Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands 2)

And I’ll admit the fact that Emma is willing to go toe to toe with me has piqued my interest. When was the last time someone challenged me?

Why, I want to ask her. Why the fuck do you care so much?

I’m gonna find out. And then I’m gonna get her ass fired. This is my restaurant. My resort.

My family.

“I’m in,” I say, making a mental note to set my alarm for quarter till ten tomorrow. “We won’t have much choice when it comes to the food at such short notice.”

“I’ll get in touch with Chef Katie and work with what she’s got,” Emma says, waving me away with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

Anger punches me square in the gut. “I’m the food guy.”

“I’m the wine woman. And I need the courses to complement my selections. The food and the wine have to speak to each other. You can’t serve duck with Riesling, or an arugula salad with a big, fruity Amarone.”

I’m going to fucking hate this, I can already tell.

“Whatever.” I turn to Hank. “We all set here?”

“Yup.”

Emma takes her knee off the chair. “Can I make a quick suggestion?”

“What?”

“Skip the cologne tomorrow. It’ll mess with your tongue.”

A pulse of anger screams up my center. Or maybe it’s embarrassment.

The girl practically radiates her desire to dominate, which makes me think my “co-head” will eventually push me out. What if the wine and beverage program isn’t enough for her? What if she wants the food too? Where would that leave me?

Out of a job and up shit creek without a paddle, that’s where. I’ve been pushed out by an ambitious upstart before. There may be fewer headlines this time around, but the sting would be the same.

The shame would be the fucking same.

I hate to be the guy who’s threatened by an ambitious woman. Usually ambition turns me on. I like a girl who’s got something cooking. But when those ambitions threaten me and my future and my place in my family—well, that’s a different scenario, isn’t it?

My brothers and sister and mama are Blue Mountain Farm, and they’re my life. I think it shocked us all how much we enjoy working together. How well we work together. I love the idea of continuing my parents’ legacy and of keeping Daddy’s memory alive through a spirit of generosity.

I am not being generous right now.

But I was serious about the yacht. I had my fun. Blew off steam when things went south in my pro career. Now, though, I’m done with that shit. I like my life here. I want to keep it exactly as is. Change has never been kind to me.

And now Emma is here to shake things up.

Over my dead body. I’ve already reinvented myself once. I know how painful and long the process can be. And if there’s one thing I’ve always known about myself, it’s that I like to stay busy. As Daddy used to say, idle hands are the devil’s workshop. Don’t get me wrong, I am fucking great at enjoying my leisure time. But I also like to hustle. If I’m not hustling, trying to make my family’s resort the best it can possibly be, if I’m not working my ass off to ensure the people and the heritage I love so much have a future, then I’d have no purpose.

And that seems like the worst outcome of all.

Chapter Four

Samuel

I spend a few hours in my office above the restaurant, twitchy as hell as I listen to Emma getting settled in the room next door.

A hard workout always clears my head. When I have a rare break later that afternoon, I head home and hit the gym in my basement for a quick sweat session.

On my way downstairs, I pass my trophy case. At twenty feet long and ten feet high, it takes up the length of an entire wall. Some of my own shit is in there. Two Super Bowl MVP awards, NFC Championship trophy, an ESPY for Best Dressed Athlete.

But Dad’s trophies are the real stars. They’re displayed front and center; his Super Bowl ring is probably my most prized possession.

That, and his cast-iron skillet.

I slow my steps, eyes raking over the massive ring in its black velvet box. That hollow ache returns, taking root in the center of my chest.

All I ever wanted was to make the man proud.

I don’t think he’d be proud of me right now.

Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders. I’m not proud of acting like a jackass, either. But it’s a means to an end. I’m defending my place.

Family always came first in Daddy’s book, and I know he’d like to see me follow his lead in that regard.

I just wish he were here to tell me what to do. He was a good man who gave good advice. Before he got sick, anyway. He was also an honest man, and one of the few I implicitly trusted. With him in my corner, I never felt lost.