Page 2 of The Estate
Dropping her arms, she stepped back, causing him to release her elbows. If his touch left a lingering tingle, she ignored it asGruff Guycontinued.
Gesturing to the left, he said, “If you retrace your steps down the hallway…”
“No,” she attempted to interject, but he talked right over her.
“The ballroom is right off the foyer…”
“I’m here to see the…” she tried again.
“The bathrooms are to the right…”
“I don’t need to use the bathroom!” She exclaimed.
Of course, at that precise moment, the raucous kitchen sounds dulled to a whisper, leaving her voice to echo throughout the room.
Gruff Guyhad the audacity to smirk and raise an eyebrow at her. Clenching her jaw, she paused before continuing in a more even tone. “Thank you. But I am not some wayward guest in search of a ladies’ room. I am here to speak with the caterer about this evening’s meal.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Did he really just call her ma’am? Looking over his brown wavy hair and cleanly shaven face, she would have put them somewhat close to the same age. Perhaps in his mid-thirties. Did he think she rated a ma’am?
“Guests aren’t allowed back here. If you have any food allergies, I’m sure the bride has discussed them with the catering staff. Make certain to mention that to your server and he or she will be sure to…”
“I don’t have an allergy. I’m here to resolve the issue concerning the meal,” she interrupted him. She shouldn’t enjoy the scowl that appeared as she talked over him. He obviously didn’t like a taste of his own medicine.
“There’s nothing wrong with the meal,” he snarled, enunciating each word. “I have no idea where you heard that, but everything is well in hand. Now…”
Rachel breathed in deeply, striving to pull herself back into her calm, problem-solving center. This guy had knocked her sideways from the start, literally.
“Thereisa problem with the dinner,” she replied, her tone only slightly frosty. “The event planner informed me…”
“Trace,”Gruff Guygrowled. He dropped his head, shaking it. “I have got to discuss expectations with her,” he muttered.
“Be that as it may,” Rachel gave a slight nod and continued as pleasantly as she could. “Trace came to the bridal suite, to let the bride know the caterer has refused to cook for the reception.” She ignored his huff of disgust, adding, “Rather than bother the bride mere moments before she was to walk down the aisle, I’ve come to resolve the situation. Now, unless you are indeed the caterer, please step aside so that I can get this problem settled.”
While Rachel considered pushing her way past, a server carrying a tray of glasses approached. Grasping her elbow again,Gruff Guymaneuvered her out of the kitchen doorway and back into the hall, allowing the server to pass. While his touch was gentle enough, she disliked being moved farther away from hergoal. She was here to fix things, and by God, that was just what she intended to do.
She stepped back toward the kitchen whenGruff Guymoved in front of her. “While I’m not the caterer, I can assure you there is no difficulty with the food for today’s event. Clearly, the kitchen staff has everything under control, so you can rejoin the celebration now. No problem-solving needed, ma’am.”
Rachel had the ridiculous urge to stomp her foot. If she hadn’t been so frustrated, she would have laughed at the thought. “Rachel. My name is Rachel,” she spat back. “And this seems to be getting us nowhere,” she said through gritted teeth. Normally, she could keep herself cool, calm, and collected. Her reputation for being able to handle issues or problems in stride was something she worked very hard at.
ButGruff Guyset her teeth on edge. Literally. His dismissive behavior and controlling actions were bringing up memories she wished to forget. Not now and definitely not at a wedding.
“I will need to speak with the manager. Please get him or her for me.”
Gruff Guysighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. “You can speak to me.”
Her voice ladened with doubt, she asked, “You’re the manager here, Mister…” She waited a beat for him to fill in his last name.
“No, Rachel. You can talk to me. I’m the owner.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. He seemed young to be the owner of a property as large as White Hall Estate. Although, who was she to doubt it? He could very well be the owner. Although it wasn’t often you found an owner working hands-on at an event.
He certainly looked and acted the part. While his suit was a standard dark gray, it looked like a quality garment, well-fitted to his over six-foot frame. His hair was more closely cut on the sides and the longer top looked slightly messy, as if he’d been running his hands through it. Overall, he was the picture of a professional man, his attire subdued but appropriate. Perfect for blending in with guests and moving seamlessly through an event.
“You’re the owner, Mister…” she prompted.
“Cal. You can call me Cal.”
