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“I’m very happy to hear that,” Gabriel said, clasping his hands behind his back and looking like the cat who just caught the canary. “Since I already hired the woman who made it.”
Aaaand there it is.
All of them stared at Gabriel now, each with varying levels of surprise written all over their faces. Except for Mason, who only narrowed his eyes.
Jonathan recovered first, giving the chef a look somewhere between irritation and amusement. “I beg your pardon?”
“Her name is Addison,” Gabriel said, not even pretending to feel guilty about hiring a whole-ass new staff member without permission. “She’s here on a trial period of three months. Since we can’t exactly expect her to find housing around here for such a short time, I helped her move into one of the bedrooms on the third floor last night.”
Even Mason’s eyes widened at that one. The audacity of it all was almost impressive. Almost.
“Hell, she can have my suite so long as she keeps making shit like this,” Camden said, shoving the entire last quarter of his cinnamon roll into his mouth.
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure your guests for the next three months would love that.”
Amusement danced in Camden’s blue eyes, and he gave that fuckboy grin the guests all loved so much. According to Zach, there was a whole thread on the Manor’s subreddit, r/SordidFairfordAffairs, devoted to Camden’s dimple.
Glancing around the table, Mason realized none of the others were nearly as annoyed as they should be. Hell, even Rafe devoured his cinnamon roll with an amused tilt to his lips. That man had hardly bothered to smile in the last five years—at least not before Nell came along.
Mason reached deep inside for the cool, calm demeaner he preferred to present to the rest of the world. His mother had been overly dramatic to a painful degree, flying into fits of histrionics over every little thing. She was the kind of person to burst into tears and yell for a manager over minor mistakes or perceived slights. To constantly have one or more feuds going with various family members or neighbors—sometimes without the other person even knowing about it.
She’d lock herself in her room for hours if she thought Mason or his dad had even considered criticizing something she did, while lamenting that no one but Mason’s little brother cared about her at all.
Chaos would never seep into his life again. He’d made damn sure of that.
Gabriel prattled on about the Manhattan café where his new baker used to work, as if Leo and Sophie liking her scones would make them all agree. Was it supposed to impress him that she worked in a coffee shop? For what Gabriel agreed to pay the girl, they could probably hire the entire staff of the nearest Starbucks. Both things seemed equal wastes of money to him.
“You don’t have the authority to create new positions at the Manor without authorization from a majority of the partners,” Mason said the next time Gabriel came up for air. “You need more than just Leo’s vote.”
“Mason.” Jonathan’s voice held a clear warning.
Ignoring his best friend entirely, Mason kept his gaze locked with Gabriel’s. “You overstepped.”
“I have total authority over my kitchen,” Gabriel said, raising himself up to his full height. “That was the agreement when I came here.”
“And you do.” Not liking the hint of frustration in his voice, Mason strove for cool indifference when he added, “Within the agreed upon budget.”
“The budget is inadequate.”
“Something you should’ve brought to our attention, rather than hiring someone behind our backs.”
Aiden snorted. “Yeah, because you run it by us every time you spend a shit ton of money on the Manor card.”
Pressing his lips into a flat line, Mason waited until he forced his anger under control before responding. “That’s irrelevant. They’re two completely different things.”
“Really?” Gabriel said, all traces of his deep smile lines long gone. “Because when you spend money it’s automatically a good idea, but when I do it’s automatically a bad one?”
This was getting fucking ridiculous. “I didn’t say anything remotely?—”
“Enough!” Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to massage away a headache. “Jesus fucking Christ, Mason. Why do you even care?”
The truth was, he didn’t know. Just like with the Saturday meetings, there was nothing necessarily wrong. If Gabriel pulled this stunt a year or two ago, he suspected he wouldn’t have given two shits.
But right now, he just . . . did.
Since that made him sound every bit as overly dramatic as his mother, he chose to go on the offensive instead. “I just don’t see a need here. Our breakfast is already excellent.” He pushed his untouched plate toward the center of the table. “If our guests really want cinnamon rolls, they can get Cinnabon at the airport on their way home. It’ll probably taste better anyway.”
Only after he finished speaking did he realize no one was looking his way anymore. All eyes were directed over his shoulder toward the kitchen door.
