Arrogant Bastard - Jennifer Dawson

1

Cat

I stare at Caden Landry, my eyes narrowed, trying to figure out if I hate him. Based on the twenty minutes I’ve spent interviewing him, I’m going with yes. Yes, I do.

The term interview is generous, considering our stilted conversation and his general evasion of all my questions. I should kick him out, but I don’t have that luxury at the moment. I sigh.

When fellow local farmer and good friend, Gabriel Levorn, recommended the man, I thought my panicked prayers had been answered. But this guy is not what I envisioned. I pictured him older and world-weary, with sad, tired eyes—like my last farm manager.

That’s not what I got.

Caden Landry is all tall and broad, with lean hips and long legs. And while he does wear world-weariness like a cloak, the man across from me has a hard face, cold, dark blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw. He’s handsome in a remote, do-not-fuck-with-me type of way.

Everything about his stance and attitude screams keep away, and since the moment he filled up my small office in my family’s distillery, I’ve wanted him gone.

Except I’m desperate, and he’s my only option.

My middle brother and future sister-in-law’s farm-to-table restaurant—named after our small, central Louisiana town, Toulon—is opening in six weeks, and my last farm manager up and quit three weeks ago with no notice, taking off to parts unknown.

This is no ordinary restaurant. My brother Jackson and his fiancée, Gwen, are world-renowned chefs, both beautiful and talented. When they bought the vacant lot next to our land, I thought they were crazy, but the restaurant was booked solid within an hour of going live online. A select group of chefs are coming to a private event the night before the opening from all over the world. This restaurant is one of the biggest things that’s ever happened to our town. There are crops to harvest, a menu to build, and not enough hours in the day.

On top of that, my oldest brother, Wyatt, and I grow cane to make rum for our specialty distillery. We’ve been growing at a steady clip, increasing our market slowly over time, but considering Jackson and Gwen are featuring McKay’s Rum in their restaurant, we’re as invested in their success as they are.

That’s why I need someone special—a farmer who not only understands the cane fields used to make our local, independent rum, but also the challenges of growing organic, non-GMO heirloom vegetables and herbs.

Not exactly a skill set that grows on trees.

As operations manager, hiring is my job, and so far I’ve received exactly zero applicants, let alone someone that might meet my brother’s ridiculously high standards. When Gabe called me about Caden Landry, he swore he had the magic touch and I wouldn’t be sorry. I couldn’t believe my good luck. I had started to panic.

Considering the glowing endorsement from a man I trust, I should be elated, and I am…except this guy rubs me the wrong way. Suspicion is like a knot in my gut. If he’s so good, why is he unemployed?

A niche, specialty market produces niche, specialty experts that are in high demand, snatched up by the big outfits the second they hint at discontent. But this man—who’s far too handsome for comfort, if you ask me—is available to start tomorrow. Why?

Gabe knows how important this is, and he always has my best interests at heart. He’d never steer me wrong. But I have a bad feeling.

Unfortunately, I have no other options, so unless Caden somehow lets it slip that he’s a serial killer, I’m going to give him the job.

Not that I’m letting him in on that fact just yet.

He doesn’t seem like the type of man you give the upper hand.

Across from me, one of his dark brows arches. “Are you just going to sit there all day thinking? ’Cause I’ve got things I can do.”

His voice is a slow, Louisiana drawl, like smoke and honey. It slides down my spine, straightening me in my chair.

I snap back to attention and clear my throat. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“Clearly.” His tone is wry. “Now, about the job.”

Okay, I need to pretend this guy isn’t my only option, if I want to establish the upper hand. I pick up my pen and click it, as though I’m preparing to write something important. “Do you have any management experience?”

He nods and kicks out his long legs like he owns the place. “I do.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and the silence stretches between us.

I fold my hands on

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