Cerella Sechrist - Harper's Wish

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?

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