To Cruz’s chagrin, his focus wandered to her lips as she spoke, reminding him of how they’d felt pressed against his and of exactly what he’d hoped she’d offer last night.
Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Have you ever marketed a farm before?’
She shook her head, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter what I market, I employ the same principles. Raise the client’s profile with coordinated social media campaigns that direct interested parties to an updated website with excellent graphic design.’
Suitably impressed, he nodded. ‘Sounds good. I assume you’ve researched Kinstead Avocados, so where are you going to start?’
‘Your website is woeful, so I’ve already contacted my graphic designer to provide me with material I can use to modernise it ASAP. And Kinstead Avocados has Facebook and Instagram profiles, but neither have been updated in months, so Ferne has given me access to those and I intend on posting fresh content several times a day while I’m here.’ She paused, eyeballing him. ‘Is there anything specific you want me to concentrate on, apart from the obvious?’
‘The obvious?’ he parroted, sounding like an idiot and wondering what it was about this woman that made him feel off-kilter.
‘The avocados,’ she said, and if she’d added a ‘duh’ to the end, he wouldn’t have been surprised.
‘Just post whatever you think is relevant.’
A cheeky glint lit her eyes. ‘Does that include you?’
He snorted. ‘Why would stupid photos of me raise the profile of this place?’
Her smile faded. ‘You think the photos I take are stupid?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he muttered, silently cursing himself for inadvertently insulting her. ‘I just meant that seeing me won’t get people to notice this place, particularly if they’re buyers.’
‘Why not? You’re one of the owners, and getting some candid shots of you around the farm gives people a feel of the everyday.’
Not wanting to argue with her, he shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’
‘You’re surprisingly agreeable for someone who gives off a grouchy vibe.’
Startled by her astute assessment, Cruz said, ‘Most chefs are grouchy. Comes standard with the hat and the checked pants.’
‘So you weren’t kidding about last night being your last in the Tiles kitchen?’
‘Sadly, no.’
‘Your mum couldn’t handle the sale of the farm on her own?’
‘It’s complicated.’ Should he tell her about the stipulation in his father’s will? He hated being tethered here, but no good could come of a transient social media marketer knowing his family’s business, so he decided to say nothing.
‘We all have complications,’ she said, darkness shadowing her eyes. ‘Some more than others.’
‘Let me guess. Yours involve faulty filters and hashtags that don’t go viral.’
Her eyes narrowed as she appraised him with disdain. ‘Don’t presume to know anything about me, because you’d be wrong.’ She stood and hoisted her handbag onto her shoulder. ‘Now, if you’d be so kind as to show me where I’ll be staying …’
Great, he’d offended her. He did that to a lot of people, but it didn’t matter so much when barking orders at sous chefs in the kitchen. With Elora, he had to do better, tread carefully, because he needed her help, even if only for a week.
‘Sorry,’ he said, standing and gesturing at the house.
‘You can’t help being a jackass,’ she muttered, before shooting him a dazzling fake smile.
‘Guess I deserved that.’ Not many people stood up to him and Elora’s bravado added to her intrigue. ‘You’ll be staying in a self-contained studio that’s tacked onto the house. Hope that suits?’
‘If I don’t have to run into you, absolutely.’
‘Are you allowed to talk to clients like that?’
She shot him a coy glance from beneath her lashes that he had no hope of interpreting. ‘Only the ones I’ve pashed.’
