The Millionaire and the Maid

‘You can’t. You have macarons in the oven.’

‘Then you go somewhere else. Take Bandit for a walk or do some work.’

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘My house. I can go where I want.’

Her chin shot up and those smoky eyes blazed at him. His mouth watered.

‘You’re determined to remain here with me in the kitchen?’

In answer he merely reached out and took possession of his can of soda.

She slammed herself into a chair. ‘Fine, then I’ll raise something that’s been playing in my mind about Ethan.’

Was she trying to tick him off? Fine. She might find it harder than she thought. ‘And what might that be?’

‘Just for a moment reverse your and Ethan’s situations. Pretend he’s the boss and you’re the apprentice.’

He dragged a hand down his face. If only that were the truth. If only—

‘Imagine you’re the apprentice who screwed up—as apprentices do. Wouldn’t you want to see your boss? For starters, wouldn’t you want to know he was okay? And, secondly, wouldn’t you want to know he thought you important enough to visit?’

Bile burned his stomach. Jo turned him on like no other woman ever had, but she was going to give him an ulcer too.

‘Or would I just be glad to never have to clap eyes again on the man who ruined my life?’

She folded her arms. ‘Would you believe your life was ruined? And if you did would you hold anyone else responsible?’

He had no idea, but according to Diana Devlin he had indeed ruined her son’s life.

‘Mac.’ Jo rested her forearms on the table, her eyes dark and troubled. ‘It occurred to me the other day that Ethan might, in fact, be plagued with the same guilt that torments you.’

Every muscle he had froze.

‘He’s the one who accidentally let a platter of seafood slide into that vat of oil. He’s the direct cause for the start of the fire. You know it was an accident, and I know it was an accident, but does Ethan? Or does he hold himself responsible for the whole sorry mess?’

The thought horrified him. ‘He can’t!’

‘Says who?’ She stabbed a finger at him. ‘How would you feel if the positions were reversed?’

His mouth went dry. How would he feel if he’d been the one who’d dropped the iced seafood into the hot oil? Guilty as sin. His fingers tightened around his can of soda, crushing it. Bubbles fizzed up and over his hand to drip to the floor.

He barely knew Ethan. They’d probably spoken a grand total of twenty words to each other. Like most of the new apprentices he’d been in awe of Mac.

Mac cursed himself anew for not taking more time to put Ethan at ease for his first couple of appearances on the show.

Jo came to stand in front of him. She smelled of sugar and macaron and soda. ‘You want me to believe I’m beautiful.’

‘Because you’re gorgeous,’ he croaked out.

‘And in the same way I want you to realise you’re not responsible for the accident.’

His heart thudded. His temples pounded. And an ache started up behind his eyes. ‘Ethan’s not responsible either.’

‘No, he’s not. It was just an awful accident. I just hope he’s not lying in that godforsaken hospital bed of his beating himself up about it.’

So did he.

‘Mac, you just helped me make macarons.’ She shook her head. ‘If we’re being honest, you made them. And the world didn’t come tumbling down around your ears, did it?’

It took all his strength to swallow rather than howl. ‘What are you trying to say?’

‘I’m saying ring him.’

But Mrs Devlin said...

This mattered too much for him to get it wrong. He had to find out if Ethan blamed himself. If he did then Mac had to do everything he could to make the younger man see sense. To put his mind to rest.

‘Mac?’

‘I don’t want to do anything to make matters worse.’

She handed him a tea towel to wipe his hands. Taking his can from him, she set it on the table before wiping the spill at his feet. When the oven timer buzzed it made them both jump.

He stood frozen as she pulled the tray from the oven and set it on the table.

‘Your rows are perfect.’ She pointed. ‘Look.’

He stared at them and something inside him swelled at their perfection, at the knowledge that he’d made them.

‘Mine are less so.’

‘Practice. All you need, Jo, is practice.’ Practice at making perfect rounds. Practice at believing she was beautiful.

I want you to realise you’re not responsible for the accident.

Could she be right? He was too afraid to believe it—too afraid that Ethan would take one look at him and turn away in disgust. But what if he didn’t?