Home > Fetching (Unleashed Romance #1)(2)

Fetching (Unleashed Romance #1)(2)
Author: Kylie Gilmore

My brother Drew grabs my upper arm as I swing by him at the bar, halting me. “That guy bothering you?” he asks in a low voice, his gaze narrowing on Wyatt. Drew is five years older than me and a certified badass—former Army Ranger with a black belt. He runs his own dojo in town. He’ll kick ass on my behalf, but I’m no damsel in distress. Besides, I grew up with brothers—two older, two younger—I know how to handle men.

“He’s just annoying,” I say. “No problem.”

He releases my arm. “Say the word.”

I give him an exaggerated smacking kiss on his cheek, which always throws him.

He rubs the spot. “Syd! Come on. Is there pink on my cheek?”

I sail behind the bar. “So much pink,” I lie. “Better head to the men’s room to get properly manly again.” It’s actually coral, a darker shade of pink to go with my auburn hair, but try explaining lipstick shade to a grumpy alpha male.

He checks himself with his phone’s camera and huffs, tucking the phone back in his jeans’ pocket. “Smart-ass.”

I pour Wyatt’s ale and then check on a few customers at the bar, filling their drinks too. Mostly as a stalling tactic so I don’t have to deal with Mr. Big City Snark yet. I heard Wyatt moved here from Manhattan. Why? Why couldn’t he have stayed in the city?

I flag down one of our servers and pass Wyatt’s drink to her. It’s self-preservation. The less I interact with him, the better the chance I don’t dump a drink on his head. That wouldn’t be very hospitable of me.

After I check on things in the kitchen for the upcoming buffet dinner, I take another tour through the restaurant, making sure everyone’s enjoying drinks and appetizers, and reminding them of the fab silent auction items. I work hard to sound upbeat about the auction instead of desperate. My father left this place in such debt before his passing, no bank will give me a loan. Nasty surprise, that debt. He hid his financial troubles from me and my brothers out of some misguided need to protect us. He was a great dad, though, and stepped up after my mom passed when I was twelve.

Wyatt catches my eye. “Appetizers are good.”

Pleased that he finally said something positive about my place, I close the distance, stopping at his table. “Glad you’re enjoying them.”

He leans back in his chair. “Have you ever thought of upgrading the dinner menu?”

My temper flares, but I manage to keep a civil tone. “No. Locals love it.”

“Not saying it’s bad, just unoriginal. I mean, every meal comes with either French fries or baked potato. A new chef might bring some life to the place. Isn’t that what tonight’s fundraiser’s all about? Keeping this place open?” He taps the table. “With the right management, a better chef, this place has potential.”

I manage this place, and the chef is a family friend. I bare my teeth. “Seems you know a lot about the restaurant business.”

“Not at all. I just appreciate a good one.”

I jam my hands on my hips and glare at him. Obviously he thinks we’re a bad one! I’m so furious I can’t even speak.

He cocks his head. “Cindy, are you cross with me?”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I snap. “Coming in here and insulting my place left and right! If you don’t like it, don’t come back.”

He arches a brow. “Since you own the place, maybe we could talk about some serious improvements. You don’t know what you don’t know, am I right?”

I bristle. “This place was my great-grandfather’s, passed down the generations, and now it’s mine.” I leave out that Drew is the one who actually inherited it and declared it a lost cause because of the debt dragging it down. I took it over rather than let him sell it. “It’s an institution in this town, and we’re doing just fine without your city snark. How dare you walk in here and spew your judgment over all of us!”

He smirks. “I don’t recall spewing.”

My heartbeat roars in my ears, anger clouding all good reason. I desperately want to smack that smirk off his face.

He gestures to his ale, which he barely touched. “I didn’t like this one. Could I get one of those local Connecticut ales you mentioned?”

I stare at his glass of ale. I want to throw it in his face and watch his shock as it drips down his beard, fancy sport coat, and dress shirt.

He chuckles. “That’s an evil look in your eye, Cindy. You’re thinking about dumping this drink on my head, aren’t you?”

How did he know? “Not at all,” I lie.

He leans close and smirks. “I dare you.”

Oh no he didn’t. He’s deliberately baiting me. I work for a cool collected tone. “It’s too bad you didn’t like your ale because that is the last drink you’re ever getting here.”

“Just because I said with a better chef this place has potential?”

It was that and a pile of other insults. I’m so done with this guy. I don’t care if he’s a newcomer and alone on New Year’s Eve. I turn on my heel and nearly run into Harper and her fiancé, Garrett, who probably heard everything.

“Syd, are you okay?” Harper asks, her brows furrowing over concerned hazel eyes. She’s wearing her dark brown curls down and her skin glows with good health.

I give her a hug. “So happy to see you!” I pull back. “You too, Garrett. I’ve got a table reserved just for you.” I gesture for them to follow me and head over to it, relieved to get away from that arrogant, critical, evil man. I will forever after refer to him as Wart. Satan is too good for him.

I take the small reserved sign off the table and realize they haven’t followed me. They’re sitting with Wyatt, talking to him. Harper holds up a finger for me to wait. Does he know them, or did he just invite them to join him? Harper is a very popular actress. Everyone wants to talk to her.

Wart winks at me, saying in a loud voice, “Right, Sydney.” I don’t catch the rest of what he says. I bet Harper corrected him calling me Cindy. Grr…

I bend over and slap my ass at him. Screw you, Wart!

Harper gasps and hurries over to me. “What are you doing? Don’t you know who that is?”

“Yeah, Wyatt.” The smug asshole who insulted my father’s legacy.

She leans close and whispers, “Didn’t you get my email?”

I stare at her, confused. We emailed quite a bit about tonight’s fundraiser. “Which one?”

She puts a hand on my arm, her voice taking on an urgent tone that has the hair on the back of my neck rising. “About who he is and what he can do for you.”

“No, I didn’t get any email about him.” My voice is barely above a whisper. I clear my throat. “It must’ve went to junk or got lost in cyberspace. Who is he?”

“He’s a retired billionaire with experience turning around failing businesses. I met him at a fundraiser and told him about Summerdale. He wanted somewhere to lie low and chill. Anyway, I might’ve mentioned that The Horseman Inn needs help.” At my stunned silence, she goes on in a rush. “Don’t be mad, okay? You refused to accept a loan from me, which I get because we’re friends, but I couldn’t just do nothing. He could help you.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you slapped your ass at him.”

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