“No, I am not kidding, Miss...”
“Miss Samantha.”
“Miss Samantha.”
I walk up to him with the empty plate, and I say low, “Okay, fussy.”
“I just like things the way I do.”
“Sure, fussy.” I head for the kitchen door, but I pause and turn. “Oh, sorry, what would the Master like to eat tonight?”
Grumpy is putting on his jacket when I stupidly drop, “Food, just to clarify.” He is thinking when I cut in fast, “How about a surprise?”
“I dislike surprises, Chef.”
“Yes, I can see that,” I say before I can keep my trap shut.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say, as he walks closer.
I lift my chin as he looks down on me. My heart pounds, and I dislike being his subordinate.
“Okay then, let’s see if you can surprise me, little one.”
I turn to back into the kitchen door with the dish in hand, but I pause. “Oh, one last thing.”
“This should be good,” Grumpy says, heading for the other door.
“Will Master Harry always be grumpy, cold, and commanding?”
We share a look, and he looks intrigued. “Just grumpy and cold, Miss. No more commanding.”
“Interesting,” I say, walking towards him.
“For the record, I think you have a brother. A brother who is amazing. Either that, or there is a chance you are schizo. The other guy… he was one hell of a man. Amazing. Classy. And well, kind of perfect. Just saying.”
Grumpy looks offended and confused.
He folds the newspaper and taps his hand with it. “Yes, well, we don’t always get what we want in life, do we? If it was too easy, one would become weak.”
That has me, and the best I can come up with is, “Thank you for the education, good Sir. Will that be all?” I say it defiantly, and he steps closer to me with his folded newspaper.
I am angry but also turned on. I hate my body for wanting him. Every darned inch of him.
The bastard then does the unspeakable and he lifts my defiant chin with the newspaper.
Our eyes hold, and then the smug bastard says, “Now, you may go,”
I turn and walk away. And as I do, I swish my butt. Inside the kitchen, I place the dish down and look back. Grumpy is checking me out through the swinging doors. I flick my head a little, and my hair flies. The smug arrogant bastard.
8
SAMANTHA
I have several hours off before lunch, and I catch my breath. That is when a message comes in. It is simple. It asks if I can deliver a cold beef sandwich to a table in the top-floor hall.
I know I have an easy day ahead, so I decide I may as well enjoy the place while I’m here.
