The Hero's Sweetheart. Cheryl Wyatt
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last words in the world she wanted to say. “The new schedule won’t be a problem. It needs to happen. I know that. It’s fine.”
Jack stared at her. He leaned back, rubbing his thumb and forefinger along his lower lip, studying her in that calculating way of his. Shook his head. Leaned forward, steepled his hands and released a breath before raking all ten fingers through his buzz, which looked more light brown than dark blond, as it had in Sully’s photos. “You are one stubborn broad.”
She burst out laughing because he’d muttered it mostly to himself. And because it was true.
His eyes lit at her laughter and then he laughed, too. For a moment she felt frozen in time. He was drop-dead gorgeous, even when he scowled like his father, but with his finely chiseled face all loose in laughter like that, good gravy he was finer than fine.
Where were they? Oh, yes, her stubbornness.
“I’m not trying to be difficult or stubborn. I just don’t know any other way to be.”
“You’ve had it rough. No need to deny it. You’ve had to fight for everything you have.”
She peered at him, shock waves rolling through her. “How did you know that?” Did his dad say something?
“Intuition. And because I haven’t always had it easy, either. In fact—”
“In fact it’s mostly been hard,” she finished for him.
“Exactly. So, will you share with me what the trouble is?”
She nibbled her lip, wondering if she could trust him. Would he use the knowledge as power over her? Maybe. He was a hothead. The next time he got mad, he might revert to meanness and spite, just like her dad always did.
No. She couldn’t risk it.
“No, Jack, I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“I guess I have to accept that. For now. But, believe me, I’m not happy about it.”
She could tell that his equally stubborn brain was already churning out ideas about how to get around her resistance.
Speaking of resistance, she needed to shore up some of her own. The way his muscles rippled under that button-down shirt and the attention his intense facial expressions brought to his firm jaw and striking features stole every ounce of concentration from her brain.
She couldn’t be attracted to him. That infatuation would fade soon.
It had to. Trust was too dangerous a journey to embark on. She was not only instinctively wary of trusting, but also unsure of Jack. Sure, he was handsome and she was admittedly attracted. Even if he returned the attraction, she couldn’t let herself acknowledge it. Dwelling on insurgent thoughts of opening up to him as anything beyond employee and employer would be stupid. Trust issues aside, he couldn’t treat her differently just because she had special needs he didn’t know about yet and hopefully never would. Olivia didn’t want special treatment. Her coworkers and work friends didn’t deserve that.
The diner crew was close-knit. At least, her shift of workers. She’d pull Jack into the fray of diner friendship if he let her. But she wouldn’t entertain ideas about ever being anything to him other than his employee.
She was also a pity case his dad had taken under his wing. He’d taught her everything she knew about waitressing, studying and running a business.
But as far as Jack Sullenberger knew, she was just Olivia, nothing special.
The fact that Jack was looking at her with an expression that suggested he thought the exact opposite was something she’d be better off ignoring.
“You have three months on the nose, Jack,” the loan officer said through the diner office phone the next morning. Jack rubbed tired eyes with his fist, first one then the other. Then he covered another yawn.
He had burned the midnight oil in order to finish going over the books. He’d finished at 5:00 a.m., expecting to find answers regarding the enormous deficit, but ending up with more questions. He’d been going over the books a second time when the loan officer called.
“I don’t need much to live on,” Jack said. “I’ll have most of my checks sent directly to the bank to be applied to the diner deficit until I track down these missing funds.” It would cut into his savings but saving the diner would be worth it.
“Another thing to consider is that perhaps your dad’s faculties were failing and he got confused keeping records.”
“Yet his inventory records and every other record stayed impeccable? Not likely. Things don’t add up.”
But the more likely scenario wasn’t any more appealing to Jack than the possibility that his dad had made accounting errors.
Had someone been stealing from the till? Taking funds from somewhere? Too much money was missing and unaccounted for—this wasn’t a simple record-keeping mistake.
He ended the call with a bad feeling.
From this point onward, Jack would trust no one. Not even Patrice. Frankie, that creep boyfriend of hers was a bad influence. Jack knew his type—spoiled, entitled and cunning as a conman. Bad morals corrupted good character. Without exception. No telling if he’d had access to the register. Jack didn’t like him hanging around the diner.
Darin’s face appeared in the office doorway. “Jack, sorry to interrupt you, man, but I’m getting slammed out here.” Sweat dotted Darin’s forehead. He mopped it with a paper towel.
Then Jack realized his entire apron was soaked. And sudsy. Which could only mean one thing.
“Perry isn’t here yet?”
Darin averted his eyes. Then returned to face Jack with honesty. “No. He hasn’t called, either.”
Jack rose to help wash dishes. He studied the clock. Perry was thirty minutes late so far. He shook his head, irritated at the lack of work ethic. He sighed, knowing he was in a precarious spot.
Perry was late.
But Olivia had been late, too. Only by about ten minutes, but still.
She’d rushed in much the same way she’d entered the meeting yesterday—tardy, flustered and fatigued. If he disciplined Perry, he’d have to discipline her, too.
He grabbed the dish towel from Darin. “I’ll handle the dishes. You go man the grill.”
Darin nodded and Jack headed to the sinks. He passed Olivia on the way. She stood at the condiment prep table filling containers.
Filling containers all the way up. Sugar. Syrup. Salt. Pepper. Ketchup. Mustard.
Then she placed every single one of them, filled to overflowing despite his request not to, on her rolling cart and took them toward the dining area.
He stared in disbelief as she started plunking down mustard and ketchup containers on every table.
Just as he’d asked her not to do.
He counted to ten before he blew his stack.
Not only did he likely have a thief on the loose—which meant he was going to have to be diligent in watching everyone like a hawk every minute until evidence presented itself—he had to contend with gross disrespect of his authority.
Naem rounded the corner whistling. He was in a perpetually good mood—it was hard to stay in a bad mood around him. Jack’s lightened mood dampened when Olivia passed by looking irritated.
Actually, it didn’t seem as though she saw them. Her back to them, she darted into the supply closet across the hall from the office. Seconds later, she groaned. “Mister Tough-Guy-With-All-His-Rules. Couldn’t leave well enough alone. Ugh!”
Who and what was the