Suppressing an eye-roll, Nell said mildly, “You have to stop calling me baby. Also, the office opens at nine.”
“Mm. I’m not good with mornings,” he said. “But I’ll try. Brought you a doughnut.”
He tossed a paper bag onto her desk and vanished into his office without another word. Through the thin walls, she could hear the squeak of his desk chair and the burbling start-up noises of his computer.
A doughnut. Nell hadn’t eaten one in — she couldn’t remember how long — it must have been years.
The paper bag was slightly warm and smelled amazing: a doughy, sugary smell that reminded her of fairgrounds and bakeries. She ripped the paper open, exposing the fried goodness within. A jelly doughnut, no less. Round, plump, covered in powdered sugar, with a tiny bit of raspberry filling dripping from a hole in the side.
I shouldn’t. But why would it be so wrong to eat the doughnut? It didn’t mean she’d owe Eamonn anything. It had been freely offered, without conditions; he hadn’t given her a chance to refuse it.
She lifted it to her mouth and bit into it, closing her eyes to better savor the combination of flavors. Damn, that’s good. She nearly moaned with the pleasure of tart raspberry jelly and sweet sugar on her tongue.
A soft chuckle made her open her eyes. Eamonn was leaning in her doorway again, grinning at her. He’d been watching her eat the doughnut. “You like it,” he said.
“Yeah.” Couldn’t very well deny it. “Thanks.”
“You’ve got jelly on your lip.”
“Oh.” She stuck out her tongue and licked the jelly up.
The way he looked at her mouth made her feel like she’d just stripped for him. “I want to be that doughnut, gorgeous,” he muttered.
“Get out of my office, pervert,” she told him, but without much fire. “And follow up with Champagne about their paper order. I need to put the order in by five.” Stick with business. Don’t even acknowledge that look. They’d have to work together for an unspecified amount of time, and anything less than total professionalism would be awkward as hell.
Nell felt angry and discombobulated all afternoon. It’s ridiculous. I’m an adult, a woman, a feminist, a martial artist. He’s a pervert — he hit on me at the pub in the women’s bathroom — and he uses the most inappropriate language. Accepting a doughnut from him felt like a low point in her personal account book.
Part of her wanted to put him on the ground and teach him some manners, some respect and appreciation for women. An angry, frustrated side of her flared up. Ordinarily, self-control and a disciplined outlook on life were things she took pride in: the ability to tap an opponent’s headgear with a precise kick that showcased her aim, the measured speed and strength she brought to self-defense drills — enough to be realistic as a defender and provide some resistance and force as an attacker without either partner actually getting injured. But now and then the anger flared up, particularly when a cocky teenage boy started showing off with her at training, trying to score points on a senior black belt, out to win rather than train and improve. This was especially true if she caught a sense that he thought he could beat her because she was female, that he didn’t think girls could hit hard or take hard hits. On a couple of occasions, and she was not proud of them, she’d lost her temper during training and tried to nail a sparring partner hard or put him into the mat during self-defense. She’d done it, too, swearing under her breath and jangling with adrenaline, earning herself some surprised looks for the loss of control.
She could feel the anger burning in the same way here, the urge to fight and win, to take him down and teach him his place in her world. That’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even do martial arts.
But it wasn’t about sports or sparring. She was just angry.
Angry at herself?
The twinges of attraction, the dirty way he looked at her, it all added up to something that shouldn’t be. How could she want to like him, let alone be attracted to him? Everything about him was reprehensible to her and stood against her values and the way she tried to live her life, with integrity and respect for life and individual autonomy. And it wasn’t as though she had some kind of subconscious fetish for disrespect; she’d been catcalled and propositioned plenty of times, and there’d been no turn-on in it, no flutter of appeal, just a sort of scornful distaste. But she kept thinking about how he’d looked at her mouth as she’d eaten the doughnut. How he’d flushed and closed himself off when asked why he was working in an office. How he’d never once presumed on his fame to ingratiate himself with her. Hell, he’d introduced himself as Eamonn, not Easy.
Easy. He sure acted like he’d be easy to get into bed. Flirt.
That ought to gross her out, repel her. Why didn’t it? Ugh.
So when Eamonn popped into her office, she snapped, “Even if it’s open, you can still knock on the frame before walking in, you know.”
“Right,” he said, with a what got your panties in a knot expression on his face. “So I got a hold of that chick Jessalyn at Champagne Cascades.”
“Did she say why she didn’t bother to return my call or email yesterday?” Nell didn’t even bother to correct his use of chick, though she did raise a disapproving eyebrow.
“She wasn’t feeling good yesterday. She didn’t say exactly but I’m thinking it’s woman stuff, you know? She says she was at work but had a hard time getting much done.”
“She really unbuttoned for you, didn’t she?” The moment she said it, Nell knew her choice of words was a mistake. But it burned her that the unknown Jessalyn had taken his call when she’d been ignored the day before.
Eamonn laughed. “I wouldn’t say unbuttoned, gorgeous — that’s what I want you to do for me. I can’t help it that women like to talk to me. Anyway, if it works… I got the paper inventory figures from her and forwarded them to you. Good?”
“Thanks. Could you stop calling me that, though?”
“Why? You are gorgeous. You’ve got heavenly tits and—”
Nell growled, actually growled, in frustration. “We’re in an office. I’m technically your supervisor. Your uncle is my boss and I don’t need him walking by and hearing that — I really, really, absolutely don’t need him to be thinking about my personal attributes in any way. Okay?”
Eamonn shook his head. “Uncle Tommy’s married, he’d never… well, okay, yeah, that’d be weird.”
An awkward silence settled between them. You think I have nice breasts? The question burned on Nell’s tongue, tempting her, but there was no way she’d ask such a ridiculous thing.
He watched her, considering, a half-smile on his lips. “Yes,” he said.
“I was not thinking about—”
“Of course you were, and you do. But I won’t refer to your tits in the office again. Nell.” The way he said her name made her think that maybe he was getting it, that he could see the difference between an office and backstage, and that he understood the differences, the things you could say there and not here.
“Thanks,” she said, and she didn’t know if she was thanking him for using her name, or for the compliment he’d given her. Easy from Smidge. Bass player, rock star, sex god. Given all the females he must have known, the array of chests available for him to sample, his commendation meant a lot to her. Not that she’d let herself care. Her body was strong and muscular and solid, perfect for a fighter, a competitor. “Thanks for getting me those numbers from Champagne. I need to get the order in before the paper supplier closes.”
“I’m off, then. See you tomorrow.” And he was gone.
I should make him stay until the clock hits five, Nell thought. But he was Tommy’s nephew, so she suspected the usual Wildforest regulations didn’t apply to him.
The first sign of anything wrong came with a phone call. Someone from booking and customer service pinged Nell on the intercom line. “Got a hot top on line four calling from Champagne Cascades. Goes beyond what we can handle in booking. Wil
l you take it?”
“Saying no isn’t a choice, is it? Sure.” Nell sighed, looking at the button for line four, flashing red, on hold. Coping with an angry guest was never fun, but it was part of dealing with resort properties and their temporary residents — people paid for pleasant vacations, after all, and tended to get bent out of shape when little things didn’t go their way. She took a sip of tea and hit the button to take the call. “Hi there, this is Nell Whelan, property supervisor for Champagne Cascades. I understand there’s a problem?”
“Well, yeah. Been standing here forty minutes waiting to get our keys, but your office is closed up tight and there’s no sign of when someone will be coming or anything.”
“You’re saying that you’re at Champagne Cascades now, and there’s no one in the office there to book you in and give you keys?”
“Yes. We’ve been waiting forty minutes. Ridiculous! There’s not even a sign on the door saying when they’ll be back.”
Nell brought up the booking system on her computer. “Could I get your name, ma’am? I just want to check and make sure we were expecting you.” She spoke slowly, pitching her voice quietly, aiming for a calm and respectful tone that would help the infuriated woman settle down.
“Annie and Michael Prince. We got a confirmation email yesterday.”
“Right. I see Veuve Cliquot is reserved for you.” The booking was there in the system, as it should be — apparently, all the cottages were named after famous champagne brands. At three in the afternoon, there was absolutely no reason the site office at Champagne should be closed. And the policy at all sites was, if you had to close up the office during business hours for any amount of time, even five minutes, you had to place a notice on the door saying why the office was closed and for how long. “Well, the office should not be closed at this hour. If I may put you on hold, Mrs. Prince, I’ll see what I can do from here.”
Mrs. Prince made a frustrated noise into the phone, a sort of huffing sigh of annoyance. “I guess, okay. I’ll hold.”
As soon as Nell placed Mrs. Prince on hold, she tried the office line, but as expected got no answer. She then tried the mobile number in the company records for Jessalyn Roberts and got no answer there either. Now what? She decided to try the restaurant — there should be two full-time staff there, though she couldn’t remember their names off-hand from her glance through the information binder: a cook and a waitress.
A man with a thick Québécois accent answered. “Allo, Pink Champagne Dining Room. François speaking.”
“François, this is Nell Whelan. I’m the new property supervisor for Champagne Cascades. Have you seen Jessalyn today?”
“Non. She hasn’t been here today. Mary and I didn’t know what to do. Guests at breakfast ask us when they can check out, but we don’t know. We had Aidan’s cell number but he says he doesn’t work for the company anymore.”
And you didn’t think to call the main office? But recriminations wouldn’t help anything now. “Either you or Mary is going to need to go and open the office. I’ll have to walk you through the check-in and check-out process over the phone.”
“Better be Mary,” said François. “She’s better with computers and things. I’m just a cook.”
“Don’t knock yourself. It’s a gift to be good with food. Okay. Send Mary up to the office and have her call me when she gets there. Oh, and warn her there’s a hot top waiting to be checked in.”
“Hot top?” the cook asked, sounding puzzled.
“Angry guest,” Nell clarified, surprised to find that they didn’t use the office code words on-site. She gave François her phone number to give Mary, in case Jessalyn hadn’t updated the site office’s speed dial and emergency call list, and then hung up. Taking a deep breath, she picked up line four. “Mrs. Prince, thanks for waiting. We don’t know what’s happened to our site manager at this time, but Mary from the dining room is on her way to the office and I’ll help her check you in. You should be all right for this evening, and someone from Wildforest Vacations will be up there tomorrow morning to take charge.”
“Will you come?” Mrs. Prince asked. “You seem like a sensible person.”
“I’ll ask my boss,” Nell said, knowing that she would indeed likely be the person sent up, but thinking it wouldn’t hurt to have Mrs. Prince believe she’d asked to come.
“Good.”
“I’ll hang up with you now, but I’ll be here waiting to take Mary’s call once she gets into the office.” Hopefully, Mary would prove competent to follow instructions over the phone, just to get them by overnight. What had happened to Jessalyn Roberts? Why had she not turned up for work that morning?
Nell knocked on Tommy’s door. “Come in!” he barked. Not a happy afternoon, then.
“Tommy, you’re not going to like this, but one of our site managers seems to have disappeared.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Tell me you’re kidding me.”
“Unfortunately, no. Jessalyn Roberts from Champagne Cascades didn’t turn up for work this morning — no note, no message, nothing. I’ve got the waitress from the restaurant doing office duty for tonight, but she’s not trained and has to be talked through everything over the phone.”
“Smart thinking, Nell. You and Eamonn will have to get up there tomorrow to take over, of course. Sign out a company vehicle; here’s the authorization slip. I’ll get HR working on finding a new site manager right away.”
The thought of the unknown Jessalyn losing her job made Nell wince, no matter what difficulties she was causing. “Give me twenty-four hours to look into it up there, Tommy? If she’s just down with a violent flu or something, it may not be worth the expense of finding a new site manager.”
“Twenty-four hours, then,” Tommy said, looking displeased. Torn between wanting to fire her and wanting to save the cost of hiring and training someone new, probably. “And only if she has a damn good reason.”
Then something else he’d said struck Nell. “I can make the trip alone,” she said quickly. “I’ve never taken an assistant along on site visits before.”
“You’ve never had to cover for and investigate a missing site manager before, either,” Tommy snapped back. “Plus, I want him to get some on-site experience, and it’s safer for you to have a man along on trips like this.”
Seriously? She was plenty safe on her own. But that wasn’t a conversation Nell wanted to have with Tommy. “Fine.”
“It had better be fine with you, Nell. You’re taking Eamonn with you, and that’s an order. Now, send him down to see me. And get Lila to bring us coffee.”
I hate my job. I hate my job. Nell nodded, not trusting her voice to come out evenly over the fury inside her. At least she’d get to go on-site for two or three days. If nothing else, it would get her away from the office. But it wouldn’t get her away from Eamonn.
Lila came floating into Nell’s office. “You lucky bitch.”
“What, now?” Nell gave Lila a hard look.
“I hear you’re going on a road trip with Easy Yarrow, and I’m green with envy over it. And the sad thing is, you probably won’t even get laid while you have the chance.”
“What in the ever-loving hell are you talking about, Lila? Just because his stage name is Easy, it doesn’t mean he’ll roll over for any woman he happens to be around, right? Otherwise, you’d have had him in the janitor’s closet by now, I expect.”
Lila gaped at her. “Don’t be catty, Nell. I’m just saying you’re lucky, that’s all. And that if I were in your shoes, I’d be packing condoms with the rest of my shit tonight.” Giggling, Lila turned to leave.
“Wait. Easy Yarrow? I assumed it was Baxter. Tommy’s his uncle.”
“Dunno. His HR file says Yarrow.”
Nell tried not to let her surprise show on her face. Lila went snooping in Eamonn’s HR file? She hadn’t figured Lila would have the computer skills to get into a restricted part of the database. “What else did you
learn?”
Lila giggled again. “Oh, his birthday, his age, where he lives, how much he’s being paid.”
“Pretty sure I can find out that stuff by asking him, Lila.”
“Enjoy your trip. Aidan told me one time that Champagne Cascades is a pretty freaking romantic place.”
“Do you want me to sleep with Eamonn?” Nell asked, puzzled. “I thought you were crushing on him.”
“Oh, I am, who wouldn’t be? But you need to get laid, sunshine. And I think he could do the job just fine. Besides, I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“Well, all that’s pretty… ah… enlightening,” said Eamonn from the doorway, where he’d obviously caught at least the last little bit of their exchange.
Lila turned bright red, muttered, “We were just joking around,” and scuttled out of Nell’s office.
Eamonn stepped into the office and closed the door. “Uncle Tommy tells me we’re going on a road trip.”
“Door open, please,” Nell ordered, using her no-nonsense instructor voice. It was way too intimate with the door closed. And she didn’t get involved with co-workers.
“Why?” he asked. “I’m not going to do anything to you. Like you said, we’re at the office. We’re just talking.”
“I just… it just feels weirdly private.” Nell shrugged, not wanting to make too big a deal of it. “Whatever.”
With a thoughtful look, Eamonn turned and cracked the door so it stood open a few inches. “Better?” The look on his face said he was humoring her. Bastard.
“Oh, sure, an inch or two makes so much difference.”
Eamonn burst out laughing. “I’m told my extra inches make a pretty nice difference.” Nell fixed him with a murderous gaze, and he raised his hands to ward off her anger. “Hey, hey, I’m just winding you up. Tell me about this road trip.”
Nell sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to Champagne Cascades before — I only got assigned the property the day before you started. And I’ve always done site visits alone and left my assistant in the office. But Tommy wants me to take you with me.”
Rock God in Exile (Smidge Book 2) Page 3