“Really, Fury? That’s all you have to say after you just stole Anna from me?”
Jameson chuckles and offers me a slow grin that raises heat that definitely isn’t anger in body parts that definitely should not be heating up for this man. “Oh, I have a lot to say to you, Iz. I’m just getting started.”
JAMESON
Her perfectly pink bow lips open, and her jaw drops slightly, though why she’s still surprised by anything I say to her is a mystery. I would have thought the chair incident would have taught her something about me—that I’m not about to let her mess up my plans. Whether that be sunbathing or opening this place.
“But I'm in the middle of an interview right now.” I flash her another grin. “So, let’s chat later.”
My words—or maybe it’s the grin—make her issue another low growl and stomp her foot again, and I can't fight back my chuckle. Getting her worked up has turned into my new favorite pastime, and this is only our third run-in. The woman has managed to avoid another confrontation by beating me here every morning over the past week—a feat only made possible by the fact that I’ve been so sore and exhausted that I’ve let myself sleep in a bit longer than usual.
There’s just something about how easy it is to push her buttons that really gives me the comedic lift I need after a long day’s work. It’s the same joy I got from messing with Rach growing up, only this time, the end result won’t be big sis running to Mom or Bash, crying about it. And this time, I won’t have Dad smacking me around because I made Rachel cry. This time, I’m hoping the end result will be Isabella giving up and leaving…
But it feels rude to be having this argument in front of our friend here. The poor guy just came for an interview and got stuck in the middle of a war he had no idea was happening.
I hold up a finger to her and turn to Mr. Albertson, offering an apologetic smile. “I'd love to have you come work for me as front of house, and the woman you saw leaving on your way in will be the head waitress.”
Normally, I would spend a lot more time checking references and backgrounds of anyone I hire, but this is too good of an opportunity to pass up—both to get a great employee and also to piss Isabella the fuck off.
Mr. Albertson smiles and claps his hands together. “Awesome.”
Isabella releases a little gasp.
I ignore her and plow ahead. “Can you come by tomorrow to take care of all the paperwork?”
“Absolutely.” The enthusiasm with which Mr. Albertson says the word hangs in the air, and then he seems to remember that Isabella is standing right next to him and swallows thickly. He turns uncomfortably toward her. “I have to cancel our interview.”
Rage reddens her pale cheeks, and she clenches her jaw so tightly I wouldn’t be surprised to hear her teeth actually crack at this point. “Yeah. I got that.”
It wouldn’t surprise me if she lashed out and slapped me—or hell, even him—at this point, but she just takes a deep breath in her through her nose and blows it out of her mouth slowly.
Mr. Albertson shrugs and walks away, offering me a little wave on his way out. Now that he's gone, fireworks are sure to really fly. Isabella is so wound up that she looks ready to snap. This is likely to rival her reaction to the chair in her parking space.
Let’s get ready for a Fourth of July-style display.
She whirls on me, her blond hair flying out in a halo around her. The anger flashing deep in her green eyes sends a jolt straight between my legs, images of what it would be like to have all that passion channeled toward me in another context flashing in my mind and causing my cock to stir. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” The woman needs to be a little more specific on that. There is any number of things I’m doing that she could be referring to. Including getting an uncomfortable hard-on the longer we have this argument.
“Stop trying to sabotage me.”
I shrug and close the notebook I have on the bar with all of Mr. Albertson's information written in it, using the shift in my body to surreptitiously adjust my cock behind my zipper. “I'm not trying to sabotage you. I'm just doing what I can to ensure my business succeeds. You can't take everything so personally.”
Her eyes widen. “Can't take everything so personally?” She scoffs and throws up her hands. “Stealing my parking spot is not just doing business. Intentionally blocking me from using it is not just doing business. Poaching my staff is not just doing business.”
I hold up a hand to stop her there. Not only is there no need to list my sins, but she’s so wrong on so many levels here. “First, Mr. Albertson hadn't even met with you when I hired him, so I didn't poach anybody, and second, Anna was walking by as I was opening up this morning and was curious to see the inside of the place. I had no way of knowing who she was or why she was here. She was the one who mentioned to me that she worked in the restaurant industry. Which seemed like an open invite from her to offer her a position, plus an amazing opportunity for me to start hiring some staff.”
Isabella opens her mouth to protest, but I stop her with my hand again.
“She wasn’t even on your payroll yet, so I don't know how you can consider that ‘poaching’ anyone.”
She fumes, stepping up to me until her chest almost brushes mine. A familiar scent, something from my childhood I can’t quite place, invades every breath I take, and I glance down at the stains all over the shirt and point.
“You have a little something on your shirt.”
That cute little growl she does slips out again. The sound is so unladylike but so hot at the same time.
I wonder if she does that during sex…
Then, she shoves a finger in my chest, heat radiating through my body from that tiny pinpoint connection between us. “That's from working hard. I can't just pay people to set up my restaurant and get things organized for me. I actually have to work for it.”
“Whoa.” I throw up my hands and narrow my eyes at her. “You think I don't work hard? You think all this”—I wave my hands around—"just miraculously fell into my lap? You think I won Prime Chef just because of this pretty face?”
She flinches slightly. The thought had crossed her mind, apparently.
One step brings me even closer until I can feel the warm flutter of her breath against my skin and the finger she has jabbed into my chest pushes even deeper into my ribcage. “I work just as hard as you do. If not harder. Because I have a partner who is investing a hell of a lot of money into this place, which means that if it fails, he's going to lose a hell of a lot of money. It's not just my ass on the line—other people's asses are on the line, too. That's more pressure than you could possibly imagine. Everyone is expecting me to be perfect. For this place to be perfect. That means I have to make it perfect. And if that means ‘poaching’”—I air-quote the word because I still don't agree that that's what happened—“people you want to hire for your place, then so be it. It's the cost of doing business.”
She scowls at me and finally drags her finger from me. My body instantly recognizes the loss of contact between us, and I want to lean back into her. But that would be stupid and dangerous.