Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands 2)

“Why?” Hank asks. “I think she’s great.”

“Not helping,” I say.

Beau crosses his arms. “Why not Emma? The staff at The Barn Door said she’s been a total dream so far.”

My hands tighten on the chair. “You really think someone as ambitious as that is going to be content as a co-head? She wants the whole damn thing.”

“Did she say as much?”

“Well, no, but I know when—”

“This have anything to do with the blind tasting y’all did last night? Heard you panned one of your favorite trophy wines.”

“What? No. No, that’s not—Good Lord.” I run a hand down my face, cradling my jaw in my hand. “Rumors sure do fly up here.”

Beau tilts his head. “You getting smoked at a blind tasting is not a rumor. It’s a fact. C’mon. You should know how to have your ass handed to you with a little more grace.”

“Ouch.”

Beau’s expression softens. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. But she stays, Samuel. As a matter of fact, I have a project for y’all to work on together.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can do it myself.”

Hank wrinkles his brow. “She’s really got your panties in a bunch, huh? You didn’t, like, sleep with her or anything, did you?”

“Jesus Christ!” Beau stares at me. “Samuel, you promised—”

“I did promise. And I’m offended you’d assume I’d break that promise. I’m a man of my word, same as you are, brother, so you best believe me when I say I haven’t laid a fucking finger on that girl. I’m not stupid.”

“Good.” Hank looks relieved. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“What, you got a crush on her or something?” I spit out.

Hank just looks at me sideways. “You really are raging today, huh?”

“Y’all.” Beau slaps his hand against the counter. “Emma is staying, no one is sleeping with her or crushing on her, and you two are gonna work together in goddamn peace and harmony or I’ll be firing both your asses. Got it?”

“Got it,” I grumble.

“Good. So, the project. We have Chef Elijah Jackson—yes, that Eli Jackson—coming into town with some of his buddies for a guys’ weekend. He requested a boozy lunch on Saturday, family style, preferably outside. Thought you and Emma could put together a wine tasting and food menu for them.”

I scoff. “No pressure or anything.”

Eli Jackson is Charleston’s most famous chef at its most famous restaurant, The Pearl. He’s one of the greats who put Southern cuisine on the map. Serving him is the equivalent of me picking up a guitar and playing for Eddie Van Halen (RIP to that dude, he is missed).

To be fair, I do have a bit more experience putting together a meal than I do playing eighties rock. But still. This luncheon’s a tall order.

Beau cuts me a look. “Y’all can handle it. And yeah, maybe I’m hoping it’ll show you how much easier your job will be with someone as excellent as Emma at your side.”

“I beg to differ.” I can just imagine how hoity-toity Emma will be about my ideas. No doubt she’ll shoot down everything. Take over, the way she’s already trying to take over Celeste and John’s wedding.

But Beau is the boss. He’s also my brother, and whatever he’s going through that he’s not telling me about is clearly taking a toll on him. I don’t want to add to that burden.

So I’ll do the boozy lunch with Emma. Grit my teeth and get through it. Hopefully, she’ll hate working with me so much she’ll quit before the weekend’s through.

“Fine. I’ll sit down with Emma this afternoon.” I take the frittata out of the oven and slice it four ways—I always make way too much damn food, and for once that’s a good thing—and plate it, dropping the plates on the island. “Now eat. No, Hank, I don’t give a damn if you already had breakfast, you’re gonna finish those eggs.”

He grins, putting a forkful into his mouth. “Yes, sir.”

Grabbing his plate, Beau stands beside me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Trust me, okay?”

I drop the skillet into the sink, creating an even louder clatter than the one before. “Everyone’s always asking me to trust them. Why the hell don’t y’all return the favor and trust me for once?”

Beau sighs. Again.

“I’m sorry,” I say, curling my hands around the lip of the sink. “I don’t mean to create a headache for you. I’ll get it done, all right? You don’t have to worry.”

“But I do.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “I always worry about you, Samuel.”

Chapter Nine

Emma

Hank is the first to greet me when I arrive outside The Barn Door at quarter till eight.

“Morning, Emma,” he says. “I was hoping I’d get to witness your victory lap today.”

I grin. “I saw you peeking over Samuel’s shoulder last night.”

It’s a crisp spring morning, and the sun is already vibrant in the early gray-blue sky. Hank squints as he smiles at me, this big, unguarded thing that makes me think he and Samuel are in no way related. Hank’s also a lot smaller than his older brother.