cork can disintegrate and crumble if you open it with a corkscrew.”

She tipped the copper pot in a swirling motion until the wax ran smooth. “No one wants bits of cork in a wine they’ve waited half a century to drink. Tonging allows you to bypass the cork altogether.”

Zander nodded. “Clever.”

Evangeline dipped the severed top in the melted liquid and then did the same to the sharp edge of the bottle’s remaining portion after she poured the wine into the decanter.

Crimson wax dripped down the bottle, and Ryan was struck by the fact that she’d managed to create a dramatic table decoration in addition to putting on a show.

She poured three glasses from the decanter and handed two of them to Zander and Ryan. “This is Bordeaux, not port, obviously. The method can be used to open any kind of bottle. It’s rather fun, don’t you think?”

Ryan sipped his wine. It was good, but try as he might, he couldn’t taste cassis, black cherry and licorice. Instead, his senses swirled with the memory of their night together. He tasted Evangeline’s lips, chilled from the winter air, rich with longing. He tasted her porcelain skin, sweet like vanilla.

He tasted trouble.

So very much trouble.

Zander stared into his glass. “I think—”

For the second time in the span of a half hour, Ryan cut him off. He was sure to hear about it later, but by then it would be too late. “Evangeline Holly, you’re hired.”