Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands 2)

My sister smiles. “I won’t pretend to understand how you can be such a great brother while also being the world’s worst coworker.”

“Isn’t your motto ‘you do you’?”

“It is.” She looks down at a chirp from her phone. A text? Whatever it is, it’s making her smile.

Now that I think about it, she’s been smiling a lot since Nate Kingsley, owner of a famous local whiskey distillery, visited recently.

“Something good?” I ask.

Still smiling, Milly types a quick reply, then blanks the screen with a click. “Yes. Anyway, ‘you do you’ doesn’t apply when you’re being a complete and utter jerk. Give Emma a chance, all right? It won’t kill you, and it would make Beau happy. Hell, maybe it’ll even make you happy too.”

“I am happy,” I growl.

Milly points a finger at me. “Growling isn’t a good look on you. Quit it. And have fun at your tasting tomorrow.”

Fun. Ha.

Like I even know what that is anymore.

Chapter Five

Samuel

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” Emma asks the next night.

No greeting. Just a pretty smile and eyes that burn with a challenge she’s unabashedly excited about.

Why does she enjoy brutalizing me this way?

And how does she look prettier than she did yesterday, even though she’s standing in the same restaurant wearing almost the same damn outfit?

Despite my best effort to avoid her, I’ve seen a lot of Emma over the past twenty-four hours. She’s popped into my office more times than I can count, and was all over the floor last night shadowing me as I selected wines for guests and served them.

She’s thorough, I’ll give her that.

My hand curls into a fist at my side. The sooner we start, the sooner we get this over with.

Taking a quick glance around the restaurant, my annoyance fades. The place is packed. People are chowing down on the food, smiling as they chat with their loved ones and sip their drinks. The waitstaff crisscrosses the floor, arms loaded with trays of beautiful food and bottles of excellent wine. A couple laughs in a booth in the corner. Another hold hands across their table. A family of five digs into Chef’s insanely delicious take on rabbit ragu with homemade pasta and aged pecorino. Hank is chatting with a pair of older women at the bar.

The food, the wine, the people—it all comes together to create this heady buzz that’s heaven on earth.

And to think that I made it happen. Yes, I got lucky hiring some of the best staff on the planet, starting with Chef Katie. Beau was there for every meeting, every round of interviews, and Milly played a big part in planning our food and beverage programs too. But I went from quarterback to food and wine director in the space of a few years. During those years, I studied the hospitality industry like a madman. I traveled all over to spend my Saturday nights in the kitchens of the world’s best restaurants. I took courses, shadowed waiters, washed dishes. I cooked. I networked. I filled close to a dozen notebooks with my notes on everything from the proper way to slice prosciutto to how I wanted our guests to feel while dining at Blue Mountain Farm.

When we finally opened The Barn Door, I wanted to take the position of food and wine director knowing I left nothing on the table. I tried my best.

I still try my best. And I’m damn proud of the result. In that respect, I’ve done my family proud.

“Josie,” I clip.

A hostess immediately appears at my elbow. “Yes, Samuel?”

“Take us to our table, please.”

“Right away. We have y’all at seventeen.”

I cut Emma a glance. She shrugs, this smug little thing that enrages me. Olly, my former backup-turned-traitor teammate, was smug like that too. At first, I thought it was just playful indifference, but I learned the hard way it was something much more sinister.

“Heard you had a thing for the night sky,” she says, “so I guessed seventeen was your favorite table. You can see the stars through the window if you blow out the candles. It’s also private and quite cushy. Perfect for a big swinging dick celebrity like yourself.”

I can tell Josie is trying very hard not to laugh as she seats us at the table. It is my favorite, for exactly the reasons Emma mentioned. The booth is a circular swath of butter soft leather tucked into the far corner of the barn. A high window follows the curve of the booth, allowing diners to glimpse nearly three hundred sixty degrees of sky. At night, when the light’s just right, it can be downright magical.

It can also be hell on earth when you’re experiencing it beside Miss Know-It-All. Seeing the flight of wineglasses set out at each place setting is an unwelcome reminder of how long I’ll be stuck here.