Harper's Wish

Satisfaction rippled through her as surprise flitted across her boss’s features. Her gratification was short-lived, however, as he gestured for her to follow him to the back room where a rack of cleaning supplies and a mop bucket were stored.

Once she was outfitted with the mop, bucket and a pair of gloves, Connor led her to the restrooms and propped open the ladies’ room door. “Make sure you get in all the nooks and crannies,” he reminded her, “and when you’re done with the floors, start on the commodes.”

He lingered, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed her standing in the middle of the restroom. She had a feeling he was taking a mental snapshot to replay whenever he remembered the sting of her review.

She sloshed the mop into the water and then used the bucket’s lever to press the excess liquid from its strands before she got to work. She did her best to ignore Connor’s presence, and after a couple of minutes, she looked over her shoulder to realize he’d gone. She straightened and surveyed the wet floor before catching her own reflection in the restroom mirrors. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but already the efforts of cleaning the restroom had caused a few strands to come loose around her face. The yellow rubber gloves she wore contrasted with the white button-down shirt and khakis that were a server’s standard uniform at the Anchor. If she’d known she’d be working as a cleaning lady, she’d have shown up in a grubby T-shirt and jeans. She blew the hair out of her eyes and looked away from her reflection.

How far she had fallen. From famed restaurant critic to humble janitor. She was glad her father couldn’t see her now. It had been hard enough for him to accept her choice not to come work for him after college as her older sister, Paige, had done years before. Seeing her reduced to cleaning bathrooms would only deepen his disappointment.

Putting aside those musings, Harper turned her attention back to mopping. When the floors in both bathrooms were spotless, she set to work on the sinks, mirrors and toilets.

Connor popped back in to check on her as she was finishing the men’s room commodes. She sensed him before she saw him, turning to find his lips twitching with amusement at the sight of her hunched over the toilet bowl. She ground her teeth together and swiped at a drip of perspiration along her temple, careful to use her upper arm so she didn’t brush against the rubber gloves she wore. It grated that Connor appeared so unfazed, leaning against the bathroom doorway as she struggled with her task. And what right did he have to look so ridiculously handsome while she was a sweaty mess?

“You missed the base,” he cheerily pointed out, directing her attention to the bottom of the toilet.

She took the opportunity to glare at him before attacking the area he’d indicated. He stepped into the room as she scrubbed at the last of the porcelain surface, and when she stole a glance upward, she saw him surveying her work.

“Not bad,” he finally admitted as she stood and stripped off the rubber gloves.

“Not bad?” she repeated in disbelief. “These restrooms are so clean, you could set up tables in here and serve dinner.”

He affected an expression of horror. “But, Harper, what would a restaurant critic say if they should happen to see something like that?”

She squeezed the rubber gloves in her fist and refused to rise to the bait.

“Well, then,” he said when he saw she wasn’t going to reply. “On to the next order of business.”

Connor looked so eager that she felt a twinge of dismay at what he had planned for her.

The grease trap.

She should have guessed. Cleaning it was one of the worst jobs in a restaurant, and one that was often contracted out to a service company. But with the Rusty Anchor’s tight finances, Connor had decided to keep the task in-house. As frustrating as bathroom duty was, Harper knew it was a plush job compared to cleaning the grease trap. All the oily sludge and congealed chunks of fat from cooking were routed into the trap in order to save the pipes. Even Rafael, whose task it normally was to clean it, eyed her with pity when Connor gave her the instructions. When she first pried off the lid, the sulfuric smells nearly made her gag. She turned her head and saw Connor standing several feet away, watching her with suppressed enjoyment.

With a grimace, she took a deep breath and went back at it, determined not to reveal any more of the disgust she was feeling.

By the time she finished, her stomach was twisted with nausea from the smell, and her arms were covered in black streaks of slick, stinky grease. Her once-pristine white shirt was soaked with sweat, and there were permanent smudges covering the front. But she was secretly pleased. She doubted the grease trap had looked this clean since the day it was installed. Her pride in the achievement was short-lived, though—Connor came over, inspected her work and shrugged.

“I suppose it’ll have to do.”

She gritted her teeth and forced back a growl.

“Since you’re finished with that, why don’t you scour the grills next?”

* * *

CONNOR KNEW HE shouldn’t be enjoying himself this much. But there was something so...satisfying about seeing the haughty Harper Worth at manual labor. It almost made up for that crummy review she’d given him.

Almost. But not quite.

He had to give it to her, though. He’d thought she’d quit on the spot when he handed her that mop bucket. And after the thorough cleanings she’d given the restrooms, he was sure the grease trap would finish her off. Not that he wanted to see her quit, exactly. He hadn’t been lying when he told her he needed a server. Leah was just a high school kid, after all, working part-time over the summer. And Erin couldn’t keep juggling so many responsibilities in the restaurant. But he didn’t see why he should make things easy on Harper just because he was in need of another server.

“Make sure you put some elbow grease into that,” he said as he walked by the grill on his way to the stockroom.

He just caught the face she made before he turned his back and disappeared into the stock area, humming a tune beneath his breath. He had to admit, having Harper around had certainly put him in good spirits.

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?

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_f715532f-5fab-53e6-8bd6-e809c98cd819)

DURING HER FIRST week at the Rusty Anchor, Harper learned to bite her tongue each time Connor asked her to do something. She became adept at offering him a forced grin and going about the most odious chores he assigned, determined that he would have nothing to complain about regarding her work. If he was looking for a reason to fire her as payback for that long-ago review, she’d give him none. And if he thought piling on the cleaning duties would cause her to give up, he clearly didn’t know her that well.

She did everything he required to the best of her ability.

The bathrooms sparkled. The floors were soon spotless. The stainless-steel counters and sink in the kitchen positively gleamed. She dusted, she scrubbed, she polished. She did the laundry and even ironed the linen napkins without being asked. And eventually, at the end of that first week, Connor ran out of chores.

“Have you cleaned the bathrooms?”

“Done.”

“Disinfected the waste bins?”

“Finished.”

“There were some dishes—”