In Over His Head

Chapter 1 - Two Years Ago

Two Years Ago

Sharla bared her teeth in the mirror, checking for lipstick transfer, then grabbed toilet paper from the nearest stall to blot her lips.

"Here goes nothin'," she drawled to herself in the mirror, sticking her tongue out for good measure as she tugged the hem of her suit jacket down. She beat back the crawl of unease from being out of place, like she was play-acting. This was definitely not situation normal, standing here, in a swanky office bathroom, about to take a giant step out of her comfort zone.

She'd done her hair up in a very mature chignon, and had actually bought a dark green "power suit", complete with button-up jacket and knee-length skirt, from the fifty-plus fashion store in the mall. In short, boring.

With one more look, Sharla's inner critic got the better of her.

"You look like a flight attendant that got lost on her way to the airport," she said to her reflection, and adjusted the brown and gold scarf around her neck. Her mother had lent her a scarf, saying "All power women wear a scarf like this." Now, in the moment, she was doubting that advice.

She paired it all with beige heels she'd also borrowed from her mother because all of hers were stilettos, platforms, or shiny black patent leather with rhinestones. One did not wear those kinds of shoes to an interview with an English earl in London.

Or maybe you did, she really was out of her element when it came down to it.

Scowling, but helpless to change any of it now, Sharla left the washroom. As she rounded the corner, she catalogued two other men sitting in the lobby of the posh office. Grey-haired, most of them with impressive looking fancy suits, and paunches. All with matching oxblood leather briefcases, no doubt filled with recommendations and resumes that were longer than her arm.

If this wasn't the norm for every job interview she'd even been on as a sommelier, the joke that this was a glitch in the matrix would've been funny. She hesitated before walking in, eyeing the room for the closest chair to the door. This was her competition. It appeared the UK was no different than anywhere else in the world when it came to wine.

Being a female sommelier—especially a younger one—in the wine industry meant you were never taken seriously by the Old Boy's club. Especially where Old World wines were still considered to be far superior to anything North American or Australian, and noses would go so high in the air you could count nostril hairs. If they could get their heads out of their asses long enough to actually visit the regions, they'd see. The wine world was changing fast, and they were dinosaurs.

Sharla lifted her chin. She had recommendations just like they did. She had high honours from her college course. She had years and years of experience working on her family's winery to back her up, and she'd bet money that none of them had actually helped in a harvest or a pressing in a long, long time, if ever. She could go toe-to-toe with these fossils and nail this.

She had to. She'd come all this way on a whim from an ad in Wine Spectator, spending every last dime of her savings in the blink of an eye when she'd received a request to interview with two days notice.

She strode into the waiting room, and the occupants inside looked up in unison. One of them gave her the once over. Eyes slowly travelling down, then up, stopping just short of meeting her eyes. She pinned him with a glare, and he averted his gaze once he finished his inspection. Another cleared his throat.

"Miss, could you be a love and bring us a tea while we wait?"

She looked at the man, raising her eyebrow. He wanted her to get him tea? Was she just transported back to the sixties? What in the ever-loving fuck was that?