I drank way toomuch last night for someone about to enter a job interview.
My head pounded in time with my heart, and I could practically feel the bourbon oozing from my pores.
I just had to hope my future employers couldn’t smell it on me—or were willing to overlook it, given the hellscape my life had become in the last six months.
This “interview” was more of a formality anyway. The couple in question had been trying to poach me for years, but I’d never had any desire to leave New York City.
Now, I wanted to run as far away from this godforsaken place as I could get.
“Mr. Wendt?” a voice inquired softly, and I looked up to find a hostess staring expectantly at me. “Let me take you to your table. The rest of your party is already here.”
“Oh,” I said, hopping to my feet. “Thank you.”
As we wove through the tables to one near the windows, Manhattan sprawled below our perch on the fifteenth floor of the hotel, sweat prickled along my forehead, my gut churning. The last thing I wanted was to eat, but I needed something in my stomach before I purged bile all over the ugly blue carpet.
“Ezra, my boy!” Leon Delatou boomed, both he and his wife, Lena, rising to greet me.
I met Leon and Lena about three years ago. They’d been in New York on business and came into my restaurant. When they’d opted for the tasting menu, which consisted of courses I’d carefully curated and paired with different wines and cocktails, I’d emerged from my cave in the kitchen to greet them. The tasting menu wasn’t cheap, and I figured I owed it to them to show my face and thank them for trusting me.
Both had fawned over me and my food, endlessly singing my praises. It had done wonders for my ego, and when I found out they owned a winery in Michigan, I’d sat down to learn more. We wound up chatting for hours.
After all, food and wine went hand-in-hand.
We’d stayed in touch since then, and every time I saw them, Leon asked if I was ready to join the Delatou family and work at the winery.
That day had finally arrived.
Hopefully, given my less-than-composed state, the offer wasn’t off the table. They knew what I’d been going through, though. I’d explained as much when I reached out a few weeks ago to express my interest in finally making the jump, and they’d been sympathetic and understanding.
Leon heartily shook my hand, practically giving me motion sickness, and Lena pressed a kiss to my cheek. When she pulled away, her golden eyes narrowed.
Yeah, I knew I had bourbon seeping from my pores. I hadn’t even bothered to shower this morning after I dragged myself off the couch where I’d passed out the night before. I’d just poppedsome Advil, splashed cold water on my face, changed my clothes, put on deodorant, and brushed my teeth.
Honestly, the shower wouldn’t have helped. The bourbon in question, which had been full last night, sat nearly empty on my table in the light of day.
God, the thought made me want to gag.
I really needed to get my shit together—if not for my sake, then at the very least for Hansen.
Hence this meeting. I wastrying.
“Are you okay?” Lena asked softly.
I simply shook my head. I wasn’t, and I didn’t know if I ever would be again.
But again…I was trying.
A moment after we’d taken our seats, a waiter appeared and passed out menus.
“Can I get you guys started with anything to drink?” he asked, his peppy tone doing nothing to quell my roiling gut.
“Wa—” I started, but Lena cut me off with a glare.
“We’ll each have a Bloody Mary,” she ordered, closing her menu with asnap. “Fully loaded. And the full appetizer spread.” She glanced at me sympathetically and added, “Plus a pitcher of ice water.”
The waiter winked at her. “You got it, ma’am. I’ll be right back with those.”
“I’m not sure—”
