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“Neither of your friends have jobs?”
“Lin works at a coffee shop right now and she hates it. They’d be thrilled if they could help me at the restaurant.”
I considered. Using her friends would save me the trouble of having to interview people. It’d also reduce the risk of hiring some guy who tried to make passes at Harper while they were working. And just like that, I was already letting my attraction to her cloud my judgment.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
She bounced on her toes, smiling and then quickly recovering her composure. “Thank you. So, um. What else do we need to cover?”
I was tempted to tell her that was plenty and sit her right back on the counter where we’d fucked last night. I blinked, trying to claim some semblance of professionalism. “I wanted you to look over my renovation plans. I’ve locked some of the details in with contractors already, but there are a few areas you could still have changed. We’ll also need to pick out tables, and I’ll need your input on what equipment you need in the kitchen.”
“Have you eaten?” she asked suddenly.
I glanced at my phone. It was four in the afternoon, and I’d completely forgotten about lunch in the rush to get the kids ready to go out with Zack. “I’m fine,” I said.
“No, you look exhausted. Let me make you something. We can talk about that stuff while I cook.”
I had to admit I was a little touched by the genuine concern in her eyes. I smirked. “Alright. Nothing elaborate, though.”
“It’ll be my famous grilled cheese, then. Do you like avocado and bacon?”
“I do,” I said.
“Good. You wait here.” She pointed, smiling and backpedaling before jogging awkwardly in her heels toward the door.
I waited a few minutes until she came back with a battle-scarred apron over her work clothes. She dumped an armload of supplies on the counter. “Sit,” she said, gesturing to a chair on the other side of the counter.
Amused, I obeyed and took a seat. I watched her for a few minutes as she prepared the food with deadly focus. There was something immensely sexy about watching her work. Her movements were sure and confident, but she’d occasionally hesitate, biting her lip and then mutter to herself. She was constantly tasting everything as she went, and she moved with frantic but purposeful energy.
When she bent to turn on the burners, I saw the faint outline of a thong through her skirt. She looked over her shoulder, caught me watching, then bit her lip again. A moment later, she suspiciously dropped a cutting board and bent to pick it up, giving me an even more generous view of her ass.
Fucking hell.
I grinned to myself and shifted, trying to get more comfortable as my cock hardened in appreciation.
“Are you just going to sit there and stare?” she asked without looking up from the avocado she was cutting into slices. “Or were we supposed to be talking about work?”
“What made you want to be a chef?” I asked.
“Oh,” she wiggled her eyebrows, looking up briefly. “Is this like an interview?”
“Answer the question.”
“Bossy,” she said with a smile. “My grandma was always cooking when I was a kid. I used to sit under the table when she’d prep pasta and steal tortellinis when she wasn’t looking. Then my mom always had something cooking, too. It was kind of a lifestyle. I’d tell my mom about my day while she got a soup ready or prepped for dinner. Most of my memories with my grandma were in the kitchen.” She shrugged. “I guess it just feels like cooking has always been a part of me. And I don’t think I love anything more than watching people enjoy my food. I like taking care of people, and giving them something warm and delicious to fill their bellies is one of the best ways, I guess?”
I nodded.
“What about you? Did your grandfather, uh, talk about hotels over the dinner table? And did your dad school you on the finer points of towel folding?”
I chuckled. “No. My father wanted me and my brothers to get into law or medicine. He basically disowned me when I decided on my career path. Zack, too.”
Harper’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
“It’s an old wound.” I tried to sound dismissive. “We both gave up caring a long time ago. If he wants to be an asshole, he can be one on his own.”
“So you must really care about what you do then if it cost you so much.”
I thought about that. The truth was I’d kind of fallen into the career. One opportunity led to another, and I was suddenly climbing the ranks. It hadn’t exactly been a conscious decision to get involved in hotels or hospitality. “I enjoy being good at what I do.”
