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“She’s not working for her food. She’s working for money,” he says. “My money.”
Dammit.I was hoping he wouldn’t think too hard about it.
“Isn’t itourmoney, dear husband?” I let sarcastic sweetness seep into my voice. He doesn’t rise to the bait.
“It’s fine. She can work in the kitchen for the time she’s here.”
It’s my turn to sit back and study him. He’s picking his words carefully. I knew I should have been suspicious of his quick change of heart.
“For the time she’s here?” I parrot back, wanting him to explain himself.
“Must you make everything into an argument?” He sighs like I’m an annoying child.
“We aren’t arguing.” I argue.
“We always argue,” he says. He stretches one arm out to clear his sleeve from his watch, then bends his elbow to peer at it. The movement is oddly sexy, and I wish I could watch him roll his sleeves up his forearms. “I have a meeting soon.”
“Can I come?” I ask.
His eyes snap to mine. There’s a crease in his forehead that immediately tells me he’s going to say no.
“No. There’s no reason for you to be there.”
“Then, at least tell me who you are meeting with.”
“When I invited you to breakfast, I didn’t expect it to be an inquisition.”
“What a boring life it would be if I couldn’t ask any questions,” I say, huffing. I spy a slight twitch at the corner of Connor’s lips.
“It would be a lot more peaceful.”
“I don’t think anything about your life is peaceful,” I say and instantly regret it when his lips press into a straight line.
He closes himself off, rising and grabbing a roll from his plate. He checks his watch again and then looks back down at me.
“Put Francesca in the room beside Brigette,” he says before turning and striding off.
“Well, good-bye to you too,” I say to the spot he was standing in.
Then, I proceed to try and eat my breakfast. But where I was hungry before, now, I’m irritated. After a few pieces of fruit, I push my plate away and sigh. I don’t know how we shift moods so often, how we go from banter to silence. It’s giving me whiplash.
Brigette is still working at the counter. She appeared to ignore our entire conversation, but I get the distinct impression that she doesn’t miss anything.
“Would it inconvenience you completely to have someone help you in the kitchen?” I ask her.
She stops working, her shoulders tensing as she turns, facing me. After a moment of silence, she shakes her head. “No, ma’am.”
“It’s Wryn. You don’t have to call me ma’am.”
“Okay.” She turns again to get back to work, and I take that as the end of the conversation.
She might like to work in a solitary environment, but I think she could use the help, especially with the long hours she already puts in. I can’t imagine a better person than Francesca, who wouldn’t talk her ear off and would be willing to work the odd hours with her.
“Okay,” I say brightly and stand up.
This has been surprisingly easier than I expected—the entire plan of bringing Francesca here and getting her a job. I’m quite proud of myself. I grab my dish from the table, but Brigette quickly takes it from my hands, not letting me help clean up. With an awkward smile, I leave the room to get ready.
* * *
