Page 13 of Howl You Doin?
He gapes and pivots in his chair to face me. “That can’t be right—Connor has only ever been nice to everyone. I don’t know why you two argue so much.”
“I assure you, George, he hates my guts.”
The older man’s brows scrunch across his forehead, before his wrinkled face smooths into a wry smile. “You know what they say about love and hate. He will come around.”
I snicker. “Whatever matchmaking you are planning between me and Mr. O’Doyle can stop, because I’ll tell you now, it’snothappening.”
George chortles loudly and Fifi hops up onto his lap, his breakfast demolished, and the plate licked clean. Wriggling happily, he tries to see what his master is excited about, and George tucks Fifi to his chest, rubbing his soft blond belly lightly.
“Any more news on your bakery?”
I huff out a sigh. “No.”
After the divorce, it took me a while to decide what I wanted, but when my grandma’s old bakery came up for sale six months ago, I started saving up to buy it. It has an old apartment above it and will be perfect for me. Two more months and I’ll have the down payment and enough funds to get everything else I need to start it back up. It will be a lot of work on my own, but I think after a year or two I can hire someone to help.
“Oh, pooh. Do you want me to have a look at it? Maybe run it by Felix? He’s pretty good with numbers.”
“How is he doing?” I ask, taking the focus off me and the bakery. I know George means well, but this is something I need to do by myself, and even though I’m sure his ex-husband knows his stuff, it’s my responsibility.
“He’s good. I think he’s going to get to retire soon.” His face flushes and a smile pulls at his cheeks.
My gaze softens. “That’ll be so nice.”
“Mmhm. Now you don’t let Mr. O’Doyle get to you. I don’t know what has gotten into him. If you would let me just talk to him... ” George’s smile turns to a scowl, and it somehow makes him look cuter.
I shake my head, putting a hand up to stop him before he gets any other ideas about talking to Connor on my behalf.
“No, George. I’ve got it handled.” Vlad is the one cutting the checks, not Mr. O’Doyle, so it really doesn’t matter at all. I have a job to do, and as soon as these two months are over, I will tell Connor exactly what he can do with himself. Until then, I will be on my best behavior.
“Okay, let me know if you change your mind.” He chuckles.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I murmur, and move to grab Fifi’s empty saucer and place it on a food tray.
“I’ll be back later to get Fifi’s treats before we head out,” he says with a wave of his hand.
“Sounds good.
I walk George out, holding the door for him and Fifi, and turn back to the huge table covered in a long burgundy-colored tablecloth. The dining room is massive, with a large lancet window on the main wall, a huge mirror on one side wall and an art painting of a bowl of fruit on the other. Rich people are so weird.
Wind whistles through a small gap somewhere in the window frame, and I walk to it, gripping the stone encasing the glass. Eesh, these things are so huge—if it was open, I could almost fall out of it. I stare out at the courtyard and the big hedge maze beyond; spring is in the air and a lot of the greenery is starting to bloom.
“God, this place really does look like something out of a fairytale.”
“Yes. That’s what I was coming to see you about actually.” Allan’s weaselly voice accosts my ears, almost making me jump. The nasally tone has me wanting to cringe in disgust, but I paste a smile on my face instead and turn around, brushing the dust from my white uniform.
“Oh? What is it you need, Allan?”
He stands just inside the dining room, lip curled in disdain, and his greasy black hair slicked down on either side of his head.
“I just spoke with Mr. O’Doyle, and we require your assistance,” he says, while glaring down at the clipboard in his hand.
“My assistance with what?”
Why do they want to add to my responsibilities on top of ordering all the food, preparing meals, serving the guests, and cleaning? Light glistens off his glossy black head and I openly stare at the part above his forehead, a precise razor-sharp edge.
“The castle will be hosting a gala, a fairytale-themed one apparently, and the menu will be changed for the event,” Allan says, in that same nasally tone, his nose in the air as he obviously attempts to make himself appear taller. If he weren’t so short, he could easily double as Thin Man fromCharlie’s Angel’s,which is fitting considering itmatches his personality.
A villainous haircut for the self-important ass with a small-man complex.
