Page 13 of Golden Touch
It’s so unfair.
I sag into my chair and stare down at my salad. Why is God testing me like this? Why did he put a hot, snarky, motorcycle-riding bad boy in my path?
Stop whining.Just get on with it.
I cover my salad bowl and stow it in the refrigerator. Then I carefully wash my fork and put it away in the drawer.
Nash reappears about a minute later, a startled look on his face and a deli bag in his hand. “Was Dad fixing up that space to rent it out? It’s spotless.”
I just shrug.
“You could perform surgery up there. Even the bathroom sparkles. Is that your doing?”
“No,” I lie. I don’t like a mess. In my spare time, I’ve thrown away the old junk from upstairs and cleaned the whole place out.
“Huh. Just my good fortune, then.” He sits down at my table as if he owns the place.
Which, I remind myself, he does.
“Listen up,” I say in a futile attempt to regain some control over the situation. “You see this clean kitchen? It’s going to stay that way. Tidy up after yourself. Every single time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.
But men don’t keep their word, so I drive the point home. “Any messes you leave on my table, you will later find on your pillow upstairs.”
“Fair,” he says with a shrug. “I’m not going to be all up in your space, okay? I just need somewhere to crash for six weeks. We’ll both be counting down the days.”
“Is Leila okay?” I ask.
Concern etches his features for a quick second before his handsome face smooths out again. “She will be,” he says, pulling a sandwich out of his bag and unwrapping it.
“From now on you’ll keep me up to date on her progress, and you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
He pauses his sandwich on the way to his mouth. “You know, pussycat, for someone so hot, you have kind of a militant streak.”
As soon as he says “hot,” my stupid body reacts, and I imagine those hands on me instead of a hoagie sandwich. Old habits die hard, I guess.
But then I pull myself together. “I hear that a lot. And I’m not yourpussycat.”
“Meant it as a compliment.” He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. “Big eyes, big attitude.”
“I didn’t ask for compliments,” I say coolly. “I will tolerate you for six weeks, because I have to. But there is nothing I want from you.”
He chuckles. “Just keep telling yourself that.”
I bristle.
“Now what’s on the agenda this afternoon?” He takes another big bite, and I look away. No man should be attractive while stuffing his face. But miraculously, this one is.
I can’t believe I have to share a roof with him. “Leila told me to introduce you to everyone who works in the brewhouse and get you up to speed. And then drag you off to see your father. Her words.”
He winces. “I can handle the brewhouse tour by myself. I’ll do it after I make sure there aren’t any crumbs on the table, so you don’t sneak upstairs in the night and murder me in my bunk…”
“Good plan.”
“You’ll have to fill me in on what my father expects when I visit. How hands-on has he been?”
“Very.” I clear my throat. “First, he wants you to sneak samples into the care center. Leila couldn’t get it done. But he can’t stand the idea of bottling anything he hasn’t personally tasted.”
