by Caroline Lee
She shrugged slightly. “There’s not many of us in northern Idaho, are there? My parents have a small store down in Boise, but I came up here for the tourist industry.”
“What do you do?” He was still grinning at her as if she were the most fascinating person in the world, and it was kinda wonderful to realize his bottom teeth were slightly crooked. It made him seem more approachable somehow.
It was disconcerting, in the most brilliant way.
“I’m an AGM—assistant general manager—of a hotel in Quinn Valley. Because of the hot springs, we get a lot of health- and eco- tourists there. Well, you must know!” She waved her hand around, her gesture encompassing Andrew, the restaurant, and the town. “Riston’s got a lot of tourists too, right?”
He shrugged. “Not really. River’s End Ranch is the tourism draw, but not the town.”
Right. That’s what she’d meant. “Anyhow, I was recently promoted, and I’m finally where I want to be.”
“That’s awesome,” he said with a warm smile. “Congratulations. And I’m sorry for bringing up the whole you-being-Indian thing.” His eyes traveled across her face, and his grin grew a bit. “I guess I just got flustered.”
She raised one brow. “I’m not sure if that was a compliment.”
“It was!” he hurried to assure her, leaning forward once more. “You’re beautiful. I mean, I’m glad you wanted to meet. I would’ve been glad no matter what, because I thought we’re really compatible, but meeting you in person… Well, I’m sorry I got flustered. You’re probably the prettiest woman I’ve dated.”
What? Okay, that sounded like a load of hooey. She knew from their conversations Andrew had dated a lot of women, and there was no way she was the prettiest. Her nose was too wide, her skin too dark, her eyebrows too thick, to be considered the modern media’s definition of “beauty.” And the fact he’d said something totally false like that was a little disappointing.
Don’t lie to me! she wanted to shout. But instead, she smiled tightly and said, “You’re probably the oldest guy I’ve dated.”
And that’s when her brain caught up with her mouth, and she snapped her teeth closed with an almost-audible OMG I’m sorry!
But Andrew laughed. Actually laughed, with his head thrown back and everything. It was hard not to stare at the tanned column of his throat, and the smooth demarcation of his beard, so Rachel didn’t bother to try. Her tongue darted out over suddenly dry lips, as she enjoyed the sight of his joy, and tried not to be too confused.
When he looked as if he might be finished laughing soon—at her? Or at her rudeness?—she hurried to redeem herself. Or at least try.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Even if his compliment had been false.
“No, no, it’s okay.” He was still chuckling, and she could see one of his dimples through his beard. “I like honesty. Yep, I’m thirty-eight, and I don’t know why you bothered with a geezer like me.”
“You’re not a geezer!” She leaned towards him, planting her elbows on the table, trying to make up for her rudeness. “You’re only mumble mumble years older than me.”
“Did you just say ‘mumble mumble’? In real life?”
“Awkward silence.”
He burst into laughter again, and Rachel decided she liked being the funny one in the conversation, if it meant he’d laugh more. From this angle, she could only see the one dimple, but it certainly was lovely, wasn’t it?
Dimples, a beard, callused hands, and strong shoulders—oh, and his arms were muscly, under that polo shirt. He was a little thicker around the waist than some of the other guys she’d dated, but then, at thirty-three, she was thicker than a lot of the cute young things currently in the dating scene too.
“I shouldn’t have said that, Andrew, and I’m sorry.”
“About my age? It’s true though, and that’s okay. I’m a geezer.”
And I’m not beautiful.
But out loud, she just said, “I’m glad we finally get to meet in person.”
“Me too.”
Dimple!
Thank goodness the food arrived, and soon the conversation was back to the lighter, easier first date stuff:
Oh, you don’t know how to use chopsticks? I’ll help!
You’ve got a bit of mustard on your chin. Thanks, though I don’t recall eating mustard; we’re in a Chinese restaurant.
This walnut shrimp is amazing! Yes, too bad I’m allergic to shellfish—no, ha, just kidding, you should’ve seen your face!
The fluffy stuff.
And through it all, Rachel found herself falling for this guy. His humor was dry, and despite his ability to laugh unabashedly—so hot!—he could deliver a punchline with a straight face. And he was really good with impressions and voices, it turned out, which had her laughing again and again.
At one point, he turned and she could see the other side of his face, and Rachel came to an intriguing realization: Andrew only had one dimple.
Her doctor, Brooke Quinn, was one of Bob’s nieces, and had once told Rachel her brothers and male cousins all had only one dimple.
Bob’s nephew was named Andrew and lived in Riston, and according to Brooke, only had one dimple.
Her date was named Andrew, who lived in Riston and had only one dimple. It seemed more and more likely this was the same guy. Should she come right out and ask?
Just then, Andrew’s phone made a loud buzzing noise, then another right in a row. His chuckle turned to a wince as he reached for his pocket.
“Sorry,” he said as he fumbled his phone out. “That’s our code. They knew I didn’t want to be disturbed tonight,” he muttered. “This had better be important.”
She watched him turn down the volume so the noise stopped, then swipe through the phone’s menu. As he read, an adorable little “V” formed between his eyebrows, and the corners of his lips turned downwards. His eyes—bright green in the light from the screen—flashed back and forth as he read.
Then, a moment later, he pulled the device away from his face with a noise which she could only describe as a growl. Briefly, he met her eyes.
“I’m really sorry. This was not an emergency.”
She shrugged and pointed with her chopsticks. “Go ahead, I understand.”
His nod seemed a little grateful, and he exhaled. “I’m going to answer just so Chuck quits bothering me.”
He tapped something on the screen and raised the phone to his lips. She watched his eyes go out of focus slightly the way everyone’s do when they dictate.
“Just reset the contactors on the circuit board located above the dishwasher and then cycle the power at the disconnect period.”
That “period” was confusing, until Rachel figured out it was punctuation for voice-to-text. It didn’t make the rest of the sentence any less confusing.
Cycle the power at the disconnect…what?
But Andrew wasn’t done apparently. “Now quit bothering me comma I’m on a date exclamation point.”
Rachel tried not to snicker at his frown as he said his punctuation out loud. When he scowled at the phone and tapped something—send?—he seemed to sigh a little.
“Really, I’m sorry. They know better than to contact me off-hours. I guess JT wasn’t answering the supervisor radio, and Chuck—he’s the engineer on duty—got worried. The dishwasher in the restaurant has been acting up, and he needed to know—apparently right now—if he should call it out to the contractors, or if he should just do it himself.” Andrew blew a raspberry. “It's an easy fix, and we don’t need another bill.” He plunked his phone face-down on the table and stared down at his lo mein. “Not when we’re over-budget, as it is,” he muttered.
Over budget. Restaurant dishwasher. Supervisor radio. Contractors.
Slowly, Rachel grinned. He was speaking her language.
“So,” she began as nonchalantly as possible, “the engineer couldn’t reach his supervisor, so he contacted you. You’re the chief?”
A
ndrew blinked at her, surprise evident in his expression. “Yeah.”
“I’m guessing it had to do with overtime then, if Chuck thought you needed to approve?”
Now he was frowning. “How did you know— Oh!” His expression cleared slightly. “You work in hotels.”
“And I know all about being overworked. I’ll bet River’s End Ranch is huge, isn’t it? I’ll bet you’re overworked and underappreciated, aren’t you?”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
She jabbed the air with the chopstick. “I didn’t put it together before, but you’re the chief engineer at River’s End Ranch, aren’t you?” Without waiting for him to agree, she barreled on, “You’re one of the Quinns!”
Beside his plate, his hand curled into a fist. “No, I’m not. I’m a McIver. How do you know all this?”
High on adrenaline from figuring out this little mystery, Rachel stuck out her chin. “You never asked which hotel I work for! I’m the AGM for The Quinn Hotel and Spa!”
Silence met that triumphant announcement. In the light from the candle between them, Rachel watched little lines appear around his eyes, his expression carefully blank. He was as good at hiding his thoughts as he was at laughing freely, apparently.
Suddenly, she wasn’t feeling so triumphant.
It was a long moment before he spoke, his lips barely moving. “Uncle Bob’s hotel, huh?”
“Yes,” she said meekly, poking at the remains of her meal with her chopstick. “He told me about how he tried to hire you, and how you were just being stubborn for not coming to work for him.”
“Stubborn? I’ll—” He snapped his mouth shut on whatever he’d been about to say, then took a deep breath. As he let it out, some of the tension seemed to go out of him too. “No, it doesn’t matter. I hope he’s a good boss.”
The way he said it made her think Bob wasn’t a good boss, so she hurried to defend him. “He is! He really is! He treats me like family. Everyone at the hotel does, really!” She found herself leaning forward again, breathless as she tried to make him understand. “He’d love to have you come to work for—I mean, with us. Family should stick together, shouldn’t it?”
He snorted and pushed his plate away. “Yeah. Family should stick together, but it doesn’t always work that way.”
What was he implying? That Bob hadn’t stuck by him, or something?
All Rachel knew for sure was that she needed a new chief engineer, and her boss’s top pick was sitting across from her. “The Quinn Hotel is a lot less trouble than River’s End Ranch, I’m sure of it. We’ve got the water park, sure, but that’s under separate management, and they have their own engineering staff. We have the restaurant and spa, but that’s nothing compared to everything you must be used to. Our property would be much less of a headache, for the same income.”
Slowly, both of his hands—oh, he had lovely knuckles, what an odd time to notice that—flattened on the table in front of him. Leaning forward, he pierced her with suddenly hard eyes.
“What are you getting at, Ms. Assistant General Manager?”
Dimly, Rachel realized he wasn’t treating this like a date anymore, but she pushed on hurriedly. “Come interview. Please. Bob would be so happy to see you again—I know it—and I’m sure he’d be able to offer you a comparable salary! We just lost our chief and we’re—”
She wasn’t sure what other foolishness she might’ve spouted, because he tossed his head back and laughed again, long and bitterly. Oh yes, this time it was easy to hear the hard edge to the laughter, and she winced as she settled back into her seat.
Way to make a mess of things, dork.
Her subconscious was a meanie sometimes.
Only when you’re a goober.
She winced and shrunk a little. How could she possibly salvage this date? More importantly, how was she going to find an engineer for her hotel?
Wait, that was more important, wasn’t it?
CHAPTER FOUR
Andrew knew he was sounding a little manic with his laughter, and in some corner of his mind, he told himself not to freak her out, but he couldn’t seem to stop. It was like all the emotions of the last hour had combined with the anger he’d held inside for seven long years, and it was all spilling out now.
Poor Rachel. It wasn’t her fault, and she didn’t need to see this.
With a gargantuan effort, he managed to get himself under control, but his shoulders still shook as he reached for his water glass. And he wasn’t sure if it was with laughter, or sobs. She wanted him to interview with Uncle Bob? She thought Andrew should work for the man who’d sent his sister back to hell on earth?
No.
Calmer now, he forced himself to study Rachel. When he’d seen her through the window of the restaurant, he’d been struck with the oddest certainty: This was her. This was the woman for him; forget all those other dates. Rachel was his, and he’d be hers.
Luckily, she hadn’t been offended by his stupid opening lines, and had turned out to be just as much fun in person as she was online. And beautiful too; her black hair swept elegantly and her expressive brows framed dark eyes, which flashed with an intelligence and sense of fun he’d been looking forward to experiencing. Her dark skin was flawless, and her round cheeks were perfect bookends to her wide smile, which had shown up plenty during their conversation.
In short, the last hour or so had just proved his initial impression correct: she was the woman for him, and they would be wonderful together.
Up until she’d gone and said that.
Slouched in his chair, one hand gripping the water glass, and the other curled around the armrest, he stared at her and brooded.
She was staring back with eyes wide enough he could see the whites around the edges of her dark irises. “I’m sorry,” she blurted.
He shook his head slightly. “Did he send you?”
“Who?”
What must it be like to work with a man like that? A man who could say what he’d said to Heather—how would he treat a woman working with him? And he had four daughters, all of whom worked at the hotel, according to Mom’s last update. He probably wouldn’t blink at asking an employee like Rachel to go on a date to manipulate a man…
“Bob. Did he send you?”
“No!”
Hmm.
Her response had been immediate and offended, if he had to guess. And she didn’t seem as if she was faking it either. So maybe Bob had changed over the years, or more likely, he simply has more respect for his employees than he ever had for Heather.
She sat forward a little, waving her hand in what seemed like agitation. “Look, Andrew, I don’t know what your history with my boss is, and I don’t need to know. But just know he’s really disappointed you haven’t been willing to consider working for him—”
“And he knows why,” Andrew snapped, irritation welling again.
She snapped her mouth closed and stared at him, breathing deeply a few times. Then she said, “Maybe, but I don’t think so. Look, the hotel is a great environment, and he’s a great boss, whatever you seem to think. We desperately need a new chief engineer, and all I’m asking is that you consider interviewing. You’d have to report directly to him if you took the job, which means I wouldn’t be your supervisor, which is good in case you wanted to…”
When she trailed off, her eyes got wider, then darted down to stare at the empty plates between them. Andrew’s lips curled slightly, although it wasn’t a particularly nice smile.
She was thinking about them dating, wasn’t she?
She was saying he could come work for Bob, and it wouldn’t violate any ethics if they wanted to continue dating. Which he’d wanted just moments ago, but now he wasn’t so sure anymore.
Was he?
She was smart and funny and fun to be around, and he wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to ask her opinion on his problems, he wanted to call her up every day and complain about the darned goat. He wanted to c
ome home to her and be the one to ask her about her day.
But she worked for Uncle Bob, and if he continued to date her, she’d surely try to talk him into interviewing at least. Andrew wasn’t sure he could stomach being in the same room as Bob again, not without being sick or hitting something. Dating Rachel wasn’t worth that.
Was it?
No.
No, he’d only just met her, and she was great and all, but he had his life the way he liked it. He had Heather and the kids and that was enough.
Sighing, he gave up on his stupid dream of having Rachel too. “Look, Rachel, I like you.”
“I like you too,” she was quick to say, but it was obvious from the hesitation in her eyes she knew what was coming.
“I like you a lot. You’re fun and smart, and I like your sense of humor. I could see this” –he gestured back and forth between them— “going someplace.”
“But?”
A deep breath. “But I’m not going to work for Bob. And since you do, I think maybe—”
“I just want you to interview with him,” she hurried to assure him.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
She settled back in her chair, and her dark eyes turned calculating.
What was going on in her head?
Despite his vague sense of dread, Andrew was surprised to discover he was actually looking forward to whatever she’d say next. If the last fifteen minutes were any indication, it would be a wild ride.
Still peering at him, she began to drum her fingers on her arm rest, and Andrew gave in to the urge to smile slightly.
She really was something, wasn’t she?
He found himself actually enjoying this…what was this?
A negotiation?
Finally, she nodded. “Prove it.”
His brows went up. “Prove what?”
“Prove you don’t think this is going anywhere.”
This time his chuckle wasn’t at all forced. “How?”
With a swiftness that startled him, Rachel sat forward in her chair once more, planted her elbows, and steepled her hands in front of her face. She looked so much like a CEO in a movie, he had to chuckle again.