“Why would I put oil in it? It’s non-stick.” Although, it had to be a cheap pan, as the Teflon coating had peeled from the sides and was curling up around the fish.
“Even I know you always oil a pan.”
“Well, maybe you should be the one cooking then.”
Duncan ran a hand through his hair, drawing her attention to the fact it was overgrown again. It fell over his forehead in a tousled mess that made her think of cool sheets and warm nights. She shook her head to clear it. That wasn’t what she’d intended to think. She wasn’t even sure where the thought had come from. No, all she’d meant to think was that it was time for another trip to the barber. Something he would no doubt complain about. It generally took a crowbar to get him out of the mansion. She was sure his self-imprisonment was part of the reason he was so bad-tempered—he was going stir crazy and taking them all down with him.
“Maybe you should offer the new cook more money to get her here today,” he said.
The tension building in her chest felt like it was going to explode through the top of her head, and those knives looked more attractive every second. It had taken her days of negotiation to get Grace Blain to come cook at the mansion. She hadn’t cooked for anyone since she and her husband had closed their restaurant. Donna had begged the woman to come out of retirement, promising her a salary she hadn’t even cleared with Duncan. If it wasn’t for the fact she’d known Donna her whole life and felt some affection for her, she doubted Grace would have been swayed for all the money in the world.
“Are you okay?” Duncan took a step towards her, caught sight of her face and wisely retreated. “Do you need to sit down?”
“What I need,” she said evenly, squeezing the words from between clenched teeth. “Is a boss who doesn’t
keep firing the staff. Do you realise how hard it is to find people who want to work in the mansion?”
“Maybe if you hired people who didn’t annoy the hell out of me, they would stay longer, and you wouldn’t have to find replacements.”
“This is my fault?”
He took another step back. “I didn’t say that.” His phone rang, and a look of relief swept over his face. “I need to take this.”
“Since when? You never answer your phone.” She dragged a fan out of the pantry and turned it on.
“Since now,” he said. “Duncan here.”
Donna unashamedly listened in. If he wanted privacy, he could storm back out again. She mentally went over the contents of the freezer. It was pointless. Unless there was a ready meal in there that she’d missed, there wasn’t anything else she could cook. She’d picked the fish because she thought it would be easy. Damn fish had lulled her into a false sense of security. Now the house stank, and she was still starving.
There was no other option but to go into Campbeltown to eat. While she was there, she could bring back some Chinese food to reheat for dinner. She would have had it delivered hot, and at the right time, but Duncan had screwed that up too. They’d been put on a town-wide food delivery ban after he got into a fight with the pizza guy over a cold pie. The pizza guy was in his forties, built like a truck and hadn’t appreciated being taken to task. She wasn’t sure who’d swung the first punch, but she had been the one who’d turned the hose on them and broken up the fight.
This was her life. She hosed down her boss, the famous artist, to get him off the beer-bellied pizza guy. Really, the only way to go from here was up.
“No, I don’t want to do a lecture for your students,” Duncan snapped, bringing her attention back to him. “I’ve told you this before, Zoe.” A pause. “No, I won’t be in a better mood next month.” He swiped the screen and then slammed his phone down on the kitchen table, no doubt damaging the screen.
He could order his own damn replacement this time.
“I thought you were dealing with this crap,” he said.
“And by crap, you mean?”
“The begging emails and phone calls. So-and-so wants a lecturer, that one wants a new exhibition, this one wants to interview me about my work. I’ve had it up to here with all these stupid demands.” He held up a hand to jaw height.
“How dare they show an interest in you or your work? What on earth are they thinking? Don’t they know that artists don’t want attention? The cheek of it.”
He pinned her with a look. “I could do without the sarcasm.”
“I could do with a boss who doesn’t fire people for stupid reasons.”
“Are you about done?”
He folded his arms again, drawing her attention to biceps she really didn’t want to notice. Suddenly, she couldn’t stop from seeing the way his shoulders filled his shirt and the way his thighs strained against the denim of his jeans. She was losing her mind. It had to be from food deprivation. Starvation. That’s what it was. Because it couldn’t be attraction. She’d trained herself not to be attracted to him because she had the good sense to realise that any attraction she felt would only lead to heartbreak. Unfortunately, sometimes her sensible brain and her horny body weren’t on the same page.
“Yes.” She waved a hand. “Carry on.”
“I thought we agreed that you would tell these people I’m done with the art world and that all requests were going through you now.”
“How can I stop people from calling you on your personal number, Duncan? I deal with your email and the mansion phone, but the iPhone is yours. If they want to call you on that to ask about your work, there’s nothing I can do about it.”