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“What’s your first name?” he asks. I blush furiously even though it’s such a simple, innocent question. I hate telling people my real name at the best of times, let alone to this well dressed, sophisticated man. I don’t want him to judge me. I keep meaning to change it officially, but it’s one of those things I never seem to get round to doing.
“I never use it,” I reply with a tight but polite smile. One which hopefully says,I’m uncomfortable talking about this, so please let it go.
No such luck.
“But if you want to work for us, we’ll need your details to get you on payroll,” he insists, his green eyes glinting in the light. Is he enjoying my discomfort?
I try to change the subject. “What exactly does the job entail?”
“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.” He smirks at me and his entire face changes, lighting up and making my heart stumble for a beat. He’s seriously handsome. He has tanned skin and an intense brooding stare but when he smiles, his whole face lifts and lights up. If I had to guess, I’d say maybe he has Italian heritage, but I’m not too sure.
“Candy,” I murmur to my feet, mortified by my trashy name and even trashier roots.
“It suits you.”
I scowl. That isnota compliment. Not in my eyes, anyway.
“I’m Winter but everyone calls me Wint.”
“Nice to meet you, Wint.” He gives me a brief, tight smile and moves around the kitchen, getting things ready. Eventually he pulls a steaming dish from the oven and carries it over to the small two-person table in the bay window. I’m sure during the day it overlooks the garden or something, but it’s too dark now to see.
“Lasagne is my favourite.” I smile tentatively hoping to breach the frosty chasm between us.
We eat in silence, but I feel like Wint is slowly thawing towards me. Maybe he was just hangry, and I didn’t do anything to make him mad or regret interviewing me. The intimate setting makes it feel like a date, but the lack of conversation makes me feel like I’m in trouble in the headmaster’s office. It’s definitely the weirdest job interview I’ve ever been to.
When we’ve finished, Wint takes my plate and loads it into the dishwasher. I admire the way his smart slacks pull tight across his butt as he bends over. As if he can feel my eyes on him,he turns to me and drinks me in. His gaze is slow, languorous, as he studies me. It takes every ounce of my control not to squirm under his scrutiny, but I become more and more uncomfortable as time passes and he says nothing.
This whole situation is too weird.
I should go.
But I really need this job.
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth as I toy with my own indecision. Should I stay or should I go? The song by The Clash starts playing in my head, and I will my foot not to start tapping out the frantic beat.
“Come. We can talk in the lounge.” He offers me his hand and I rise to my feet and tentatively reach out to take it, gasping slightly at the thrill that runs through me when his warm skin meets mine. I glance up at Wint through lowered lashes, wondering if he feels it too, but his face is impassive and gives nothing away.
He leads me out of the kitchen and back through the sunny breakfast room to the hallway and takes a left. Opening wide double doors, he pauses and steps aside to allow me to enter. The room is large – huge really – and absolutely breathtaking in its beauty. Floor to ceiling windows run the full length of two of the walls, and on the other, a large stone fireplace sits majestically. The dark wood floor is covered by a large, deep, slightly off-white pile rug that rests between two low cream couches that face each other. In one corner, facing the windows, is a grand piano. Without noticing, I’ve moved over to the piano. I lightly run my fingers over the ivory keys. The sound is perfection. It’s a beautiful instrument. One I wish I could play. I turn back to face Wint only to find him gazing at me intently again.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful. Stunning.”
“Take a seat.” He nods to the couch and moves to sit opposite me, handing me a glass of white wine.
I eye it suspiciously for a moment – not because I think he’ll drug me, but because this is supposed to be an interview and I don’t think drinking is such a good idea – but I take it anyway and sip it gratefully, glad to have something to hide behind.
The wine’s cool light fruity flavour refreshes my palate after the richness of the lasagne. I close my eyes to savour the taste. It’s the nicest wine I’ve ever had. Obviously, I can’t afford to be wasting money on wine when the water in the tap’s already paid for, but Elle has good taste in wine, and the stuff she’s given me in the past doesn’t even come close to this.
Glancing up, I catch him watching me with amusement in his eyes. I quickly place the wine glass on the table, embarrassed to have been caught savouring the taste like it’s the first time I’ve ever tried wine before.
“Sorry.” My face heats, a nervous habit I have zero control over, but one which suddenly seems a hundred times worse in the presence of such an attractive man.
“It’s fine. Make yourself comfortable, Candy,” he says, ignoring the way I shudder uncomfortably at his use of my name.
“What can you tell me about the job role?” I ask politely, keen to get the ball rolling.
It must be getting late, and I don’t want to miss the last bus and have to call Elle for a ride. He stares at me a beat too long again before countering my question with his own.
