Page 65 of Ten Christmases Without You
“Nonsense. Anything you like.” He opened the door for her. “I hope to hear from you tomorrow.” He handed her a shiny metal card with a QR code. “That’s my personal number. Call me on that.”
Emmy placed the card into her mother’s clutch.
“Thank you,” she said, unsure of an appropriate response.
This was definitely unexpected. And she only had twenty-four hours to figure out which direction her life would go in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Emmy arrived at her apartment with a bag from the uber-hip Luminari Italian restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, having met the delivery driver outside her apartment. She’d taken Talia’s suggestion for both the restaurant and the raviolo d’oro, a single oversized saffron-infused raviolo filled with a decadent blend of ricotta and black truffle, drizzled with aged Parmigiano-Reggiano fonduta and topped with edible gold flakes.
Sure, why not?
She scooted up to her dinette with the extravagant dish, contemplating Mr. Augustine’s offer. If she thought The Moreau Agency was over the top and out of her economic league in almost every way, Harlow and Ash was on another level entirely.
Emmy didn’t have a clue why Mr. Augustine hadn’t been in her mother’s contacts. Things had moved so quickly that she hadn’t had time to consider one of her original questions: What if he wasn’t a very nice person?
She opened the take-out dish, the savory, cheesy scent filling the room.
Was she only considering the offer out of sheer desperation? The truth of the matter was, she didn’t have any other options. She’d gotten no callbacks on her emails and job applications.
But what did she know about this guy? He seemed nice enough. Right?
Emmy cut into the raviolo, the thick sauce pooling around her bite, and then popped it into her mouth. She was momentarily distracted by the velvety nutty sauce and the deep woodsy, garlicky musk of the black truffle filling. She’d never tasted anything with this level of complexity. Apart from Vivienne’s sushi leftovers, she was mostly a home-cooked-pizza girl.
Wait.Vivienne studied in Paris with her mother. Would she know Mitchell Augustine? Maybe Vivienne could give her some insight into who the man was.
She set down her fork and opened a text to her old boss, asking if she could give her a ring.
Right away, Emmy’s phone went off.
“Hello?” she answered.
“It’s Viv. How are you—everything okay?”
“I’m fine. I actually called to ask if you knew someone. He offered me a job.”
“Oh, who?”
“His name is Mitchell Augustine.”
There was a clatter and muffled babble. “Sorry. I dropped the phone. Who is it?” Vivienne laughed. “For a minute, I thought you said Mitchell Augustine.” She laughed again.
“Yes, I did say Mitchell Augustine.”
Vivienne cleared her throat. “Thedesigner?”
“Yes.” Was it so hard to believe that Emmy could score a job worth something? Okay, itwasHarlow and Ash. Fair enough; Vivienne’s response was an honest reaction.
“How? How do you know him?”
“Mom wrote his and his wife’s name on the back of one of her drawings.”
“Oh, really... Remind me. What was his wife’s name?”
“Mom just had ‘Mrs. Augustine.’”
“I see.”
