by Teri Wilson
It was an escape, of sorts. Tasting wine and evaluating it was almost like stopping to smell the roses. Everything around her seemed to melt away, and she lived fully in the present. It was a way of experiencing a moment in time, savoring it with every one of her senses. There was so much more to a wine than just the way it tasted. Sometimes when she swirled a particularly precious vintage in a glass, the beauty of the light shining through the liquid was so lovely, so luminous, that it almost made her weep. There were even words for that kind of clarity in a wine—brilliant, star bright.
One hour.
Then she’d be home free.
Except today it would technically be two hours, because she needed to set the record straight with her new boss, and she couldn’t very well do that during her working hours. She wanted to keep her personal connection to Ryan completely separate from their working relationship—so separate that it ceased to exist.
She smiled at Elliot, the general manager who’d escorted her to the interview the day before. Her heartbeat kicked up another notch when she asked for directions to the CFO’s office, but Elliot didn’t bat an eye.
He motioned toward an expansive hallway and told her to turn left beneath the gleaming gold clock suspended from the lobby ceiling. “Mr. Wilde’s office is second from the end, on the right-hand side. You’re rather early. Can I get you anything before you head down there? Coffee or an espresso, perhaps?”
“No, thank you.” She was jittery enough without adding caffeine to the mix.
Her hands were shaking, so she buried them in her pockets as she made her way across the cool marble floor. As she passed the velvet sofa where just twenty-four hours ago she’d sat waiting for her interview, she couldn’t help noticing a cluster of glamorously attired women occupying the sitting area. A few of them looked familiar—so familiar that Evangeline was almost certain she recognized the brunette who’d maligned her pencil skirt.
What was going on? Were Zander and Ryan still interviewing applicants, even after offering her the job? God, she hoped not.
Relief washed over her when she reached Ryan’s office and spotted him through the open door, sitting behind his desk. Alone. Not another sommelier in sight.
She took a deep breath and tapped her knuckles lightly on the open door. “Excuse me.”
Ryan looked up, his crystal-blue gaze colliding with hers. Honestly, did he have to be so handsome? It was hardly fair. “Eve.”
That name again. It stopped her in her tracks, and she wobbled in her stilettos.
“Evangeline,” she corrected. “I don’t go by Eve.”
He looked at her for a beat, and she felt like she was standing in her apartment again, wrapped in bed sheets with him stretched out naked in her bed.
“Understood.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His gorgeous, gorgeous eyes. “Come on in.”
She clicked the door closed behind her and took a seat in one of the chairs opposite his desk.
“You’re early,” he said before she could get a word out.
“Right.” She lifted her chin. This is it. “I wanted to talk to you off the clock.”
His gaze flitted to the windows of his corner office. Outside, the hotel’s doorman stood in the center of the snowy street, waving down cabs for Bennington guests. “Shall we go elsewhere?”
“Oh.” The suggestion was unexpected, but she liked the sound of it. Best to keep their personal business out of the office altogether. She nodded, but just as she was about to suggest a quick walk around Central Park, her gaze snagged on the framed picture hanging on the wall above his desk.
It was a magazine cover.
The magazine cover—the one proclaiming him bachelor of the universe or something ridiculous like that.
And he had it hanging on the wall of his office. “U-um,” she sputtered, unable to tear her attention away from his picture on the Gotham cover.
Ryan followed her gaze and then stood. For once, his cool exterior seemed a little rattled. “Ah, don’t pay any attention to that.”
“Too late.” She swallowed.
What had she been thinking? She couldn’t go to the park with him. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
“It’s a joke.” Ryan raked a hand through his hair. “Zander thought it would be funny to hang it up in here.”
“Hilarious,” she said flatly.
Then he started talking about the New York Times and weddings and the whole thing being a big mistake, and Evangeline couldn’t quite follow his rambling train of thought because something excruciatingly awful was beginning to dawn on her.
“Oh my God.” Her voice echoed off the walls of Ryan Wilde’s luxurious office. “Oh my God. Those women in the lobby—they’re not here for job interviews, are they?”
“No, but...” Ryan sighed, came around his desk and took a step toward her.
Evangeline flew to her feet and pinned him with a glare. “But what? Is there or is there not a group of women just sitting in the lobby waiting for a glimpse of you, the bachelor king?”
“I’m not sure I’d put it quite that way.” The corner of his mouth hitched into a self-deprecating grin.
Not that Evangeline was looking directly at his lips on purpose. It’s just that he was right there, and his mouth was pretty much at eye level.
Still, she melted a little bit, which only magnified her embarrassment. “They thought I was one of them.”
A muscle twitched in Ryan’s chiseled jaw. “Pardon?”
Evangeline nodded. “Yesterday, when I was waiting for my interview, your fan club welcomed me with open arms. They even gave me some advice—lose the pencil skirt. Also, I should give up because I’m not your type.”
“I’m sorry. Truly,” he said.
Something in his gaze told her he was being sincere, and the room felt smaller all of a sudden. Evangeline’s head spun.
He arched a brow. “As you and I both know, they’re wrong.”
Why was he being charming? And why was she on the verge of falling for it?
Because he’s New York’s hottest bachelor, you idiot.
She took a backward step, and her calves bumped into the chair where she’d been sitting. “See, this is exactly why I came here to talk to you off the clock. This—” she motioned to the space between them “—can’t happen again.”
He crossed his arms, but inched closer. “I absolutely agree.”
She could feel his heat. Sultry and warm, like a summer’s day. “I mean, you’re my boss now.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Indeed I am.”
She licked her lips. “It would be inappropriate.”
“Completely.” His eyes locked with hers, and she realized they were suddenly standing just a whisper apart.
The chair was no longer touching the backs of her legs. In fact, it was a good three feet away. She’d been drifting closer and closer to him the entire time, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
She’d inched so near that she could see the fine weave of his crisp white Oxford shirt and the dark threads of the buttonhole on the wide lapel of his suit jacket. She could smell the lingering notes of his aftershave—something rich and wholly masculine. Worn leather and mossy oak with top notes of pine, sandalwood and violet leaf.
If Evangeline had known men’s fragrances as thoroughly as she knew wines, she’d have been able to identify it in an instant. Alas, she didn’t. But she took a deep inhale anyway, breathing him in. She felt dizzy again. Dizzy and just a little bit drunk, even though she hadn’t consumed a drop of alcohol.
Stop.
Stop this right now.
If she didn’t dramatically alter her course, she was going to wind up kissing him. She could already feel herself rising up on her tiptoes and tipping her face upward, toward his.
Kiss him, and you’ll have no o
ne to blame but yourself.
This was not the way to begin her new career. She had to do or say something to kill the mood. Immediately.
She crossed her arms—a barrier—and told what might have been the biggest lie of her life. “We’d be fools to go down that road again anyway, since last time was such a disaster.”
Ryan froze for a second, then frowned. “Disaster?”
“Sure.” She shrugged and feigned nonchalance as best she could. Not an easy task when every nerve ending in her body wanted to lean into him. “I’m sure you agree. It was...”
He lifted an inquisitive brow.
“...awkward.” Her face went hot.
Ryan’s gaze narrowed, and a mesmerizing knot flexed in his jaw. Even enraged, he was one of the most beautiful men Evangeline had ever seen.
“Awkward,” he repeated without a trace of emotion in his voice.
Evangeline couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye anymore, so her gaze flitted to a blank space over his shoulder. “At best. So it obviously shouldn’t happen again.”
“Don’t worry,” he said through clenched teeth. “It won’t.”
“Perfect.” She nodded.
He gave her a long, hard stare—one that set tiny fires skittering over her skin. Her pulse roared in her ears... Liar, liar, liar.
There’d been nothing awkward about that night. Nothing at all. If that had been true, she’d be capable of standing in the same room with Ryan Wilde without wanting to kiss him, without wanting his hands on her. Everywhere.
Still, it hadn’t been a complete and total lie. As much as the experience had meant to Evangeline, she knew it hadn’t been the same for Ryan. It just wasn’t possible. She wasn’t good at that sort of thing. Jeremy had made that much clear. Besides, she was pretty sure Ryan dated supermodels. Apparently, he dated everyone.
If she was tempted to forget that notable fact, all she had to do was glance at the magazine cover hanging on his wall.
She looked at it again, and then squared her shoulders. “I’m glad we got that settled. I know we both want what’s best for Bennington 8, so it’s probably a good thing we won’t be working together directly.”
Ryan’s mouth hitched into a half grin as he resumed his place behind the desk, and the tiniest trickle of dread snaked its way down Evangeline’s spine. She wasn’t sure why. She’d done what she needed to do. From now on, everything should be smooth sailing.
The amused look on Ryan’s face said otherwise. “I guess I should have mentioned there’s been a change in plans.”
A change in plans.
Why did that sound so ominous?
Ryan clasped his hands together on the surface of his desk, and a flash of silver at his wrists caught Evangeline’s eye.
Cuff links.
From Tiffany & Co.
The last time she’d seen them had been six weeks ago on her nightstand.
She swallowed, and when she met his gaze again, every last trace of amusement had vanished from his expression.
He gave her a tight smile. “I’m on the night shift now, and you’re working directly for me.”
Chapter Five
“Hello there, stranger. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Emily Wilde wrapped Ryan into a warm embrace the moment he crossed the threshold of the Wilde family brownstone.
“Hi, Emily.” Ryan hugged her back, inhaling the comforting scents of Sunday dinner—of home—and braced himself for the inevitable tongue-lashing that was coming his way.
Emily pulled back, holding him at arm’s length, but keeping a firm grip on his biceps as she pinned him with a glare. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since you showed up for weekly family dinner?”
And there it was.
“Eight weeks,” she said, giving his arms a squeeze. Ryan’s aunt still had the slender frame of a dancer, but she was stronger than she looked. “Eight.”
He winced and stepped out of her grasp. “Ouch.”
“You deserve worse.” She swatted at him with the dishtowel in her hand. “If Zander hadn’t assured me you were alive and well and helping him run that hotel of his, I would have thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been...”
Hiding?
Licking his wounds?
Avoiding participating in family gatherings where he wasn’t technically immediate family?
All of the above.
“...busy.” He smiled and handed Emily the bottle of wine tucked under his arm. A peace offering.
She turned the bottle over, inspecting the label. “What’s this?”
“Douro—it’s a red from Portugal.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “It should pair well with the lamb.”
“You’re not a guest here. You’re family. You know that. Since when do you bring gifts to family dinner?” Emily’s gaze narrowed. “Who are you, and what have you done with my son?”
My son.
A bittersweet ache burned deep in Ryan’s chest. He wasn’t Emily’s son. Not really. But she was the closest thing to a mother he’d had for almost as long as he could remember. His memories of his birth parents were few and far between, lost in a hazy watercolor blur. They only made sense from a distance. If he focused too intently on his early years, his recollections became nothing more than shapes and colors—moody grays and blues that left him feeling empty inside.
“I’m right here.” He swallowed.
“Good.” His aunt nodded.
Emily Wilde was no fool. Ryan suspected she knew precisely why his presence at Sunday dinner had been scarce over the past six months or so.
He hadn’t meant to pull a disappearing act. He owed everything to the family that lived in this home. But sometimes it was difficult to witness how close they all were. It almost made Ryan believe he was capable of having a family of his own someday. Which was precisely why he’d fallen so easily for Natalie’s lies.
But bless her soul, Emily didn’t mention Natalie.
Or her baby.
“What have you got there, Mom?” Zander’s gaze shot immediately to the bottle in Emily’s hands when they drifted into the crowded kitchen. “Let me guess. Ryan brought it.”
Every head in the room swiveled in Ryan’s direction. The entire Wilde clan was there—Emily’s youngest daughter, Tessa, along with her husband, Julian. Zander and Allegra. Tessa’s hearing assistance dog, Mr. B, was there, too. Even Chloe, whose attendance at Sunday dinner was even more sporadic than Ryan’s, was standing at the stove with a wooden spoon in her hand.
Ryan was especially glad to see Chloe. Since all the other Wilde siblings had recently coupled up, he’d become increasingly aware of his loner status. Not that it would be changing anytime soon—or ever, for that matter. He simply preferred not to dwell on it every time he walked through the brownstone’s front door.
He embraced them all, one by one, then scooped Mr. B into the crook of his elbow. The little dog licked the side of his face, and his thoughts flitted briefly to the last animal he’d petted.
Evangeline’s wide-eyed marshmallow of a dog.
Ryan pushed the memory back into the recesses of his mind, where it belonged, and eyed Zander over the top of Mr. B’s head.
“As a matter of fact, I did bring the wine.” Ryan shrugged one shoulder. “It’s polite.”
“It’s also a wine you probably never heard of until a week ago,” Zander said.
Damn.
Ryan sighed. Why had he thought the Douro had been a good idea?
Probably because you heard Evangeline waxing poetic about it last night at Bennington 8.
She’d recommended it to a large party seated at the restaurant’s most prominent table. They’d been leery, but after Evangeline worked her magic with a colorful story of the vintage’s history involvin
g wine counterfeiting and at least one shipwreck, she won them over. By the end of the night, they’d consumed eight bottles.
Ryan had been intrigued.
He’d been intrigued a lot lately. Intrigued and bewildered, most notably by Evangeline’s dubious assertion that their night together had been a disaster.
“I’m broadening my horizons,” Ryan said blithely. “Consider it a bonus of working the night shift.”
“The night shift? What’s that all about?” Allegra glanced back and forth between Ryan and her husband.
Zander reached into an overhead cabinet for a corkscrew. “Ryan’s heading up our efforts to secure a Michelin star rating for Bennington 8.”
Allegra’s brow furrowed and her gaze flitted back to Ryan. “But you’re the CFO. That seems...”
Emily finished the thought. “Odd.”
Julian’s hands moved rapidly, slicing the air as he summarized the conversation for Tessa in sign language. Less than five minutes had passed since Ryan walked through the door, and already the entire household was entrenched in his personal life. Marvelous.
“It’s fine. I’m happy to do it,” Ryan said. He didn’t particularly want to get into a family-wide discussion about how his change in schedule had come about.
So he ignored the curious stares and did his best to divert attention someplace else. Anyplace else.
“The wine should breathe for an hour before it’s poured.” He gestured toward the bottle.
When his family continued to stand there waiting for him to elaborate on his new work schedule and his sudden interest in fermented grapes, he took the bottle of red from Zander’s hands and carried it to the dining room. Blessed escape.
Away from the crowded kitchen, he could relax a bit—breathe. Especially once he heard the conversation switch gears to ballet.
It was a common topic around the brownstone. Tessa and Chloe were both professional dancers. Emily had been running the Wilde School of Dance since before Ryan was born. Nowadays, Allegra worked alongside her, teaching a majority of the classes. Even Zander had hit the dance floor for a time, competing in ballroom contests as a teen.
Ryan could fake his way through a waltz. He didn’t have two left feet—he wasn’t quite that bad—but he was no Fred Astaire. He could remember hours spent after school shuffling around the mirrored studios at the Wilde School of Dance with his arms lifted into a dance hold and a broomstick balanced across his shoulders and elbows to better his posture. He could also remember Emily wincing the numerous times his broom clattered to the floor, bringing class to an abrupt standstill. Once, he’d tripped over it and crashed into his dance partner, a pretty girl who’d gone on to win several novice competitions with a more capable companion.