Harper's Wish

“Why me?” Harper asked, as if sensing his reluctance to elaborate on the matter. “I thought we were sworn enemies.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, even enemies can get along if they’re both in a tight spot, right? I need a competent server, and you’ve proved you can keep your cool under pressure. And you need a job. Surely we can work together for a few months?”

She seemed to be considering. “Are you sure you’re not doing this for some sort of revenge? Hire me on and then fire me in another week or something?”

He placed a hand across his heart. “Your distrust wounds me. Besides, you’re giving yourself too much credit. I’m trying to run a restaurant—I don’t have time to be playing petty games of revenge.”

She blushed at this.

“But I will confess that I wouldn’t mind seeing the great Harper Worth scrubbing toilets at the end of the night.” He went on to explain. “You should know that we’re operating with a skeleton crew, and each member of staff is expected to pitch in with various chores on their shift.”

“What sort of chores?” she questioned.

“Why? Are you too proud to do a little cleaning?”

She ground her teeth together, and he felt a happy satisfaction at the sound. He was getting under her skin, and he had to admit—he liked it.

Keeping up the momentum, he asked, “I wondered—what happened that cost you your job as reigning queen of restaurant reviews?”

She winced at the title, and he wondered if he’d pushed her too far. But after a pause, she answered, “I made the mistake of reviewing my boss’s goddaughter’s restaurant...only, I didn’t know their connection at the time.”

“Ah. I take it you were your usual, barb-tongued self?”

She sighed and lowered her voice. “Yes. It’s what I’m known for. Harper Worth, the snide, snarky critic.”

“Don’t forget snobby.”

She glared at him. “Now you sound like my readers.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I thought your adoring fans lapped up your condescension.”

“They used to. But now...they’re saying I’m too harsh, that I never have anything nice to say, there’s no pleasing me.” She made a face. “An audience’s affections are a fickle thing.”

He watched as she moved to the swing and sat down.

“I know what they call me,” she went on. “The harpy. But I’m not a total shrew. I did offer up some nice reviews, after all. What I learned about those nice reviews?” She sat down on the edge of the swing. “Nobody read them. I think the public just enjoys watching others get cut down. Flip through the television channels, and you’ll see plenty of reality TV shows with people spouting opinions even harsher than mine.”

Connor moved closer and leaned one shoulder against the porch post.

“You’ll forgive me if I can’t offer much sympathy for your predicament.”

She shrugged. “I’m sure this feels like justice for a lot of people.”

He didn’t reply. Justice? She’d lost her job. He’d lost his as well, along with a restaurant and all his savings. He didn’t really think it was the same thing. But he couldn’t afford to argue that point right now.

“Well, then, what do you say? Do you want the job or not?”

She looked up at him. “You really drove over here just to offer me a job? With no ulterior motives?”

“Strange as it may seem... I did.” After all, it wasn’t as if they were becoming friends. She was just coming to work for him. He still held the upper hand—as her boss, he’d be calling the shots.

“All right,” she finally agreed. “When can I start?”

She didn’t say so, but he sensed the same desperation in her that he’d been feeling. She needed this job as much as he needed her to start immediately.

“Can you come in this morning, say around ten?”

He noted a flicker of relief in her eyes before she blinked.

“That should be fine.”

“Great. Then, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to be getting back.”

She stood to show him out and they walked back through the cottage to the front door.

She opened the door, and he stepped through.

“Connor?” she said, her voice soft.

He paused.

“I guess I should say...thanks.”

He inclined his head ever so slightly at this and then walked toward his truck.

* * *

HARPER FELT A ripple of nerves as she stepped up to the Rusty Anchor’s door for her first day on the job. The restaurant wasn’t open yet, and the door was locked, so she rapped soundly on the glass and waited. She scanned the docks fronting the building, impressed with the glossy serenity of the bay in the midmorning sunlight. The Anchor might be a bit out of the way, but the view of the water was worth it.

She was watching a pair of ducks floating near the shore when the sound of the door opening jerked her attention back to the restaurant.

“We’re not open for business yet.”

Harper looked into the assessing hazel eyes of a woman about her own age. “Oh, I know. I’m Harper. Connor hired me as a server.”

The other woman’s frown deepened. Not a reassuring sight.

“You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”

Harper didn’t know what to make of this. “Um...thanks?”

The woman’s mouth twitched, ever so slightly. “I mean, I always thought the Worth It? column was written by some older, soured socialite.”

“Oh.” Harper’s reputation as a critic had clearly preceded her. What had Connor told his other employees?

“Never mind. Come on inside. I’m Erin, Connor’s sous chef, part-time manager and occasional server.”

Though Connor had said his sous chef also worked as a server, she blinked at the multiple roles the other woman juggled. Erin shrugged. “Times are tough around here, so we all take on additional duties to help out. At least it keeps us from getting too bored. Come on into the back, and I’ll introduce you to Leah. She just got here.”

Erin led the way through the main dining area and toward the back of the room. “Tomorrow, you can enter by the back doors off the alley. Connor unlocks those every morning.”

They emerged from the hallway and into the kitchen. A slim, long-legged teen with hair so black it had a blue sheen stood to the far right, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Erin ignored her and showed Harper the rooms behind the kitchen area. There was a stockroom, a walk-in refrigerator and a laundry area to wash the restaurant linens.

“We use those lockers to store our personal belongings while we’re here.” She gestured to a row of much-abused gray lockers with peeling paint.

Harper followed Erin back into the kitchen.

“Leah?”

The dark-haired woman looked up.

“This is Harper, the new server I was telling you about.”

Leah cocked her head. “I thought you said she was older.”

Erin cleared her throat. “I was wrong—that was just my assumption.”

Harper decided to make the best of this awkward introduction and stepped forward to extend a hand.

“I’m thirty years old,” she offered.

Leah’s face melted into a grin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” She stuck her hand in Harper’s. “Is it true you used to be a big-city restaurant critic?”

Harper felt a stab of pain at this reminder. Is this how she was forever to be introduced? Harper Worth, once a well-known restaurant critic of the DC area...now a modest server. But Leah’s smile was warm and friendly so Harper offered one in return.

“Yes. I’m known for the Worth It? column.”

Leah’s eyes widened. “Oh, I think I’ve heard of that. You’re always cutting on restaurants, right?” She went on in a single breath, “It must be so great to live in the city and dine at all the exclusive places.”

Harper winced at Leah’s description of her column. It was sadly accurate. Fortunately, Erin cleared her throat before Harper could respond.

“Leah, I’ll get Harper started off today, but you might have to show her some of the ropes later on.”

“Sweet. Maybe you could tell me what it’s like, living in a big city?”

Harper nodded, and Leah beamed at her. Well, at least it looked as if she might have one friend around here. She hoped Rafael would show up soon, and then she might feel reasonably welcome at her new job. Of course, there was still... She looked around.

“Where’s Connor?”

Before Erin could respond, Connor stepped through the kitchen’s doorway. A shiver ran through her at the sight of him, whether from nerves or something else, she couldn’t be certain. He looked rather dashing in his chef’s uniform, the crisp, white fabric hugging his broad shoulders. His eyes fell on Harper.

“Ah, I see my newest employee has arrived.”

He clapped his hands together and gave Harper the once over. She tensed at the sound.

“Let’s get you started, shall we?”

* * *

HARPER STARED AS Connor held out the handle of a mop in her direction.

“What’s that?” she asked with some trepidation.

“What’s it look like?” Connor turned the question around.

He shook the handle to get her to take it, and she gripped it in her hands as he released it to her.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“The bathrooms need a thorough going-over. You can start by mopping, and then I’ll show you where the rest of the cleaning supplies are kept so you can do the toilets, sink and the like.”

Harper stiffened. Connor had warned her there’d be chores, but she hadn’t expected she’d start her first shift cleaning the restrooms. “Shouldn’t I be learning the menu first?”

Connor clicked his tongue at her. “Tsk, tsk, Ms. Worth. Are you so high and mighty that you won’t lower yourself to scrub a few floors?”

Harper bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping back an undignified reply. Had this been Connor’s motivation when he offered her a job—saddling her with the most demeaning duties in the restaurant?

“I did tell you that you’d have to pitch in with the cleaning tasks,” he reminded.

“You did,” she conceded, “but you seem kind of smug about it.”

“Smug?” He scowled. “Might I remind you that you’re speaking to your new boss?”

She cringed. What had she gotten herself into?

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of quitting before you’ve even begun,” he goaded.

Of course. He’d enjoy that—for her to admit defeat. Was that what he’d wanted all along? Or did he really need a server? Well, it didn’t matter. She needed this job, and she was not the stuck-up snob he implied. She had no problem cleaning toilets—her father had instilled a driving work ethic in her from the time she was small. But her pride prickled at the way Connor had presented the job.

She raised her head and looked Connor in the eye. “You’d better show me where the mop bucket is kept.”

Satisfaction rippled through her as surprise flitted across her boss’s features. Her gratification was short-lived, however, as he gestured for her to follow him to the back room where a rack of cleaning supplies and a mop bucket were stored.

Once she was outfitted with the mop, bucket and a pair of gloves, Connor led her to the restrooms and propped open the ladies’ room door. “Make sure you get in all the nooks and crannies,” he reminded her, “and when you’re done with the floors, start on the commodes.”

He lingered, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed her standing in the middle of the restroom. She had a feeling he was taking a mental snapshot to replay whenever he remembered the sting of her review.

She sloshed the mop into the water and then used the bucket’s lever to press the excess liquid from its strands before she got to work. She did her best to ignore Connor’s presence, and after a couple of minutes, she looked over her shoulder to realize he’d gone. She straightened and surveyed the wet floor before catching her own reflection in the restroom mirrors. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but already the efforts of cleaning the restroom had caused a few strands to come loose around her face. The yellow rubber gloves she wore contrasted with the white button-down shirt and khakis that were a server’s standard uniform at the Anchor. If she’d known she’d be working as a cleaning lady, she’d have shown up in a grubby T-shirt and jeans. She blew the hair out of her eyes and looked away from her reflection.

How far she had fallen. From famed restaurant critic to humble janitor. She was glad her father couldn’t see her now. It had been hard enough for him to accept her choice not to come work for him after college as her older sister, Paige, had done years before. Seeing her reduced to cleaning bathrooms would only deepen his disappointment.

Putting aside those musings, Harper turned her attention back to mopping. When the floors in both bathrooms were spotless, she set to work on the sinks, mirrors and toilets.

Connor popped back in to check on her as she was finishing the men’s room commodes. She sensed him before she saw him, turning to find his lips twitching with amusement at the sight of her hunched over the toilet bowl. She ground her teeth together and swiped at a drip of perspiration along her temple, careful to use her upper arm so she didn’t brush against the rubber gloves she wore. It grated that Connor appeared so unfazed, leaning against the bathroom doorway as she struggled with her task. And what right did he have to look so ridiculously handsome while she was a sweaty mess?

“You missed the base,” he cheerily pointed out, directing her attention to the bottom of the toilet.

She took the opportunity to glare at him before attacking the area he’d indicated. He stepped into the room as she scrubbed at the last of the porcelain surface, and when she stole a glance upward, she saw him surveying her work.

“Not bad,” he finally admitted as she stood and stripped off the rubber gloves.

“Not bad?” she repeated in disbelief. “These restrooms are so clean, you could set up tables in here and serve dinner.”

He affected an expression of horror. “But, Harper, what would a restaurant critic say if they should happen to see something like that?”

She squeezed the rubber gloves in her fist and refused to rise to the bait.

“Well, then,” he said when he saw she wasn’t going to reply. “On to the next order of business.”

Connor looked so eager that she felt a twinge of dismay at what he had planned for her.

The grease trap.

She should have guessed. Cleaning it was one of the worst jobs in a restaurant, and one that was often contracted out to a service company. But with the Rusty Anchor’s tight finances, Connor had decided to keep the task in-house. As frustrating as bathroom duty was, Harper knew it was a plush job compared to cleaning the grease trap. All the oily sludge and congealed chunks of fat from cooking were routed into the trap in order to save the pipes. Even Rafael, whose task it normally was to clean it, eyed her with pity when Connor gave her the instructions. When she first pried off the lid, the sulfuric smells nearly made her gag. She turned her head and saw Connor standing several feet away, watching her with suppressed enjoyment.

With a grimace, she took a deep breath and went back at it, determined not to reveal any more of the disgust she was feeling.

By the time she finished, her stomach was twisted with nausea from the smell, and her arms were covered in black streaks of slick, stinky grease. Her once-pristine white shirt was soaked with sweat, and there were permanent smudges covering the front. But she was secretly pleased. She doubted the grease trap had looked this clean since the day it was installed. Her pride in the achievement was short-lived, though—Connor came over, inspected her work and shrugged.

“I suppose it’ll have to do.”

She gritted her teeth and forced back a growl.

“Since you’re finished with that, why don’t you scour the grills next?”

* * *

CONNOR KNEW HE shouldn’t be enjoying himself this much. But there was something so...satisfying about seeing the haughty Harper Worth at manual labor. It almost made up for that crummy review she’d given him.

Almost. But not quite.

He had to give it to her, though. He’d thought she’d quit on the spot when he handed her that mop bucket. And after the thorough cleanings she’d given the restrooms, he was sure the grease trap would finish her off. Not that he wanted to see her quit, exactly. He hadn’t been lying when he told her he needed a server. Leah was just a high school kid, after all, working part-time over the summer. And Erin couldn’t keep juggling so many responsibilities in the restaurant. But he didn’t see why he should make things easy on Harper just because he was in need of another server.

“Make sure you put some elbow grease into that,” he said as he walked by the grill on his way to the stockroom.

He just caught the face she made before he turned his back and disappeared into the stock area, humming a tune beneath his breath. He had to admit, having Harper around had certainly put him in good spirits.

By the time he emerged from the stockroom, she’d finished scouring the grill top and was at the wash sink, lathering up her hands with soap. He felt just the faintest twinge of shame at the sight of her. She had streaks of black grease smudged not only on her pants and the hem of her nice white shirt but also tattooed across the back of her arms. When she turned around, drying her hands on a towel, he noted her outfit was ruined from the cleaning tasks he’d assigned. Her blond hair had come loose from its ponytail and fell in thick strands across her cheeks. She looked in need of a hot shower and large glass of wine. And he thought, just for the length of a breath, about placing his palms on her shoulders and massaging away the tension riding the ridge of her back.

He frowned at the idea and determined not to let guilt get the better of him. This was the harpy, after all. She deserved none of his sympathy. He told himself he was doing this for every restaurateur who had suffered an unjust review from some ego-inflated critic.

Still, the way Harper’s shoulders sagged when she caught sight of him tugged at his conscience. He decided to ease up, but only a little.

“If you’re finished here, why don’t you iron the linen napkins?” he suggested. “The laundry is back that way—” he pointed behind him “—and there’s an ironing board and iron in there, as well.”

She gave a curt nod and tossed aside the towel before heading toward the back room.

Rafael had carried in a bin of dishes just in time to witness Connor’s instructions. He placed the plastic tub beside the sink and frowned in his boss’s direction. “She hasn’t complained once, boss. Not even while cleaning the grease trap. Don’t you think you’re coming down a little hard on her?”

Connor shrugged. “What’s that saying? If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen?”

“But shouldn’t you be preparing her to start serving? Erin may have picked up the slack this week but what about next week? You need to put Harper out on the floor.”

“In time,” Connor replied. “But I think it’s best to find out if she’s committed first, don’t you?”

Rafael didn’t meet Connor’s eyes. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

Connor sensed Rafael’s disapproval and felt another pinch of shame. But Rafael only knew the recently humbled Harper. He was unfamiliar with the self-important critic who’d destroyed Connor’s business.

“I wouldn’t worry about her if I were you, Rafael. She’s the type of woman who doesn’t stay down for long.”

When Rafael didn’t reply, Connor felt a ripple of irritation. Was he the only one who knew Harper for what she really was?

CHAPTER THREE

DURING HER FIRST week at the Rusty Anchor, Harper learned to bite her tongue each time Connor asked her to do something. She became adept at offering him a forced grin and going about the most odious chores he assigned, determined that he would have nothing to complain about regarding her work. If he was looking for a reason to fire her as payback for that long-ago review, she’d give him none. And if he thought piling on the cleaning duties would cause her to give up, he clearly didn’t know her that well.

She did everything he required to the best of her ability.

The bathrooms sparkled. The floors were soon spotless. The stainless-steel counters and sink in the kitchen positively gleamed. She dusted, she scrubbed, she polished. She did the laundry and even ironed the linen napkins without being asked. And eventually, at the end of that first week, Connor ran out of chores.

“Have you cleaned the bathrooms?”

“Done.”

“Disinfected the waste bins?”

“Finished.”

“There were some dishes—”

“Scrubbed, dried and put away.”

He finally looked up from where he’d been studying an order form on his desk.

“The flatware?”

“Polished and the place settings laid.”

He opened his mouth, but she continued before he could speak.

“The napkins are ironed, the glasses are shining, the trash cans are empty, the floors are mopped, the salt and pepper shakers are filled, everything is stocked and I disinfected all the menus. Rafael and I finished cleaning the oven hood, and we organized the storage room like you wanted. I even helped Erin prep ingredients for the dinner crowd.”

Connor closed his mouth, and she felt a surge of triumph.

“Will there be anything else?” She knew her voice was a touch too syrupy by the way Connor’s eyes narrowed.

“All right, then,” he said grudgingly. “I suppose it’s time to teach you the menu.”

* * *

THE FOLLOWING DAY, Harper surveyed the multitude of dishes spread across the stainless-steel counter in the Rusty Anchor’s kitchen. Connor stood on the counter’s opposite side, sporting his chef whites with his arms crossed over his chest in what Harper could only label a defensive posture. She was more nervous than she’d thought she’d be, now that she was faced with learning the restaurant’s menu.

“So, we’re just tasting the dishes?”

Connor’s expression remained flat. “I’ll explain a dish, then you’ll taste it so you can make the appropriate recommendations to customers.”

She swallowed. “Okay. Where should we start?”

He pointed at the plate nearest to her. “Let’s begin with the fish. Pecan-crusted seared salmon with wilted greens and a maple balsamic glaze. Sides are either the wild-rice pilaf or sweet-potato pancakes, which is what I’ve plated here.”

Harper used her fork to flake into the fish. The salmon’s color was beautiful with a pale pink center. She scooped up a bite and popped into her mouth, all too aware of Connor’s eyes on her. The fish was cooked well, and the pecans lent a nice crunch. She wasn’t impressed by the maple glaze, which was a bit too sugary for her palate. She chewed and swallowed, trying to avoid Connor’s gaze as she twirled one of the wilted greens around her fork tines. Clearing her throat, she reached for a glass of water to wash down the flavors before cutting into the sweet-potato pancake. Still not looking toward Connor, she popped it into her mouth and was pleased with the crispy exterior followed by a meltingly creamy interior studded with bits of pancetta and the faint flavors of herbs. While she’d expected more of the sweetness she’d encountered in the rest of the dish, the pancakes were perfectly balanced with savory ingredients against the sweeter vegetable.

She swallowed and kept her expression neutral as she finally looked at Connor. She found him watching her expectantly.

“Okay, now what?”

He made a face. “Describe it to me. As if I were a customer.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Really?”

“Really. And don’t forget, in the kitchen, the proper way to address me is Chef.”

Harper felt a flicker of annoyance. “Fine, Chef.” She cleared her throat a second time. “Pecan-crusted seared salmon, cooked to perfection but a touch heavy on the maple glaze. The nuts add a nice crunch but would be better if they had been toasted longer before being ground for the crust, in order to balance out the sweetness. I can’t recommend the wilted greens, given their soggy, overly saccharine taste, but the sweet-potato pancakes are deliciously crisp with a satisfying marriage of salty pancetta and the licorice touch of fennel.”