Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
I couldn’t just ask Griffen. What if he said no? The thought was intolerable.
I didn’t need to ask. I had a loophole. After I’d annoyed Mrs. Haverty into quitting, Griffen had sworn that if I drove away another cook, I’d have to take over the job myself.
Drive away another cook? I could do it in my sleep. By the time I realized how much I needed to be in the kitchens, I already had Mrs. Bailey on the ropes. She’d objected to my midnight visits, complaining that I moved things. I didn’t use her supplies, cleaned up after myself, and was gone by the time her day began. But I touched the paper towel holder one time, and it was too much. The second time she accused me of hiding the salt—I didn’t—and she convinced Savannah to ban me from the kitchens.
Not that it stopped me. It was bad enough I had to share the space with Mrs. Bailey. The idea that she could ban me from the kitchen I’d grown up in was not worth considering. I continued to ignore the ban, and Mrs. Bailey continued her tantrums. She always knew when I’d been in her space, making up lie after lie to turn Savannah against me. As if Savannah needed any help. She disliked me enough on her own. For good reason, unlike Mrs. Bailey.
I’d thought my invading what Mrs. Bailey saw as her territory might do the trick, but so far she was hanging in there. She’d underestimated me. Tonight’s dinner was going to push her over the edge, and I was going to enjoy every minute of it.
Savannah rounded the table, clearing our salad plates. Only a few more minutes. I watched Savannah set the last of the salad plates in the dumbwaiter and ladle soup into the first bowl. She glanced up and met my eyes, hers narrowing as they locked on mine. I grinned, unable to resist poking at her.
There was something about Savannah Miles. She’d always gotten under my skin, even when we were kids. That sunrise hair, those cool gray eyes. The sheer competence of her. If you didn’t think competence was sexy, you hadn’t met Savannah Miles. The woman could do anything. Throw her an impossible task, and she’d take a few notes, disappear, and come back with the impossible made possible.
After years in high-pressure kitchens, I appreciate anyone who can get shit done with minimal fuss. I’d never say it out loud, but Savannah was better at running Heartstone Manor than her mother had been. Miss Martha had been the housekeeper here as long as I could remember. Savannah had grown up in Heartstone Manor, always there, elusive, not one of us, but not entirely separate. Now she was running the place.
Rolling the linen-covered serving cart close to the table, Savannah began to serve the soup. My gut tightened, and my foot bounced under the table. I was ready to go, vibrating with anticipation. Across the table, my brother Royal lifted a spoon to his mouth.
Holding my breath, I pretended to fill my own spoon, blowing on the hot soup to stall. Someone else had to taste it first. Royal closed his lips around the spoon and swallowed. Immediately, his lips pursed, his forehead wrinkling, eyes squinting as he yanked the spoon from his mouth, staring at it in confusion.
“What’s wrong?” his girlfriend, Daisy, asked from beside him. She peered into her soup bowl before dipping in her own spoon and taking a cautious taste. Her face twisted in revulsion. “That’s foul,” she said under her breath, shooting a quick glance around the room.
At the head of the table, Griffen shot out a hand to cover Hope’s, stopping her from picking up her spoon. “Don’t. I don’t know what it is, but the soup is—” He stopped, swallowing, scrunching up his face as if trying to force the bitter bite of the soup from his mouth. “Savannah, would you take the soup back down to the kitchen? I’m sure it was an accident, but it’s inedible.”
“Of course,” Savannah answered, smoothly collecting full bowls from around the table, her expression serene. Until she got to me. Leaning in to take my full bowl, her breath warm against my ear, she hissed, “What did you do?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Me? Nothing.” I lied without remorse. “How could I have done anything?”
Savannah’s eyes narrowed into slits, her high cheekbones flushed in anger. I loved looking at her when she was mad. All that fire made my heart beat harder.
A scrap of humanity shoved through my exhilaration as I remembered that Savannah was the one who was going to have to clean up my mess. Mrs. Bailey was going to flip her shit. That was the point of the whole exercise. I’d never ruin food for fun. But I knew I wasn’t the one she’d yell at. Even if she knew I’d been responsible, Mrs. Bailey would never dare to yell at one of the Sawyers. She’d yell at Savannah, who worked her ass off and hadn’t done anything but stick up for Mrs. Bailey. It was unfair. I was such an asshole.