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“That seems a far cry from watch manufacturing,” said Mr. Benz, who had joined them in the hall.
“It was my first year working full-time for the company, and I was able to bounce around a bit, assist on projects in different groups. I eventually found my stride in manufacturing operations.”
“Hmm. A passion for manufacturing operations.”
“How and why people make things is actually pretty fascinating.”
He looked at her quizzically for a long moment. “I suppose it is.”
Martina emerged from her room. “All done.”
Cara thanked Martina for surrendering her room and said good night. “We can speak about Mr. Hauser tomorrow?” she asked Mr. Benz. They hadn’t learned a great deal from their visit. Daniel had been a bit defensive, but had confirmed that he was planning to sell his shares to Noar. He said he wanted to retire early, and that he hadn’t thought it worth informing the rest of the board until the transaction was nearing completion. To Cara’s mind, it all seemed suspicious, even if there was nothing illegal going on. But she wanted to discuss it with Mr. Benz, see if his impression matched hers. But there was nothing to do about it tonight.
“Yes, we’ll chat about Mr. Hauser tomorrow,” Mr. Benz said. “Sweet dreams, Ms. Delaney,” he added, his voice low and almost... caressing?
Jeez. She was hearing things that weren’t there. Time for sleep.
The walls were thin, and she could hear Martina go into Armend’s room with her brothers. She let the sound of the three siblings talking and laughing lull her to sleep.
Chapter Ten
Seven days until Christmas
Ms. Delaney slept in the next morning, which was just as well because one look out the window confirmed Matteo’s fears that they were not going anywhere for a while. A great deal of snow had accumulated, and the main street wasn’t even passable yet, forget the parking lot out back.
He was not pleased.
“Cara seems nice,” his mother said as he rejoined her and his siblings at the table where she was serving his favorite rösti that she always made when he came home.
“She’s pretty, too,” Martina said in a singsong voice.
Oh for god’s sake. “She’s here to do a job. I was escorting her to a meeting in Riems. And I wouldn’t exactly call her nice.” He shot Martina a quelling look, which she held for a long moment, her eyebrows raised. “What?” he asked, annoyed at her—and himself for falling so easily back into the bickering-sibling role.
“I notice you didn’t refute the ‘pretty’ part.”
To his complete and utter mortification, he felt his face heating. “I didn’t—”
“Good morning! I’m sorry I slept so late.” The sudden appearance of a sleep-mussed Ms. Delaney did not help matters. That her hair was no longer in her signature severe updo was a shock to the system, even though he had seen it that way once before. It was wavy and slightly messy, as if—
She produced an elastic seemingly from thin air and put said hair up in a haphazard ponytail, interrupting his fixation. Which was fine. There was no call to be fixated on anything about Ms. Delaney, least of all her hair. The image of her undertaking a valuation exercise with specialized accounting software was one thing, but her hair? No. He needed to get ahold of himself.
She made eye contact with him, and he prayed his face was no longer red. “I had a peek out the bedroom window, and I assume we’re not going to make it back to Witten this morning?”
“Probably not until this evening at the earliest. It will take a while for the roads here to be cleared, and even longer for the mountain to become passable. I’m sorry.” He truly was. Losing an entire day’s worth of work was not what either of them needed right now.
“I have a wonderful idea,” his mother said. “Why don’t you two snowshoe over to Biel and take the waters? It’s a beautiful day for it.”
“Biel is the neighboring village, and it’s home to a spa centered around some hot springs,” Matteo explained to Ms. Delaney before turning to his mother. “I’m sure Ms. Delaney would prefer to spend the day working.” He returned his attention to her. “We can set you up at the dining room table.”
“Hmm,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “a day spent working or a day at a spa? Tough call.”
“You would prefer the spa?” He thought that’s what she meant, but he was surprised.
“I would prefer the spa,” she said decisively. “I wouldn’t want to risk becoming aworkaholic, after all.”
He felt his eyebrows shoot up. He needed to rein them in. “You would prefer the spa even if you have to snowshoe to get there?”
“I would prefer the spa even if I have to snowshoe to get there.” When he didn’t answer right away—he was still surprised—she said, “There’s only a shower at Imogen’s, and I’m quite the fan of a hot bath. I’ve never been in a natural hot spring, but it sounds like a bath on steroids. I’m all in.”
