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The bane of my existence strolled into my office without knocking, a metal food cart clinking before her.
It was day four of her seven-day training period, and she was already overstepping her boundaries.
Hell, she’d overstepped them before she’d even been hired, but I had been too busy overstepping mine to screw my head on straight.
“Do you see that wooden rectangle over there?” I pointed to the door and continued before she could reply. “That’s called a door. It’s for privacy. You knock on it before invading someone’s personal space.”
She pushed the cart until it rested beside my desk and met my eyes.
“Oh, so that’s what that thing is.”
She was infuriating.
Infuriatingly beautiful.
Infuriatingly witty.
Infuriatingly off-limits.
I closed my browser as she set my lunch on my desk. “You’re testing my patience.”
“I wasn’t aware you had any.”
I gestured between us. “What do you call this?”
“Inadequately rewarded labor.”
I leaned back in my chair, eyeing Ariana.
This was the woman my baby sister was smitten with. An irritating infatuation I wanted to snap between my fingers like a broken pencil.
I’d sprinkle the remains over Ariana’s food and feed it to her for lunch.
Ariana De Luca was all curves, backbone, and guts.
I saw the appeal.
Truly.
But after Elsa, I was done caring for women. Then, after the Dana rebound turned fiasco, I was done fucking my employees, and Ariana simply wasn’t worth it.
I tilted my head back, watching her set up my dinner on my desk.
“If you want a higher paying job, go get it. I’ll—”
“Find my replacement by the end of the day?” She snorted. “Good luck with that.”
She was right.
I still had the job listed on all the big job-hunting sites, and someone worthy of my attention had yet to apply. That didn’t mean she had to know that.
The corner of my lips curled up until I exuded smugness I wished I felt.
“No need for luck.” I pulled up a random employee file and read, substituting my restaurant-side bartender’s name for a made up one, “Candy Lane. Late twenties. Clean record. Gorgeous. Dad ran a bar. Lots of experience. Speaks English, Spanish, French, and German.” I shifted my eyes to her. “I’d bet I could have her here, pen in one hand and contract in the other, by the end of the day.”
She paused, her hand stilling on the silverware she’d just placed in front of me.
“What are you willing to wager?”
