“What?” she snapped.
“Umm—some of the guests are asking for more rémoulade for the crawfish fritters.”
“Okay,” she said, some of her irritation fading. She was overreacting. She knew it. “It’s in the fridge over there.”
Eric looked reluctant to enter the room, but came in anyway, heading to the large stainless steel refrigerator that she pointed to with her spoon. Yeah, she didn’t look like she needed help. Totally in control here.
Eric located the bowl of rémoulade, without further guidance, and even moved rather quickly to exit the kitchen.
“You might want to leave the broom here,” the pirate commented when Eric passed.
Eric looked slightly startled that the pirate had spoken to him, but then he leaned the broom against the wall and left.
“You might want to consider a little bit sharper staff down the road.”
Josie Lynn glared at him. “Why the hell are you here? Honestly? Can’t you see that I have a lot to do?”
She raised her hand to stop him as he opened his mouth to answer her.
“You know what, that was a rhetorical question,” she said. “I don’t give a rat’s rear end why you are here. And I know I have a lot to do here. I know I could use more staff. Better staff. But I can do this, and frankly, I don’t need or want your help—aside from you just leaving.”
He didn’t respond for a moment, and just when she wondered if he’d just chosen to completely ignore her, he finally nodded.
“Okay,” he said, calmly. “I know you are busy.”
Thank God, he was finally just going to go away. Yes.
“But—”
Josie Lynn fought back a groan. Really? Was this some kind of joke or something?
“I still don’t feel like I’ve given you an appropriate apology. So let me take you out for a drink when the wedding is over. Then you can relax and we can just talk.”
She gaped at him . . . clutching a cheese-caked spoon straight up in the air in front of her. Was he really that thick? Didn’t he see she was annoyed with him? Beyond annoyed. She was a woman perilously close to the edge.
But instead of saying any of that, she simply said, “No.”
He still remained rooted in the same spot, ass to edge of the counter. “Really? Because I think we’d have a great time.”
“No.”
“Not even just one dri—”
“No.”
He stood there a moment longer, then shoved away from the counter. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He studied her for just a few seconds longer, then he bowed. The gesture should have looked silly, or patronizing, but Josie Lynn found his movement oddly elegant. Oddly appealing.
He straightened. “I do wish you would reconsider, but I also realize I overstepped proper etiquette and put you in an awkward and unfortunate position, and for that, I am truly sorry.”
Josie Lynn stared at him. He looked sincere—and even stranger than that, his way of speaking seemed from another time, yet utterly natural to him. And maybe stress and anxiety had taken what was left of her mind, but had he suddenly acquired an English accent?
Then he smiled, that mischievous, roguish grin that she was already far too familiar with, and Josie Lynn immediately felt like a fool for being sucked in by his charm—even for a moment. It was an act. Like all men’s charms.
The costume made total sense. He was dashing and dangerous and totally out for himself. And she wasn’t about to let her emotions get ravished again. Even by a very pretty pirate.
“Great,” she said with forced detachment. “Now please leave.”
“Okay.” In that one word all of his affected gallantry disappeared. In fact he sounded as if her rejection didn’t matter in the least to him, and even though she didn’t have any intention of going out with him, she was still hurt by the idea that he’d come on so strong, then was ultimately so apathetic about her rejection.
Don’t worry about it, Josie Lynn. He did you a favor. He just reminded you why you are out of the dating scene for now—and possibly forever.
The pirate gave her another nod of his head and then sauntered out of the room.
She watched him leave, willing herself to not feel bad.
She refocused on her work. She needed to finish up two more platters of appetizers. She immediately went to the large fridge to pull out the spinach-and-feta turnovers that needed to be put in the oven now. And she needed to get the yogurt-dill dipping sauce into a serving bowl.
She checked the oven temperature and slid two baking sheets full of pastries inside. Then she returned to the refrigerator to get the sauce.
Where was her help? Eric was moving at the pace of a drowsy snail, no doubt. And God only knew what Ashley was doing. Probably flirting with one of the wedding guests.