I take a deep breath, exhale, and remind myself that I’m twenty-nine, not fourteen.
“The all-staff meeting is the other way,” I say. “You’re staff?”
“That’s what I meant when I said I work here, yes,” he says. “I’m the new Executive Chef. And I thought the meeting was in the Cumberland conference room, over that way.”
I decide to be an adult and bite back a retort to the first part, even though every fiber of my being is itching to further the fight.
“It’s in the other building, but they have the exact same layout. It’s confusing,” I offer. “Come on, I’m going there too.”
I walk ahead of him, quickly, because I don’t want to look at Eli any more than I have to. He follows me down the hall, through the glassed-in atrium, and to the other barn-turned-offices.
Mercifully, he doesn’t say a word, and neither do I.
You’re adults now, I remind myself over and over. He’s not going to call you names or tell anyone about your farts.
No one is asking you to be friends. Just do your job, Eli will do his, and it’ll all be fine.
Right?
I’m a grown-ass woman. How hard can it be?Chapter SixEli“ — Third floor is currently being renovated, adding a state-of-the-art spa and two new hot tubs, so if any guests wander into the gated off area, please redirect them,” a voice inside the room says. “Bramblebush currently has a zero-fatality record, and we’d like to keep it that way.”
Polite laughter ripples through the room just as Violet pauses in the doorway. I pause behind her. I’d walked behind her for the length of two barns now, and I’d been staring at her ass for an unspecified percentage of that time.
It was above fifty percent.
Okay, it was above eighty percent. Maybe around ninety. It’s a good ass, and it looks good in those pants, even if the fact that it belongs to Violet Tulane is kind of a boner-killer.
Somehow, she grew up to be attractive, which still blows my mind even though I’ve had two days to get used to the idea. It just doesn’t jive at all with my memories of her, all elbows and glasses and crooked teeth that her mom couldn’t afford to have fixed, usually telling me why I was wrong about something.
At least that last part hasn’t changed. If it had, I’d wonder if she’d had a lobotomy.
I glance down at her ass again just for good measure. She shoots me an annoyed look over her shoulder, obviously annoyed that we’re late.
Those shark-gray eyes send a quick shock through me.
Fine, make that very attractive. Physically, at least.
Personality wise, she’s still Violet Tulane, as evidenced by our interaction when she headbutted me in the hallway and then interrogated me about my presence at my own job.
She steps into the room and I step in after her, standing against the back wall, behind a few other rows of people, also standing. Violet shoots me another annoyed look, craning her neck to see Montgomery Tanner, our boss, as he goes on about the renovations currently being done at the Bramblebush Inn. Even in heels she’s too short to see over the people in front of us.
Don’t, I tell myself. You’re at work. Be a goddamn professional, Eli.
Violet cranes her neck harder, still trying to see over the people in front of her.
I lean down, knowing full well that I should keep my mouth shut.
“Want a boost?” I ask, keeping my voice low, my lips closer to her ear than they should be. Her hair just barely whispers along my cheek, a tingle echoing down my back. It smells nice.
Violet jumps, then shoots me yet another look from her arsenal of glares.
“I can put you on my shoulders,” I whisper, leaning in even closer, her hair tickling my cheek even more. “You seem to be having some trouble.”
I wouldn’t mind that at all, wrapping her legs around my head. Just as long as she didn’t talk.
“Shut up,” she hisses as another woman glanced over. I give her a quick, professional nod, and she looks away.
“I’ll take a look and tell you what you’re missing,” I tell Violet. She pretends to ignore me, but a muscle twitches in her jaw.
I grin. I can’t help it. If she’s going to be obnoxious to me, I’m going to be obnoxious right back.
“And finally, John wants me to remind you all that the golf carts are not for guest use,” Montgomery says, standing up front. “Make sure to take the keys with you when you get out, we all know what happened last year.”
More polite laughter.
“Don’t let guests use the golf carts,” I quickly whisper to Violet.
She glares daggers. Poisoned daggers, with barbs in the tips. It sends a vicious thrill through me.
“Just trying to help,” I say.
“Shut. Up,” she whispers through her teeth.