The Bachelor's Baby Surprise

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.