Page 2 of Howl You Doin?
His face is so handsome. Compelling blue eyes, dark slashing brows, firm sensual lips, and a six-foot frame that would be made for me to climb, if the guy wasn’t the most arrogant asshole I’ve ever met.
Connor O’Doyle is one of those guys you see and can’t help but imagine beautiful babies with him, along with an oceanfront wedding and a mortgage. I do almost every day until he opens his mouth, and then my pretty fantasy home becomes an imaginary jail for imaginary manslaughter.
I stand there gawking like a fool as he takes the drink from my fingers and slams it down onto the table.
“What the hell?” I attempt to pull my arm away as I’m dragged across the ballroom floor. “Hey, let me go!”
The sharp turn of heads has me going mute. When resisting doesn’t get me anywhere, I sidle up alongside him, nodding at anyone who meets my eyes.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask in sing a song way, before giving Maria an awkward wave as we pass. Allan, the new castle manager, hired her and her boyfriend on as staff from the village and we’ve become friends of sorts because of all the time she spends in the kitchen with me and helping around the castle. This night is different for a lot of us, I guess.
The disco ball overhead reflects sparkling rays of light on the floor in front of us and lights up over Mr. O’Doyle’s gray suit and down his broad back. Fog crawls across the checkered, marblefloor as we pass by the giant fireplace. It’s covered in cobwebs that spiral down into the grate to look like a massive funnel.
Pulling me through a side door and into the kitchen, he comes to an abrupt halt and lets me go.
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath as I catch myself on the countertop, making a grab for a utensil to use as a weapon.
His brow goes up. “What do you plan to do with that?” he says, stunning me and ruining the British accent for me forever in one fell swoop.
Why are all the hot guys dicks?
I look down at my hand, realizing my palm is biting into the metal of a whisk. Of course, I had to grab a whisk and not a knife. I would’ve even been happy with a fork so I could poke out one of his pretty blue eyes.
He laughs and I toss it away, trying to ignore what the sound does to my middle. Why am I attracted to this guy? He’s a freaking a-hole of the first order. He probably inventedassholedom. O’Doyle Rules, apparently.
I plant my hands on my hips as I turn on him. “What is your problem?”
“You are,” he practically growls, taking a step closer. “What the hell are you doing drinking while on the job? Is this something that people do where you come from?” His chin goes up and the pretentious prick tone is back as his British accent fades.
Throwing my hands up in the air, I huff out, “Are you kidding me right now? More than half the waiters are drinking.” Then I gesture at the door. “All the guests have been fed, Mr. O’Doyle, meaning my responsibilities for this night are over. And what I do on my off hours is none of your business.”
I’m going to be cleaning the kitchen later to help Maria so she can get a night out with her boyfriend, Anton, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I beg to differ as it impacts guest satisfaction,” he snaps with a glare.
Oh, he is pushing it. I wasn’t even drinking!
“Beg all you like, what I do is my business,” I sneer, folding my arms over my chest. Leaning back against the stainless-steel counters, I level him with a glare of my own. “And if you ever put your hands on me again, I will hurt you.”
The bastard grins and my brows go down.
“I’m not being funny,mate,” I bite out to needle him.
He points a finger at me, obviously put out. “I asked you tostopmaking cupcakes, and you continue to litter them everywhere. It is direct insubordination, Miss Whitt.”
“First of all, the guests love the cupcakes,” I retort with a scoff. “Since I walked into this castle, you have disliked me and made that very clear. I’ve done nothing but my job and tried to be nice to you. I wasnotdrinking at all, and I have not made any cupcakes today.” I wave a hand when his gaze flicks to the counter next to us, where a glass platter of untouched cupcakes sits. “Those are yesterday’s.”
He arches a brow, and I squirm under his scrutiny because we both know I haven’t been nice all the time. I’ve told him to go fuck himself more than a couple of times now, after all.
“Fine,” I sigh out. “I will admit, at first I kept making them just to annoy you.” My breath leaves me the next instant when he enters my space, sucking all the air from my lungs.
“Of course you did.” His voice turns rumbly and deep when his arms snake around my sides as he grabs the counter behind me. “Did you enjoy that?”
“Let me go,” I whisper, unsure of what’s happening, but my body seems to love it.
“No, I’m not sure I will,” he says while smirking, holding me easily.
It’s the smirk. He is trying my very last nerve. My feet hurt and I just want to sleep, but he thinks this is funny?And he is still in my space. I lose my temper.
