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So, he’s staying for this.
The female chef is eating up his attention. A pretty face is all it took for him to forget whatever work is being done on the building. Typical Casper move. I bet he has her number in his phone already.
Gross.
“Hello,” I say a little too sharply.
The flirty woman and Mario, the head chef, turn to me.
The woman is blushing furiously at being caught, but Mario doesn’t seem to notice. I wish I could remember her name.
“Ah, you must be Ainsley Miller. And Mrs Hart, how do you do?”
“Oh, call me Flora, please. It smells wonderful in here.”
Flora, Mario, and the woman chat for a minute. They tell Flora how wonderfully refreshing it is to do something different for the event. It’s hard to tell if they’re being sincere or just blowing smoke up her arse.
I try to feign interest in the origin of the toffee apple but fail miserably, and that’s thanks to the devil ghost who’s shooting a death glare my way. Funny, though, he looks rather amused while doing it.
My stomach burns just being in the same room as him. We look so unprofessional now, thanks to him and his need to sleep with everything. Not that I can talk about professionalism. At the brief meeting yesterday, I teased the clients’ son.
Mario and the flirty one—Miranda, I overhear—take Flora to the large island to show off their tiny, fancy, carnival-inspired canapés. Neither Casper nor I move.
I should walk away and pretend he doesn’t exist, but arguing with him is addictive. I don’t think I can move away.
I’msomessed up. This is so messed up.
“Hello, Ainsley,” he says in a sickly-sweet tone that makes me want to vomit.
Unless that’s still last night’s Prosecco.
To everyone else, he sounds pleasant. I know better, and it makes me so mad.
“Casper. I heard you’re unhappy about the scaffolding, but there’s nothing that can be done. We discussed this already, if you recall. Wouldn’t want the roof caving in and killing us all now, would we?”
“If anything happened to you, it would break me, Ainsley.”
No one has perfected the sarcastic smile quite like Casper Hart.
“Hmm, it would be a noble way to go.”
He stifles a laugh. “I’ll pretend that hurt.”
“And there was me thinking you couldn’t feel pain.”
“I assume you’re referring to emotional pain and not physical?”
“Forgive me for not being more precise. Of course, I meant to insinuate that you’re a sociopath.”
He doesn’t hold back now. Mario, Flirty Twat, and Flora look over when Casper laughs.
I’m taken aback because that doesn’t happen often—not when I’m around, anyway. His laughter is quite nice.
Another confession to take to my deathbed.
“Sorry,” Casper says to the others, rubbing his mouth to fight his amusement. “Ainsley was just diagnosing me.”
My eyes cut into him so deeply, I’m surprised he doesn’t feel it. The bastard is trying to embarrass me. My scalp prickles, but I take a breath and will my cheeks not to flame.
