“I wouldn’t be giving me too much credit. I’m not sure my motivations were entirely...honorable.”
She frowned, suspicion surfacing. “Did you really need another server? Or were you just looking for a cleaning lady?”
His gaze shot to hers, his brow wrinkling with aggravation. He seemed about to fire back some insult, but then, unexpectedly, he dipped his head.
“I told you the truth when I hired you—that my previous server was out of commission, and I needed a replacement. But you’re right that my treatment of you the past two weeks may have been less than fair.”
“Less than fair? That’s one way of putting it.” She knew the admission shouldn’t have rankled her so much. He’d still given her the job, hadn’t he?
He sighed. “All right, I admit it. I loaded you up with chores. And I apologize for it.”
This unanticipated apology caused her to falter, and she floundered, trying to regain her feelings of injustice.
“Yes, well. It was pretty underhanded, if you want to know the truth—hiring me on with the pretense of serving and then making me your janitor,” she primly informed.
“I agree.”
He did look truly penitent, but she wasn’t quite ready to let him off the hook just yet.
“And so was making me clean out that grease trap.”
His face remained completely serious. “But you did a great job on it. It’s never been cleaner.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve enjoyed this just a little too much, haven’t you?”
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so much fun.”
His smirk was endearing, as much as it was aggravating. She didn’t know whether to be charmed or frustrated. “Does that mean we’re even now? For the review?”
His brows lowered, all humor evaporating. “I hardly think a bit of mild hazing makes up for the damage your words caused me years ago.”
“Mild hazing? Is that what you’d call it?”
“Well, what would you call it?”
“Juvenile. And petty.”
The darkening of his eyes warned her she’d gone too far. “Petty, is it? Do you have any idea what your review cost me? Do you even care?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “It was one review.”
“No, it was the only review that mattered. I was an up-and-coming chef. I had backing and positive buzz. And your criticism tainted all that.”
“You can’t expect to open a restaurant and not receive a little harmless negative feedback?”
“Harmless?” Connor rose, knuckles planted on his desk as he leaned forward. “Do you even know the circumstances of the night you visited? Did you even bother to come back a second time to make sure we weren’t having an off night? I wasn’t even there when you ate at Éire. Do you know where I was?”
She knew better than to respond.
“I was here, in Findlay Roads. My father had a heart attack, and I rushed home to be with him. My sister, Rory, was across the country on a music gig, and she couldn’t get back right away. But I dropped everything and came because that’s what mattered. And because I wasn’t there at my restaurant, things weren’t running as smoothly as they should have been. My sous chef was filling in, and it was the first time he’d had to run the kitchen without me. It was a rough night.”
He eased back, seeming embarrassed by this outburst. The anger dissipated, and he dropped back into his chair, running a hand over his face. Harper heard the stubble of his jaw rasping against his palm, and she wondered what it would be like to feel the rough grain of his cheek against her fingers. Her palm itched at the thought, and she squeezed her hand into a fist to refocus.
He made a good point. She should have paid more than one visit to Éire, but she’d been under a deadline and only interested in her own career, not some unknown restaurant owner’s reputation.
“I didn’t know,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say anything at first.
“I apologize for piling so many chores on you since you started here, but you’ll still have to do your fair share. With business so slow, everyone pitches in where necessary.”
Harper felt a twinge of embarrassment at this. It was true, she’d only been doing the tasks that someone else had done before her.
“If that’s going to be a problem—”
“It isn’t,” she assured him.
She wanted this job. It represented independence, her ability to take care of herself even when the worst had happened. She may have lost her critic’s job, but she could still find work.
And it wasn’t just that. Something about this restaurant reassured her, made her feel as though she belonged here. Connor still held her at arm’s length, but the rest of her coworkers had embraced her, even Erin, and made her feel they were friends.
“Then...truce?”
She released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
“Truce,” she agreed.
But as she gathered her things, she wondered if she and Connor would ever really be able to find a state of peace between them.
* * *
TRY AS HE MIGHT, Connor wasn’t able to get his conversation with Harper out of his mind. Days after their chat in his office, he was still conflicted about his newest employee. It seemed unbelievable that the woman he’d blamed for destroying his first restaurant was now working for him.
And even more unbelievable was how well she was doing at the job. Since he’d apologized, she’d accepted each task he’d given her with an air of agreeability. He’d eased up a bit, spreading the chores out among all of them, himself included, and she’d pitched in, continuing to pull her weight and seamlessly becoming one of the team. It grated on him a little, he realized, how his crew had accepted her. Even Erin, who had initially been uncertain about taking on the infamous restaurant critic, now greeted her pleasantly each day. Rafael had taken to teasing her with the occasional flirtatious overtones he was known for and Leah, at a mere seventeen years of age, looked to Harper with something akin to hero worship. She was forever asking Harper about life in the city and her time working at the newspaper. Thankfully, Harper always steered the conversation away from her career, at least when Connor was nearby.
He was still musing on Harper as he tossed a handful of sliced shallots into a pan and swirled them around as they hissed after making contact with the oil. A fragrant cloud of steam surrounded him as the shallots caramelized, and he lifted the towel draped over his left shoulder to wipe at the sweat dotting his forehead.
“You know, every time I smell onions, I think of Gavin,” Erin remarked as she worked at the prep counter, peeling potatoes.
Connor grunted with amusement as he added a pinch of salt to the sauté pan.
“That’s not something you often hear a woman say about her husband.”
Erin laughed. “It was, like, our fourth or fifth date, and I decided to cook for him. I settled on making steak with a balsamic reduction. But I was so nervous about what he’d think of the dinner that when I picked up the onions at the market, I got really strong, yellow onions. When Gavin showed up at my door, I was just streaming tears from chopping them up, and he thought I was getting ready to break up with him.”
Connor chuckled. “Poor