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“Clearly you hired him for his sparkling personality,” Gretchen said.
Hunter glanced over at her, still expressionless.
She grimaced, taking another swig of her wine. Faux pas again? “Sorry. I’m not trying to be unpleasant. He just wasn’t very . . . welcoming when I arrived. I’m sure he’s quite capable as an assistant.”
He pulled the lid off the tray, revealing a pale white pasta. It looked as if it had been cooked hours ago, and the noodles were limp, the sauce clumpy.
“Eldon is very protective of the estate. He is not fond of visitors.”
“I gathered that,” she said lightly.
He gave her a solemn look. “Was he cruel to you? Should I speak to him?”
“Oh, no.” Gretchen extended her plate toward Hunter, since he seemed to be serving. “I was just surprised, that’s all. So it’s just you and him in this big house?”
“Not at all,” Hunter said, taking the serving ware and spooning out some of the rather awful-looking pasta onto Gretchen’s plate.
“Oh?”
“The cleaning crew is here most days. I assume Eldon told you the schedule?”
She took her plate back from him and tried not to look repulsed by the noodly mass on her plate. Maybe he’d cooked it himself, though? Could she insult him by asking about it? She decided it was time for a little white lie.
“This looks delicious,” she told him, adjusting her napkin in her lap and waiting for him to spoon out his own portion.
“Eldon is an adequate cook,” Hunter said.
“Well if that isn’t a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.”
He gave her another curious look, but still did not crack a smile.
She waited for him to take a bite, and when he didn’t fall over, choking, she took a tentative bite herself. The food was every bit as awful as it looked. The sauce was congealed, the noodles overcooked, and the entire thing was cold. She forced herself to swallow, her gaze on Hunter. How could he sit there and eat this mess?
Sufficient cook, indeed.
He glanced over at her. “Is everything all right?” Tension seemed to suddenly vibrate through his body.
Gretchen forced a bright smile to her face. “Great, thank you.”
Hunter grunted and turned back to his food, eating quietly and methodically.
Well, this was definitely one of the oddest dinners she’d ever had. She was seated in one of many dining rooms at the biggest house she’d ever set foot into, and the food was worse than anything she’d ever tasted. Worse than that, the room was unnervingly quiet, and she wondered if Hunter even knew how to make small talk. Or did he even have to? She imagined he had people falling all over themselves to talk to him.
Another thought bothered her. He was a man who seemed to value his privacy. Perhaps spending dinner with her wasn’t very pleasurable for him and he was only doing it out of politeness? Ouch.
She toyed with the noodles on her plate.
He paused again, setting down his fork and knife. “Something is bothering you.”
“No, really, I’m fine.”
His gaze hardened, as if disapproving of her obvious lie. “It’s not necessary for you to humor me with dinner. If you wish to go, please go.”
Oh, great. Now he thought she didn’t want to be here with him? She shook her head and shoved another forkful of the hideous pasta into her mouth to prove that she did want to be there. Immediately, her gag reflex kicked in and she choked. Grabbing her napkin, she spit the gluey wad into it. “Sorry about that. I don’t think I can eat this.”
He looked down at his plate, surprised. “Do you not like Italian?”
“Don’t you have a cook?” she blurted out. “I mean, you’re rich. You can afford a cook, right?”
