Читать книгу Harper's Wish - Cerella Sechrist - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

“IT WAS HUMILIATING,” Harper pronounced as her sister loaded another helping of summer squash salad onto her plate. “He was about to offer me the job, and then as soon as he found out who I was, he kicked me out of the restaurant.”

Tessa froze. “Seriously? He didn’t physically remove you or anything, did he?”

“No, nothing like that,” Harper hastened to reassure her. “He just made it clear I wasn’t welcome on the premises.”

Tessa clicked her tongue in disapproval, and while Harper appreciated her sister’s support, she knew she couldn’t entirely blame Connor for his reaction.

“I kind of deserved it,” she admitted. “It was a pretty mean review. In fact, it was the one that jump-started my column, gained me all sorts of attention.”

“You should apologize. Then maybe he’ll hire you.”

Harper didn’t know whether to laugh at her sister’s naïveté or cringe at the suggestion of facing Connor Callahan once more.

“I don’t think it’s that simple, Tess. He’s obviously not the kind of guy to forgive and forget. I think it’s best if I give him and his restaurant a pretty wide berth.” She paused, surprised at how disappointed she felt following this observation. It shouldn’t have mattered any more than the other restaurant owners who had turned her away. But she couldn’t help wishing she’d have a chance to see Connor Callahan again. “Have you ever been to his restaurant?”

Tessa shook her head as she forked into the quiche Harper had made for dinner. “No, it’s kind of out of the way.”

“True.” She stabbed a piece of squash and nibbled it in contemplation.

“Have you told Mom and Dad?” her sister asked after swallowing a bite of the quiche.

“About losing my job?” Harper cringed. “Not yet. But I’ll email them in another day or two.”

The thought stole what little appetite Harper had, and she put down her fork.

“You should at least tell Paige,” Tessa said. “Maybe she can help you out, pull some strings to get you another job in the city. Not that I don’t want you here,” Tessa quickly assured. “In fact, you’re welcome to stay at the cottage as long as you like.”

Harper gave Tessa a grateful smile, trying to mask her discomfort at the thought of telling her older sister how she’d been fired from her job. Paige was the golden girl of the family—graduating with top honors from college and going on to attain her master’s in risk management analysis before she’d been hired on at their father’s investment firm. Paige had climbed the ladder with her usual dexterity and efficiency, and while Harper loved her, she always felt inferior around her older sister. The last thing she wanted was to ring her up and ask for job help.

“I can’t wait that long,” Harper said. “I need a job now. And I appreciate your offer to stay here for as long as it takes, but I refuse to live here without contributing to the household expenses.”

Tessa opened her mouth to protest, but Harper held up a hand.

“I mean it, Tess. I’m not going to sponge off my baby sister. I want to pull my own weight.”

“Harper, this cottage is as much yours as mine—”

Harper held up a hand to forestall this thought. “No, Tessa. This is your home. I appreciate your letting me stay here until I get back on my feet, but the cottage belongs to you and you alone.”

After all, Tessa had been the one who had moved in here when their grandmother was dying. She had nursed Nana in the last days of her life. It was a role she was already qualified for as a pediatric nurse, but that hadn’t made the task any easier. Because her baby sister had been there for their grandmother on a daily basis, and because Tessa loved this town, Nana had left the cottage to her. Nana had made sure Paige and Harper received bequests of equal value upon her passing, but since Findlay Roads had become a resort destination, the burgeoning real-estate market had tripled the value of the cottage.

But Harper didn’t begrudge her. No, the cottage was Tessa’s and for good reason. And Harper had no intention of living there as if the place were her own.

She pushed her plate aside and suppressed a sigh. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be Connor Callahan who owned the Rusty Anchor? She drummed her fingers on the tabletop, lamenting every harsh review she’d ever written and letting a sigh escape.

“How about if we do lunch tomorrow? I could take the afternoon off. We’ll go shopping in that new boutique on Second Street. My treat.”

Harper shook her head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll hit the pavement again and see if I can find any other job openings.” There had to be something available, even with most establishments already hired up for the season.

Tessa stood to clear the dinner dishes. “Try not to stress yourself out about it. Things will look up soon. I’m sure of it.”

She touched a reassuring hand to Harper’s shoulder, and Harper nodded. But as soon as Tessa turned around, she rested her cheek in her palm and frowned.

* * *

“WAKE UP, MY lazy bones.”

Connor nudged his daughter’s sleeping form and grinned at the way she burrowed her head beneath her pillow with a tiny groan.

“Dad!” He heard a muffled cry of indignation.

“It’s too beautiful a day to stay in bed.” He tugged the coverlet down and laughed as she squirmed. Seating himself on the edge of the mattress, he gently pulled aside the pillow. Molly blinked owlishly at him and then gave a yawn.

“I told you not to stay up so late, didn’t I?”

She huffed in annoyance.

“I’m dropping you off at the Evanses’ for the day. What do you want for breakfast?”

She stretched out her arms and legs and curled her toes as she sighed. “Pop-Tarts.”

He clicked his tongue. “No, Molly, a proper breakfast.”

She twisted around and rolled herself into his lap. “Pop-Tarts are a proper breakfast. They’re made with whole grains. It says so on the box.”

He smothered a laugh at this logic. “How about blueberry pancakes?”

Her eyes lit up. “With whipped cream?”

He eyed her.

“And extra blueberries?” she pressed.

“You drive a hard bargain. That’s not much better than Pop-Tarts.”

But she grinned, knowing she’d already won. As a single father, he found it difficult to deny her some days. As if his acquiescence could make up for the way her mother had walked out on them.

“Extra blueberries it is.”

She gave a tiny squeal of joy, smacked a kiss on his cheek and then hopped out of bed before padding in the direction of the bathroom. He rose and headed for their apartment kitchen above the restaurant.

Forty minutes later, Connor finished cleaning the remains of the whipped cream off Molly’s face.

“How are you enjoying your summer so far?” he asked as he tossed the paper towel into the waste bin. “Do you miss the first grade?”

“Nope,” Molly replied. “Summer is my favorite time of year because it means no more school.”

Connor pretended to be shocked. “But Molly...what about Christmas? I thought that was your favorite time of year.”

Molly sighed as if exasperated by her father’s lack of understanding. “That’s only ’cause there’s presents at Christmas.”

Connor laughed as he cleared the table of the remains of the breakfast. Molly helped bring over her plate and fork. Before she could scamper away, he knelt down so he was eye level with her.

“Now, listen, Molly, I want you to be on your best behavior at the Evanses’ today, yeah? No more pranks like you pulled at the Marshalls’ last week.”

She nodded, but he knew better. Molly seemed to find mischief no matter how many times she promised not to.

“That means no taking Piper’s mom’s makeup and using it to paint the baby.”

Molly frowned. “Piper’s mom doesn’t have a baby.”

“Right.” That had been the Browns. “Well. No trying to shave the dog, either.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Piper has cats, not a dog.”

Connor sighed. “Okay. My point is...no getting into trouble, right?”

She nodded, her expression all innocence. “Yes, Daddy. But can’t I just stay with you today?”

Connor tugged on one of the braids he’d made in her hair. He noted they were already coming loose with stray wisps of his daughter’s brown hair fluttering around her face. He’d never been that good at doing her hair.

“I thought you liked spending time at Piper’s house,” Connor replied.

Molly shook her head. “Piper’s house is too clean,” she pronounced. “And Mrs. Evans makes us pick up all the toys before we can do anything else. I’d like it better if Piper came here instead. Can she, Daddy? Please?”

Connor felt a guilty tug. Molly didn’t get to have friends over that often. It was hard enough to keep an eye on his daughter while running the restaurant; he could never manage two children while working. And what little free time he did have, he liked to keep for just the two of them. He worried that he didn’t spend enough time with her as it was.

“Ah, not today, love. But maybe on Monday, when the restaurant’s closed. You can show off the place, yeah? Don’t forget, you have a job here, too, after all.”

This reminder elicited a grin, and Connor noted the tiny gap where one of her baby teeth had come out last week. His little girl was growing up.

“Official taste tester,” she proudly proclaimed.

“That’s right.”

Molly beamed, and Connor leaned forward to press a kiss on her forehead. “Now, go on and get your backpack while I finish clearing the table.”

Connor stood, watching his daughter skip from the room and feeling his chest tighten at the sight. She was growing up so fast. In a few more years, he feared he’d be completely out of his depth with her. He and his sister, Rory, had been close growing up, especially after their father had moved them from Ireland to the States. His own mother had died in his birth country, and the lack of a maternal influence in his life left him feeling extremely unqualified to raise a little girl on his own.

Just then, his cell phone vibrated, and he tugged it from his pocket to check the caller ID. He frowned at the number that appeared on the screen and then answered, trying to curb some of his irritation.

“I wondered if you ever planned to call me back.”

* * *

HARPER ROLLED OUT of bed in time to say goodbye before Tessa headed off to work and then poured a large mug of coffee as she heard her sister pulling out of the drive. She dosed her java with creamer and took a sip to fortify herself for the day ahead. She’d been up late the night before, searching the local classifieds for job openings. The listings were slim, but she’d found an ad for a pet-store clerk and another for a cashier at the local supermarket. She planned to shower and dress and then head out to drop off some résumés.

She sat at the kitchen table and scrolled through the emails on her phone, deleting the junk mail and archiving the personal ones for later. She was halfway through her mug of coffee and her in-box when the doorbell rang.

Straightening, she felt a wave of annoyance. Who could that be first thing in the morning? Surely all of Tessa’s acquaintances were at work or knew she was. And Harper had only been in town forty-eight hours—she couldn’t imagine anyone would be coming to see her. She ran a hand through her hair, knowing it must be standing on end. She hadn’t even bothered to look in the mirror yet this morning.

She was debating whether to run to the bathroom to at least pull a brush through her tangles when an impatient knock sounded on the door. She grumbled “where’s the fire?” beneath her breath and then tugged at her nightshirt and sleep shorts, wishing she’d brought a robe downstairs with her.

She opened the door and almost shut it again.

Connor Callahan was standing on the cottage doorstep.

* * *

CONNOR BLINKED AT the sight of Harper, hair mussed from sleep and dressed in a modest T-shirt and pajama shorts, as she stared at him from inside the cottage doorway.

He experienced a mixture of relief and embarrassment. “Oh, good, it’s the right house. You didn’t leave an address, so I had to go off your description from our conversation yesterday.”

Harper was still staring. “It’s you,” she stated.

“Aye.” He fidgeted uncomfortably. “It’s me.”

He was somewhat prepared to have the door slammed in his face, after the way they’d parted the day before. But to Harper’s credit, she seemed more baffled than angry.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I wondered if we could...talk.”

“Talk?” She shook her head. “Look, if you came here to chew me out again about that review, I’d really rather skip it. I’m still looking for work, and I’d rather not start my day with a reprimand about how I ruined you.”

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I came to offer you a job.”

It was gratifying to see how her mouth sagged open. Seconds later, her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.

“Are you messing with me? Because if so, I swear—”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not messing with you. I’m serious. Look, can we talk or are you not interested? Because if you’re not, I don’t have any time to waste. I need to find another server.”

This statement made her reconsider. “Well...if you’re serious...then why don’t you come inside?”

She stepped out of the way and gestured for him to enter the cottage. He moved inside, and she shut the door behind him.

She seemed to recall her manners. “There’s coffee brewed. Would you like a cup?”

He nodded, and she led the way into the kitchen, pulling a mug from the cupboard and setting it on the counter.

“There’s creamer in the fridge and sugar on the table. I’m just going to head upstairs for a minute and change. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

While Harper disappeared to make herself more presentable, Connor poured a mug of coffee and added a pinch of sugar. He didn’t want to be nosy and roam around the house so he sat down at the kitchen table and nursed the hot brew as he waited for Harper to return. He let his eyes travel over the tidy room with its weathered white cabinets and pale blue doors. A driftwood rack hung on the wall from sturdy hooks and held various copper pans and utensils, along with ceramic mugs and jars with bold navy-and-white stripes. The room was a cozy blend of vintage and modern. It left him curious, not only about Harper but about the sister she’d mentioned and the grandmother who had owned this place before passing on.

He was admiring the butcher-block counter on the kitchen island when Harper finally reentered the kitchen, dressed in capris and a short-sleeved shirt with her hair neatly brushed and pinned behind her head. She looked much more poised and confident, but he found he rather missed the adorably disheveled woman who had answered the door.

“It’s a nice morning,” she remarked as he rose to his feet at her entrance. “Why don’t we talk out on the back porch?”

She grabbed her coffee mug off the table, leading the way through the hall and out the patio door. Connor followed. She gestured toward the porch swing, which looked to be the only seat available. He settled himself on it, holding his mug in one hand and stretching his legs out before him.

Harper eyed the remaining space on the swing and must have decided it was too close. She leaned against the nearby porch railing instead, and he felt a ripple of amusement and a strange disappointment at the distance she placed between them.

“Contrary to the impression our conversation yesterday likely created, I don’t really bite, you know,” he remarked.

She appeared flustered by this and placed her coffee mug on the porch rail before crossing her arms over her midsection. She cleared her throat.

“Does that mean you came to apologize?”

“Apologize?” He straightened abruptly, and a few droplets of coffee sloshed onto his hand. He placed the mug on the porch floor and wiped his hand across his pants. “Why should I apologize?”

Her lips tightened into a thin line, and he couldn’t help thinking how cute her mouth would be, full and kissable, if she stopped grimacing like that.

“Because you practically kicked me out of your restaurant yesterday,” she protested.

“And you deserved it,” he shot back.

She spluttered. “Deserved it? I helped you through that lunch rush, free of charge—”

He held up a hand. “All right, all right. You have a point,” he grudgingly conceded. Besides, arguing with her wasn’t going to benefit either of them at the moment.

He stood and she backed up slightly. The sight made him frown. “Look, I’m sorry. You did me a good turn yesterday, and I appreciate it.” Saying the words aloud choked him a bit. It was difficult to humble himself where Harper Worth was concerned.

But the apology had its intended effect. Harper relaxed.

“Thank you. I appreciate your saying so.”

“Good. So, now that that’s out of the way...”

Her lips turned down at this.

“...let’s get down to business. I’ve come here to offer you that server’s position you wanted.”

She eyed him studiously, as though trying to determine his motivations. “Why?” she asked.

He took a few steps across the porch, uncomfortable with having to admit the tight spot he was in.

“Because my server who didn’t show up? Apparently, she broke her leg in a motorcycle accident yesterday morning. She was in the ER and was understandably too distracted to phone in that she’d be missing her shift. I just heard from her a bit ago. And of course now she’s out of commission for the rest of the summer.” He drew a breath. “The Anchor may not be the busiest restaurant in the area, but I still can’t manage with only a part-time teenage server and my sous chef filling in occasionally. I need another person.”

He didn’t add that he was hoping business would pick up soon, and if it did—when it did—he’d need a decent server on board. And with the summer season under way and everyone hired on at other restaurants, finding good staff right now was nearly impossible.

“Why me?” Harper asked, as if sensing his reluctance to elaborate on the matter. “I thought we were sworn enemies.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, even enemies can get along if they’re both in a tight spot, right? I need a competent server, and you’ve proved you can keep your cool under pressure. And you need a job. Surely we can work together for a few months?”

She seemed to be considering. “Are you sure you’re not doing this for some sort of revenge? Hire me on and then fire me in another week or something?”

He placed a hand across his heart. “Your distrust wounds me. Besides, you’re giving yourself too much credit. I’m trying to run a restaurant—I don’t have time to be playing petty games of revenge.”

She blushed at this.

“But I will confess that I wouldn’t mind seeing the great Harper Worth scrubbing toilets at the end of the night.” He went on to explain. “You should know that we’re operating with a skeleton crew, and each member of staff is expected to pitch in with various chores on their shift.”

“What sort of chores?” she questioned.

“Why? Are you too proud to do a little cleaning?”

She ground her teeth together, and he felt a happy satisfaction at the sound. He was getting under her skin, and he had to admit—he liked it.

Keeping up the momentum, he asked, “I wondered—what happened that cost you your job as reigning queen of restaurant reviews?”

She winced at the title, and he wondered if he’d pushed her too far. But after a pause, she answered, “I made the mistake of reviewing my boss’s goddaughter’s restaurant...only, I didn’t know their connection at the time.”

“Ah. I take it you were your usual, barb-tongued self?”

She sighed and lowered her voice. “Yes. It’s what I’m known for. Harper Worth, the snide, snarky critic.”

“Don’t forget snobby.”

She glared at him. “Now you sound like my readers.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I thought your adoring fans lapped up your condescension.”

“They used to. But now...they’re saying I’m too harsh, that I never have anything nice to say, there’s no pleasing me.” She made a face. “An audience’s affections are a fickle thing.”

He watched as she moved to the swing and sat down.

“I know what they call me,” she went on. “The harpy. But I’m not a total shrew. I did offer up some nice reviews, after all. What I learned about those nice reviews?” She sat down on the edge of the swing. “Nobody read them. I think the public just enjoys watching others get cut down. Flip through the television channels, and you’ll see plenty of reality TV shows with people spouting opinions even harsher than mine.”

Connor moved closer and leaned one shoulder against the porch post.

“You’ll forgive me if I can’t offer much sympathy for your predicament.”

She shrugged. “I’m sure this feels like justice for a lot of people.”

He didn’t reply. Justice? She’d lost her job. He’d lost his as well, along with a restaurant and all his savings. He didn’t really think it was the same thing. But he couldn’t afford to argue that point right now.

“Well, then, what do you say? Do you want the job or not?”

She looked up at him. “You really drove over here just to offer me a job? With no ulterior motives?”

“Strange as it may seem... I did.” After all, it wasn’t as if they were becoming friends. She was just coming to work for him. He still held the upper hand—as her boss, he’d be calling the shots.

“All right,” she finally agreed. “When can I start?”

She didn’t say so, but he sensed the same desperation in her that he’d been feeling. She needed this job as much as he needed her to start immediately.

“Can you come in this morning, say around ten?”

He noted a flicker of relief in her eyes before she blinked.

“That should be fine.”

“Great. Then, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to be getting back.”

She stood to show him out and they walked back through the cottage to the front door.

She opened the door, and he stepped through.

“Connor?” she said, her voice soft.

He paused.

“I guess I should say...thanks.”

He inclined his head ever so slightly at this and then walked toward his truck.

* * *

HARPER FELT A ripple of nerves as she stepped up to the Rusty Anchor’s door for her first day on the job. The restaurant wasn’t open yet, and the door was locked, so she rapped soundly on the glass and waited. She scanned the docks fronting the building, impressed with the glossy serenity of the bay in the midmorning sunlight. The Anchor might be a bit out of the way, but the view of the water was worth it.

She was watching a pair of ducks floating near the shore when the sound of the door opening jerked her attention back to the restaurant.

“We’re not open for business yet.”

Harper looked into the assessing hazel eyes of a woman about her own age. “Oh, I know. I’m Harper. Connor hired me as a server.”

The other woman’s frown deepened. Not a reassuring sight.

“You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”

Harper didn’t know what to make of this. “Um...thanks?”

The woman’s mouth twitched, ever so slightly. “I mean, I always thought the Worth It? column was written by some older, soured socialite.”

“Oh.” Harper’s reputation as a critic had clearly preceded her. What had Connor told his other employees?

“Never mind. Come on inside. I’m Erin, Connor’s sous chef, part-time manager and occasional server.”

Though Connor had said his sous chef also worked as a server, she blinked at the multiple roles the other woman juggled. Erin shrugged. “Times are tough around here, so we all take on additional duties to help out. At least it keeps us from getting too bored. Come on into the back, and I’ll introduce you to Leah. She just got here.”

Erin led the way through the main dining area and toward the back of the room. “Tomorrow, you can enter by the back doors off the alley. Connor unlocks those every morning.”

They emerged from the hallway and into the kitchen. A slim, long-legged teen with hair so black it had a blue sheen stood to the far right, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Erin ignored her and showed Harper the rooms behind the kitchen area. There was a stockroom, a walk-in refrigerator and a laundry area to wash the restaurant linens.

“We use those lockers to store our personal belongings while we’re here.” She gestured to a row of much-abused gray lockers with peeling paint.

Harper followed Erin back into the kitchen.

“Leah?”

The dark-haired woman looked up.

“This is Harper, the new server I was telling you about.”

Leah cocked her head. “I thought you said she was older.”

Erin cleared her throat. “I was wrong—that was just my assumption.”

Harper decided to make the best of this awkward introduction and stepped forward to extend a hand.

“I’m thirty years old,” she offered.

Leah’s face melted into a grin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” She stuck her hand in Harper’s. “Is it true you used to be a big-city restaurant critic?”

Harper felt a stab of pain at this reminder. Is this how she was forever to be introduced? Harper Worth, once a well-known restaurant critic of the DC area...now a modest server. But Leah’s smile was warm and friendly so Harper offered one in return.

“Yes. I’m known for the Worth It? column.”

Leah’s eyes widened. “Oh, I think I’ve heard of that. You’re always cutting on restaurants, right?” She went on in a single breath, “It must be so great to live in the city and dine at all the exclusive places.”

Harper winced at Leah’s description of her column. It was sadly accurate. Fortunately, Erin cleared her throat before Harper could respond.

“Leah, I’ll get Harper started off today, but you might have to show her some of the ropes later on.”

“Sweet. Maybe you could tell me what it’s like, living in a big city?”

Harper nodded, and Leah beamed at her. Well, at least it looked as if she might have one friend around here. She hoped Rafael would show up soon, and then she might feel reasonably welcome at her new job. Of course, there was still... She looked around.

“Where’s Connor?”

Before Erin could respond, Connor stepped through the kitchen’s doorway. A shiver ran through her at the sight of him, whether from nerves or something else, she couldn’t be certain. He looked rather dashing in his chef’s uniform, the crisp, white fabric hugging his broad shoulders. His eyes fell on Harper.

“Ah, I see my newest employee has arrived.”

He clapped his hands together and gave Harper the once over. She tensed at the sound.

“Let’s get you started, shall we?”

* * *

HARPER STARED AS Connor held out the handle of a mop in her direction.

“What’s that?” she asked with some trepidation.

“What’s it look like?” Connor turned the question around.

He shook the handle to get her to take it, and she gripped it in her hands as he released it to her.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“The bathrooms need a thorough going-over. You can start by mopping, and then I’ll show you where the rest of the cleaning supplies are kept so you can do the toilets, sink and the like.”

Harper stiffened. Connor had warned her there’d be chores, but she hadn’t expected she’d start her first shift cleaning the restrooms. “Shouldn’t I be learning the menu first?”

Connor clicked his tongue at her. “Tsk, tsk, Ms. Worth. Are you so high and mighty that you won’t lower yourself to scrub a few floors?”

Harper bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping back an undignified reply. Had this been Connor’s motivation when he offered her a job—saddling her with the most demeaning duties in the restaurant?

“I did tell you that you’d have to pitch in with the cleaning tasks,” he reminded.

“You did,” she conceded, “but you seem kind of smug about it.”

“Smug?” He scowled. “Might I remind you that you’re speaking to your new boss?”

She cringed. What had she gotten herself into?

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of quitting before you’ve even begun,” he goaded.

Of course. He’d enjoy that—for her to admit defeat. Was that what he’d wanted all along? Or did he really need a server? Well, it didn’t matter. She needed this job, and she was not the stuck-up snob he implied. She had no problem cleaning toilets—her father had instilled a driving work ethic in her from the time she was small. But her pride prickled at the way Connor had presented the job.

She raised her head and looked Connor in the eye. “You’d better show me where the mop bucket is kept.”

Satisfaction rippled through her as surprise flitted across her boss’s features. Her gratification was short-lived, however, as he gestured for her to follow him to the back room where a rack of cleaning supplies and a mop bucket were stored.

Once she was outfitted with the mop, bucket and a pair of gloves, Connor led her to the restrooms and propped open the ladies’ room door. “Make sure you get in all the nooks and crannies,” he reminded her, “and when you’re done with the floors, start on the commodes.”

He lingered, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed her standing in the middle of the restroom. She had a feeling he was taking a mental snapshot to replay whenever he remembered the sting of her review.

She sloshed the mop into the water and then used the bucket’s lever to press the excess liquid from its strands before she got to work. She did her best to ignore Connor’s presence, and after a couple of minutes, she looked over her shoulder to realize he’d gone. She straightened and surveyed the wet floor before catching her own reflection in the restroom mirrors. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but already the efforts of cleaning the restroom had caused a few strands to come loose around her face. The yellow rubber gloves she wore contrasted with the white button-down shirt and khakis that were a server’s standard uniform at the Anchor. If she’d known she’d be working as a cleaning lady, she’d have shown up in a grubby T-shirt and jeans. She blew the hair out of her eyes and looked away from her reflection.

How far she had fallen. From famed restaurant critic to humble janitor. She was glad her father couldn’t see her now. It had been hard enough for him to accept her choice not to come work for him after college as her older sister, Paige, had done years before. Seeing her reduced to cleaning bathrooms would only deepen his disappointment.

Putting aside those musings, Harper turned her attention back to mopping. When the floors in both bathrooms were spotless, she set to work on the sinks, mirrors and toilets.

Connor popped back in to check on her as she was finishing the men’s room commodes. She sensed him before she saw him, turning to find his lips twitching with amusement at the sight of her hunched over the toilet bowl. She ground her teeth together and swiped at a drip of perspiration along her temple, careful to use her upper arm so she didn’t brush against the rubber gloves she wore. It grated that Connor appeared so unfazed, leaning against the bathroom doorway as she struggled with her task. And what right did he have to look so ridiculously handsome while she was a sweaty mess?

“You missed the base,” he cheerily pointed out, directing her attention to the bottom of the toilet.

She took the opportunity to glare at him before attacking the area he’d indicated. He stepped into the room as she scrubbed at the last of the porcelain surface, and when she stole a glance upward, she saw him surveying her work.

“Not bad,” he finally admitted as she stood and stripped off the rubber gloves.

“Not bad?” she repeated in disbelief. “These restrooms are so clean, you could set up tables in here and serve dinner.”

He affected an expression of horror. “But, Harper, what would a restaurant critic say if they should happen to see something like that?”

She squeezed the rubber gloves in her fist and refused to rise to the bait.

“Well, then,” he said when he saw she wasn’t going to reply. “On to the next order of business.”

Connor looked so eager that she felt a twinge of dismay at what he had planned for her.

The grease trap.

She should have guessed. Cleaning it was one of the worst jobs in a restaurant, and one that was often contracted out to a service company. But with the Rusty Anchor’s tight finances, Connor had decided to keep the task in-house. As frustrating as bathroom duty was, Harper knew it was a plush job compared to cleaning the grease trap. All the oily sludge and congealed chunks of fat from cooking were routed into the trap in order to save the pipes. Even Rafael, whose task it normally was to clean it, eyed her with pity when Connor gave her the instructions. When she first pried off the lid, the sulfuric smells nearly made her gag. She turned her head and saw Connor standing several feet away, watching her with suppressed enjoyment.

With a grimace, she took a deep breath and went back at it, determined not to reveal any more of the disgust she was feeling.

By the time she finished, her stomach was twisted with nausea from the smell, and her arms were covered in black streaks of slick, stinky grease. Her once-pristine white shirt was soaked with sweat, and there were permanent smudges covering the front. But she was secretly pleased. She doubted the grease trap had looked this clean since the day it was installed. Her pride in the achievement was short-lived, though—Connor came over, inspected her work and shrugged.

“I suppose it’ll have to do.”

She gritted her teeth and forced back a growl.

“Since you’re finished with that, why don’t you scour the grills next?”

* * *

CONNOR KNEW HE shouldn’t be enjoying himself this much. But there was something so...satisfying about seeing the haughty Harper Worth at manual labor. It almost made up for that crummy review she’d given him.

Almost. But not quite.

He had to give it to her, though. He’d thought she’d quit on the spot when he handed her that mop bucket. And after the thorough cleanings she’d given the restrooms, he was sure the grease trap would finish her off. Not that he wanted to see her quit, exactly. He hadn’t been lying when he told her he needed a server. Leah was just a high school kid, after all, working part-time over the summer. And Erin couldn’t keep juggling so many responsibilities in the restaurant. But he didn’t see why he should make things easy on Harper just because he was in need of another server.

“Make sure you put some elbow grease into that,” he said as he walked by the grill on his way to the stockroom.

He just caught the face she made before he turned his back and disappeared into the stock area, humming a tune beneath his breath. He had to admit, having Harper around had certainly put him in good spirits.

By the time he emerged from the stockroom, she’d finished scouring the grill top and was at the wash sink, lathering up her hands with soap. He felt just the faintest twinge of shame at the sight of her. She had streaks of black grease smudged not only on her pants and the hem of her nice white shirt but also tattooed across the back of her arms. When she turned around, drying her hands on a towel, he noted her outfit was ruined from the cleaning tasks he’d assigned. Her blond hair had come loose from its ponytail and fell in thick strands across her cheeks. She looked in need of a hot shower and large glass of wine. And he thought, just for the length of a breath, about placing his palms on her shoulders and massaging away the tension riding the ridge of her back.

He frowned at the idea and determined not to let guilt get the better of him. This was the harpy, after all. She deserved none of his sympathy. He told himself he was doing this for every restaurateur who had suffered an unjust review from some ego-inflated critic.

Still, the way Harper’s shoulders sagged when she caught sight of him tugged at his conscience. He decided to ease up, but only a little.

“If you’re finished here, why don’t you iron the linen napkins?” he suggested. “The laundry is back that way—” he pointed behind him “—and there’s an ironing board and iron in there, as well.”

She gave a curt nod and tossed aside the towel before heading toward the back room.

Rafael had carried in a bin of dishes just in time to witness Connor’s instructions. He placed the plastic tub beside the sink and frowned in his boss’s direction. “She hasn’t complained once, boss. Not even while cleaning the grease trap. Don’t you think you’re coming down a little hard on her?”

Connor shrugged. “What’s that saying? If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen?”

“But shouldn’t you be preparing her to start serving? Erin may have picked up the slack this week but what about next week? You need to put Harper out on the floor.”

“In time,” Connor replied. “But I think it’s best to find out if she’s committed first, don’t you?”

Rafael didn’t meet Connor’s eyes. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

Connor sensed Rafael’s disapproval and felt another pinch of shame. But Rafael only knew the recently humbled Harper. He was unfamiliar with the self-important critic who’d destroyed Connor’s business.

“I wouldn’t worry about her if I were you, Rafael. She’s the type of woman who doesn’t stay down for long.”

When Rafael didn’t reply, Connor felt a ripple of irritation. Was he the only one who knew Harper for what she really was?