Page 7 of In Good Company

I run my hand over my mouth, trying not to let my frustration with the situation show. I thought she’d jump at the opportunity to work for someone somewhat familiar. She knows me—kind of—and doesn’t know Thomas or his wife at all. If given the choice, I was confident she’d choose to work for me instead.

“And what are those reasons, Lucy?” I ask, my lips pressing into a thin line. My entire body feels tight as I wait for her to answer. This isn’t going how I thought it would. I thought I’d offer her the job, she’d excitedly accept, and we’d spend the rest of our time tonight ironing out when exactly she could start.

Lucy’s mouth opens and shuts a few times, as if she didn’t expect me to ask for her reasons for saying no. “You’re Oliver’s brother.”

“So?”

“I can’t work for my ex-boyfriend’s older brother. There must be some kind of rule against that somewhere.”

I laugh, holding my tongue about telling her I don’t think Oliver would care at all. The eleven-year age gap between me and my brother made it so we were never close. Who I employis none of his business. And even if it was his business, he still wouldn’t care.

“That’s a terrible reason.”

Her head rears back defensively. “No, it isn’t. It’s inappropriate.”

My lips twitch in amusement as I tuck my hands into my pockets. Why do I find her so interesting? With anyone else, I wouldn’t waste my breath trying to convince them to work for me. Matter of fact, anyone else wouldjumpat the opportunity to work for me in any capacity. I don’t need to be wasting my time with someone who clearly isn’t interested.

Yet here I am, determined to get her to change her mind. She’s told me no, which has backfired because now I’ll do just about anything to get her to say yes. “I wasn’t aware that asking you to prepare meals for me was inappropriate.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean, Callahan. It doesn’t feel right.”

If it didn’t feel right, I wouldn’t be so insistent on convincing her to work for me. Unfortunately for me, the moment Thomas asked her to be his private chef for the summer, I wanted her to work formeinstead. If she was going to be anyone’s private chef this summer, she was going to be mine.

I wish I could explain why I feel this way, but I can’t. It’s incredibly frustrating because this never happens. It’s a foreign thing to me. I hold my tongue from admitting to her that to me…itdoesfeel right.

What doesn’t feel right is having her call me by my full name. It feels too formal…too impersonal.

“Call me Cal.”

She tucks a piece of her dark hair behind her ear. “You said at dinner to call you Callahan.”

“I didn’t say that to you.Youcan call me Cal.”

It’s taken forever, but I finally get a smile out of her. Her shoulders relax a little as she slowly lets out a deep breath. “It feels more professional to call you Callahan.”

I rub my lips together to hide my own smile. “And why would things have to be professional if you aren’t accepting my offer? Seriously. Call me Cal. Please.”

She raises a dark eyebrow. “How’d that word roll off your tongue? Did it feel weird?”

I cock my head to the side, eyes roaming over her soft features. “Did what feel weird? My name?”

She laughs, and for some reason, I love the sound of it. Strands of her hair fall into her face as she shakes her head. “No.Please. You don’t strike me as the kind of man who uses the word a lot.”

I place my hand on my chest, feigning hurt. “Lucy, are you saying I don’t have manners?”

She takes a step forward as she rolls her eyes. “Are you saying youdohave manners?”

I’m quiet for a few heartbeats as I just stare at her. People don’t take me by surprise often, yet here she is, continually saying things I don’t expect. “I’m a little disappointed you think so low of me, Lucy,” I begin, taking a step toward her.

I halfway expect her to match my step with her own step back, but she doesn’t. She stays where she’s at, allowing me to bring our bodies closer. Her eyes dart to the space between us before meeting mine again. I don’t know why, but I’m drawn to her. I want to get as close to her as possible to talk without infringing on her personal space.

She lets out a sigh of resignation. “I don’t think low of you. It’s just that you give off this vibe that you don’t have to have manners. People just do what you want before you even have to think of being polite.”

Her words hang in the air for a moment as I stay quiet, toobusy trying to figure her out. She clearly thinks she’s got me figured out perfectly, and it bothers me that the more I stand here and talk to her, it seems the less I have her figured out.

“Plus, it’s obvious you don’t care what people think of you. Don’t try to pretend that even if I thought low of you, which I don’t, you’d even bat an eye.”

I play with the clasp of my watch, my eyes narrowed on her. Do I admit to her that she’s right? I don’t typically worry about what other people think of me, but tonight, with her, for some reason, I care. “Seems like you don’t have me completely figured out. I do care about whatyouthink.”

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