Emma glances at me, then at the refreshing-looking glass of Sauvignon Blanc in front of her. “Are you sure you don’t mind if Pierce and I drink in front of you?”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Emma, but I wouldn’t be at a pub if I couldn’t control myself around booze and/or women.” My gaze shifts to Pierce’s pint of Stella which is currently begging to make a liar out of me. Instead, I pick up a homemade tortilla chip and dip it in the salsa dish, trying to not to think about all the things that have been testing my resolve lately—not the least of which is a certain woman with whom I shared a most delightful date yesterday.
“Christ, you poor bugger,” Pierce says, sounding amused rather than sympathetic. “You’re staring at my drink like you used to stare at Tatiana’s chest.”
“I believe you were the one enamoured with her double F’s, not me.” I turn to Emma and add, “Tatiana was one of our nannies. Pierce was infatuated with her from age twelve to fifteen.”
“Was not,” he quips. “That was Greyson.”
Emma tilts her head toward me. “Oh, I know who she is, believe me.”
“Really?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
“He’s brought her up at least half a dozen times,” she answers with a smile in my direction. Her face falls a bit as she peers past me. “Oh, crap. I think we’ve got a reporter here.”
Instead of turning, Pierce picks up his phone and puts it in selfie mode. “What time?”
“Eight o’clock to you,” she says, without moving her lips. “Wide-angle lens Nikon on her lap.”
Pierce stares at his mobile for a second, then glances at me with a wide grin. “I think she’s here for you, Leo.”
I twist around and see Jolene sitting at a nearby table. She smiles and raises her bottle of beer in a toast to me. I give her an unenthusiastic wave and turn back to my lunch companions with a sigh. “That’s my parole officer,” I tell Emma. “She’s been on my arse all weekend.”
“Oh, wow. Somehow seeing her in person makes the whole thing seem more real,” she says.
“Quite,” I answer, feeling the weight of the contract bearing down on me. “Don’t tell anyone, but this entire experience has been a lot less enjoyable than I expected. I’m only at the halfway mark, and each day, I find something new to miss.”
“Such is the fate of a man hell-bent on sponging off his parents,” Pierce says, shaking his head as he scoops salsa onto a tortilla.
Emma quickly changes the subject. “Rosy said you’re really working out well at the resort.”
“Yes, it only took me a few weeks to learn how to be a proper mule,” I answer. “But it’s kind of her to say that. I wonder if she’d be willing to serve as a reference for me.”
“Are you wanting to stay in the hospitality industry?” Emma asks.
“God, no! I meant with my father,” I say without thinking. “Sorry, Emma, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Why would that offend her?” Pierce asks. “She’s a master chef, not a mule.”
“A chef who can’t speak for herself?” I ask dryly.
“Apparently,” Emma says, rolling her eyes at my brother but giving him a little grin at the same time. “And I’m not offended, Leo. I know being a bellboy isn’t your life’s dream. I just thought maybe the industry itself would be a good fit for you, since you’re so…fun-loving.”
“She means irresponsible,” Pierce says, leaning toward me and lowering his voice.
“I meant no such thing,” Emma says.
“Good God, he loves to talk for you, Emma,” I say. “That must get on your last nerve, no?”
“It’s not as irritating as a lot of the other stuff Pierce does, so I’ve decided to let that one go,” she answers, trying to hide a smile.
Dipping a chip into the salsa, I say, “Like the amount of time he spends playing with his imaginary friends.”
Cupping her hand over her mouth to hide her answer from Pierce, she mouths, “Yes.”
“Oh, Christ, please tell me this isn’t going to be another afternoon of the two of you bonding via making fun of me,” my brother says.
I stare at Emma for a second, then we both nod. “I’m afraid it is,” I say, pretending to be sorry.
