If she was being honest with herself—truly, brutally honest—she’d passed the point of desperation a few days ago.
Six weeks was a long time to go without a paycheck, especially when she was already contributing more than she could afford to her grandfather’s care.
Maybe she’d been impulsive.
So she and Jeremy had broken up. So he’d been sleeping with his sous chef. Did that really mean Evangeline couldn’t stay on at the restaurant?
Of course that’s what it means. Are you insane? Don’t even think about crawling back.
She lifted her chin and marched through the revolving doors of the Bennington Hotel.
She had to get this job. If she didn’t, crawling back to Jeremy was exactly what she’d be forced to do by day’s end.
“Can I help you?” The woman behind the reception desk gazed impassively at her.
“Yes, I’m here for an interview. I have an appointment at four o’clock.” Evangeline forced a smile and tightened her grip on her Everlane tote bag—a leftover luxury from her previous life.
It was startling how much things could change in a month and a half. She’d thought she’d had everything figured out. She’d been happy.
At least she’d thought she had been happy. Now she wasn’t so sure.
You were happy. You were perfectly content with Jeremy. Stop thinking about that night.
She swallowed. The one-night stand was still messing with her head, six weeks after the fact. Which was all the proof she needed that one-night stands were not her thing. Lesson learned.
In the days since she’d woken up to the sight of those unfamiliar cuff links on her bedside table and the outrageously handsome man in her bed, she’d questioned nearly everything about her past relationship and life in general.
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.