Page 13 of Never Say Yes To Your Boss

“He is. Even if he shares the same father as all of you. And shared the womb with you for nine months. It’s a good thing you came out first. If you had to rely on him as the firstborn, you’d all be fucked.”

I work out the kinks in my shoulder, rubbing at the muscles like I always do after a long or not-so-long day. “Anyway, no, he hasn’t responded yet.”

“Hmphf.”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.”

“She’s waiting for you in the dining room already.”

I start and nearly fall out of my chair. “What time is it?”

“Six-thirty.”

“Damn.” I swipe my hand over grainy eyes. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” I push myself out of the chair. “I’ll go join her.”

“Should I come with you?”

“Up to you. You don’t have to. You can take the rest of the night off.”

Hans’ brows shoot up, and I know what he’s thinking. “What happens if you have another drowning crisis and this time I’m nowhere to be found?”

“Very funny. I’ll survive. And you’re not going to leave here, so I know where to find you.”

He finishes peeling the apple and lets the apple skin snake fall onto his lap. Instead of eating the apple, he picks up the peeland starts munching on it, feeding it into his mouth a little at a time. I’m not sure what the point in peeling the damn thing was if he was going to eat the peel all along. “I told her she had free access to the grounds today, but I don’t think she went outside. She spent the morning in the library, poking around, and then, this afternoon, she spent most of it in her room. I think she was video-chatting with her family. She didn’t seem to want to have someone accompany her outside, and when I suggested hiring a friend or a companion for her if she was lonely, she gave me a look that said, please curl up and die.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. She did try and drown you last night.”

I wince as a phantom pain shoots through my balls. “She was trying to save me.”

Hans snorts. “As if I couldn’t do my job.”

“How was that magazine, by the way? Good? You’ll have to share it with me sometime.”

He could flip me the bird, but he’s rather secure in his masculinity. Also, he answers me in something that I think is Danish and grins at me. Lord, he can be unsettling sometimes, but I just find it amusing now. “Have a good night off, Hans.”

“I’ll keep my ear peeled for disaster.”

“You do that.”

“Boss?” Hans calls out.

I stop in the doorway. I hate when he calls me that. I slowly pivot around. He flashes me two thumbs up, which also happens to be an apple and some apple peel kind of thumbs up because he’s still holding onto them. “It was great. I’ll lend it to you sometime if you’re interested.”

The guy happens to have an obsession with all things written, and he loves photos, so I guess that extends to magazines. I didn’t peg him as a fashion lover, and he surprised me yet againlast night when he whipped that baby out. It was something from Europe, all thick and blocky and huge.

When I got to the dining room, I noticed that the dining room table had been set for two, and Everleigh was seated in the same chair she occupied last night when she drove the hardest bargain. Actually, I think the hardest bargain was her knee in my nads, but we’ll leave that up for debate. She’s sitting there, wearing a black flowy blouse and black leggings. Her hair is down, and it is like finely spun gold. She’s so angelic that my heart nearly buckles in my chest, and my step hitches and falters. Lucky for me, she doesn’t look up until I’ve recovered and hopefully composed myself into less of a creepy staredown kind of guy.

Her smile is slow, but it’s soft and beautiful and real. I’m not used to having a standing dinner date with anyone, but damn it, I could get used to doing this. I could get used to Everleigh’s gorgeous summer blue eyes, her lovely, sweet face with the blush in her cheeks, and her coral lips parting around a small sigh as I sat down. Her scent of honey and apricots was even apparent over dinner unless the chef somehow decided to bring out dessert first.

Nope. When I lift the dome off my plate, it reveals a huge pork chop, a baked potato with all the trimmings, and a stack of asparagus spears. I guess we didn’t finish that off last night. My chef is a good man. He’s around fifty, and he’s originally from France. He had a great career over here until he didn’t. There was a bit of a mishap at the restaurant where he was working that involved an actual swath of beard hairs that he told me weren’t his, even though he has a four-foot-long or so beard. I was looking for someone after I bought the house, and he was looking for work, so when he applied and after tasting a cheesecake he cooked for me as a sample, I hired him on the spot.

So what if I have to pick out the occasional beard hair?

Like every other day.

I can handle that. The guy cooks like a demon. Not that I have ever found any hair so far.

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