by Teri Wilson
“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.”
Chapter Four
She’d done it.
The job offer was conditional. After Ryan told her she was hired, Zander had added the caveat that she continue studying for her sommelier certification exam. If she didn’t pass on the first try, she was out.
But that was okay, even though the test was notoriously difficult and people often had to repeat it several times. Evangeline didn’t care. She’d make it work. She’d study until she knew every wine in existence.
She was a wine director! She’d gotten the job, and she’d done it all on her own.
Probably.
Maybe.
She liked to believe the tonging had secured her the position or that her knowledge and passion superseded the fact that she had no official qualifications. Or actual work experience as a sommelier, unless she counted pouring wine in the tasting room at her family’s vineyard as a kid.
But that had been ages ago—nearly seventeen years. She’d been playing catch-up ever since, trying her best to put her world back together after her mother left, ripping the rug out from under her.
Ripping the rug out from under all of them.
Evangeline’s heart gave a little tug, just like it always did when she thought about her mother, but she swallowed her feelings down. She shouldn’t be dwelling on loss right now—not when she
had every reason to celebrate.
“Almost every reason, anyway,” she muttered.
Olive swiveled her head and gazed up at Evangeline. Bee stared straight ahead. They trotted at the ends of their leashes, tails wagging as they headed toward the dog park at the end of the block.
Their coats were dusted with snow, and tiny puffs of vapor hung in the air with every breath from the happy dogs’ mouths. Despite their advanced ages, they loved going for walks. Unfortunately, the fact that they weren’t supposed to be living in Evangeline’s apartment meant they only got to go outside early in the morning and late at night. Thank goodness for puppy pads.
Now that she had a job—a great job—she needed to do something about the dog situation.
And she would.
She just wished she could shake the nagging feeling that the only reason she’d gotten the job in the first place had been because of Ryan Wilde.
He’d hired her, not Zander. And there’d been an unmistakable flash of surprise on the CEO’s face when Ryan announced that the job was hers. She’d told herself to ignore it. She deserved the job. Wine was in her blood. She’d be great.
She’d simply have to avoid Ryan as much as possible. That shouldn’t be too hard. He worked business hours, and Evangeline’s day started at 4:00 p.m. That meant an hour or two overlap. She could survive that. Couldn’t she?
Eventually, she’d be able to look at him without imagining his lips against her throat, his body rising and falling above hers. She’d be able to say his name without remembering the way she’d cried it out in the dark.
Ryan.
Ryan.
Ryan.
“It’s going to be fine.” She swallowed. Hard. “It’s going to be fine, because it has to.”
At the sound of her voice again, Olive’s tail wagged even harder. Olive and Bee were the sweetest dogs in the world. She’d have kept them even if they’d been monsters, though. Even if it meant she was at risk of getting tossed out of her building.
Dogs weren’t allowed at her grandfather’s new extended care facility. But if Evangeline kept Olive and Bee, she could at least bring them to visit him every once in a while. She owed that much to her grandfather. Robert Holly was the one person who’d been there for her when the vineyard, and all that went with it, withered and died. The only one.
“You guys aren’t the worst cuddle bugs to have around,” Evangeline said as they waited to cross the street. Taxis whizzed past in a dizzying blur of bright yellow against the early morning snowfall.
She glanced down at Olive, and a memory flashed instantly into Evangeline’s consciousness—Ryan, shirtless, standing beside her bed, petting the little dog and looking like something out of a beefcake-bachelors-with-puppies calendar.
Oh God.
How was she supposed to work with the man every day when she couldn’t stop thinking about what he looked like beneath his exquisitely tailored suit?
She’d slept with her boss. Granted, he hadn’t been her boss at the time, but still. It couldn’t happen again.
Obviously.
Not that Ryan had hinted at that possibility...other than a tiny wink, he’d acted purely professional during her interview. She probably should have been relieved.
Scratch that. She was relieved. The annoying pang in her chest wasn’t disappointment. It couldn’t be.
“I need to nip this situation in the bud. Right?” She clicked the double gate of the dog park closed and bent to unfasten Olive and Bee from their leashes. Olive let out an earsplitting bark—the sort of bark that would ensure their eviction if she dared to do it indoors.
Evangeline nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
* * *
“Again?” Ryan paused in the doorway of his office and took in the sight of Zander sitting behind the desk, waiting. “Your new early hours are becoming a habit.”
“Indeed they are. Get used to it.” Zander shot Ryan a tight smile and waved him inside.
So this was it.
Zander had been called into a meeting immediately after their interview with Evangeline the day before, and then he’d gone home. He no longer worked late as often as he did before he married Allegra. A year ago, Ryan might have envied him.
He knew better now.
Ryan wasn’t cut out for marriage...for family. He’d tried. He’d tried really hard, but it wasn’t in his blood.
He’d suspected as much all along. Only a fool would grow up the way Ryan had and not wonder if a normal, healthy relationship was even in the realm of possibility. Still, when Natalie turned up pregnant, he’d allowed himself to believe.
What a mistake that had been.
A dull ache took root in Ryan’s gut. He’d moved on from Natalie and her baby over a year ago. He shouldn’t be thinking about that mess now—and he wouldn’t be, if not for the damned Gotham cover hanging above Zander’s head. Being heralded for his bachelor status was a pretty potent reminder that he was meant to go it alone.
“Any particular reason you’re reading the morning paper in my office?” Ryan sank into one of the guest chairs. “Again?”
Zander lifted a brow. “You have to ask?”
So this was it.
Ryan was facing his moment of reckoning for making the unilateral decision to hire Evangeline Holly. He should have known Zander wouldn’t let it go.
“She was the right person for the job. End of story.” He shrugged.
“That might be true, but as CEO I would have liked an opportunity to weigh in on the matter.” Zander folded his newspaper closed and rested his elbows on the desk. “But what’s done is done.”
Ryan nodded. “I’m glad you see it that way.”
“Are you still going to be glad when I tell you that you’re going to be personally responsible for making sure Ms. Holly is a success?” Zander sat back in his chair, waiting.
Personally responsible.
What did that mean, exactly? Was Ryan supposed to hold her hand while she went table to table, recommending wines?
He’d heard worse ideas.
She’s your employee now, remember?
Ryan cleared his throat. “Fine. She comes in around four. I’ll plan on spending the last hour or so of each work day checking in on things upstairs.”
He’d planned on keeping close tabs on Bennington 8, anyway. The chef and the rest of the staff were already aware that Carlo Bocci could turn up at any time, but Ryan wanted to ensure they were prepared. Overprepared, if possible. The Michelin ranking was too important not to oversee things personally.
“Think again,” Zander said.
Something in his tone caused the ache in Ryan’s gut to sharpen. “Explain, please.”
Zander shrugged. Somewhere beneath his irritation, Ryan spied a hint of a smile, and he got the definite impression his cousin was enjoying playing the CEO card. “You’re working nights now.”
Ryan blinked.
“We’ll split shifts. I’m taking days and you’re handling nights. Four p.m. to midnight,” Zander said.
“Whatever for?”
“So you can keep an eye on Bennington 8, obviously.” Zander stood. “Someone needs to see Ms. Holly in action to make sure she’s working out, and since she’s your hire, that someone is you.”
Ryan opened his mouth to object, then promptly closed it.
What Zander was proposing made sense on every level. Not to mention the fact that when Ryan made the decision to hire Evangeline on the spot, he’d known he’d eventually have to face the music.
And he’d done it, anyway.
Zander lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the doorjamb. Now was the time for Ryan to fess up and tell his cousin everything.
Just say it. Do it now. Evangeline and I have a history, albeit a brief one.
He met Zander’s
gaze. “How long?”
“A month, probably?” Zander shrugged one shoulder. “Or until Carlo Bocci shows up. Whichever comes first.”
A month, maybe even less.
Totally doable. “Sounds good.”
This is about the Michelin star, he told himself. Nothing else.
It was work, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with Evangeline Holly. They were adults, perfectly capable of working together without falling into bed again.
Weren’t they?
* * *
The closer Evangeline’s footsteps got to the spinning gold door of the Bennington Hotel, the harder her heart seemed to pound in her chest. Her face was so hot she was surprised the snow flurries swirling in the air didn’t sizzle and melt against her cheeks.
Was it going to be like this every day? If so, she wouldn’t survive it. She’d have a heart attack right there on the rich red carpet lining the sidewalk in front of her workplace. Which might actually be convenient, because then she wouldn’t have to face Ryan Wilde every day. She wouldn’t have to smile politely when he held her paycheck in his hand, all the while knowing precisely where that manly hand of his had been.
One hour. She inhaled a lungful of frigid air. The immaculately dressed doorman smiled and tipped his top hat as she pushed her way through the revolving door. Surely you can endure sixty minutes in the presence of your boss without imagining him pinning your hands over your head and kissing you against the wall.
She swallowed.
No man had ever kissed her like that before. Like he owned her. She’d been shocked at how very much she’d liked it.
But she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that right now, was she? Besides, the notion that Ryan Wilde was running all over Manhattan in his Armani suit and Tiffany cuff links kissing women silly, just like he’d kissed her, was beyond mortifying. It actually made her sick to her stomach.
She glanced around the glittering lobby and reminded herself she was in survival mode. All she had to do was make it through the overlap in their schedules, and then she could focus. She could forget her recent lapse in judgment and concentrate on the sole area in which she excelled—wine.