Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands #2) - Jessica Peterson

Chapter One

Emma

He’s a coworker, not a conquest.

But damn if Samuel Beauregard isn’t exactly my type. Big. Broad.

Bold.

I try not to stare as I approach the man standing outside The Barn Door restaurant. An Internet search told me the former star quarterback is six-five and two-hundred-sixty pounds. Pictures of him dwarfing pretty much everyone he’s ever been photographed with were all over Google: teammates, girlfriends, even his three brothers, all of whom played professional football too.

In real life, though, my new coworker and kinda-sorta boss looks massive. Standing beside the restaurant’s entrance with his hands clasped in front of him, I notice how his shoulders and thighs strain against the fabric of his sharply cut suit.

His lavender suit. It sports a daring white-and-purple check pattern that would scream Barney the Friendly Dinosaur on anyone else. But on Samuel, it works. His enormous physical presence lends the whole getup a gravitas it wouldn’t otherwise have.

And while the suit is not at all subtle, the accessories he wears with it are: crisp white button-down, black Gucci loafers (the classic black ones), wildly expensive but understated platinum Patek Philippe watch that peeks out from his sleeve.

Interesting. He dresses to impress, that much is clear. He’s flashing dollar signs left and right, but he’s also flashing a willingness to experiment. To get the balance of bling and business just right.

To try new things, as Blue so succinctly put it last night.

I like that idea.

Something I don’t like? The way Samuel glowers at me. I get closer, my heels crunching on the neatly kept gravel path, and he actually scowls. His blue eyes are cold.

Thankfully, the man standing next to him—his brother Beau—offers me a much warmer welcome.

“Emma! You’re finally here.” He takes my hand and gives it a firm shake. “Only took me, what, two years to convince you to come up to Blue Mountain?”

I grin, my chest lighting up with pride. “Had to get that Master Somm diploma first.”

He grins too. “I’m glad you passed. It’s an honor to have you.”

“It’s an honor to be here. Heading Blue Mountain’s wine program is a dream job, and I can’t wait to get started.”

Beau nods at his brother. “This is Samuel. As the director of our food program, he’ll be your partner in crime in all things culinary. You two will be the co-heads who take the resort’s food and beverage programs to the next level.”

Samuel grunts. “We’ll see.”

Beau cuts him a look that I’m guessing says play nice or else. It makes me wonder what the hell Samuel’s deal is. Is he gunning for the wine job too? Or does he not think they need me here?

I stiffen my spine. Not exactly the welcome I was hoping for from my new co-head.

Holding out my hand, I say, “Nice to meet you, Samuel. I’m Emma Crawford.” I don’t force cheeriness into my voice because, well, I don’t need to. If he wants to be a dick, fine. He’s not the first asshole I’ve worked with, but hopefully he’ll be the last. “I look forward to working together.”

I don’t, his expression says. Yep, can read that one loud and clear.

My training as a sommelier has made my nose extra sensitive, so it’s not surprising that I catch a whiff of his cologne. I pick up notes of graphite. Wet granite. A heavy hit of saccharine spice. It’s expensive and not at all subtle, just like his outfit.

Still, it doesn’t stop the bolt of electricity from darting up my arm when his hand engulfs mine. The warmth of his palm is a startling counterpoint to the ice in his eyes.

Eyes that flash, just for a second. Just long enough for me to think he felt the electricity too.

The space between us thrums, but I try to ignore it. I’m not here to get laid. I’m here at Blue Mountain Farm to make my dreams come true.

Besides, I have Blue for sex. I usually chat with several partners at once, but lately, the proverbial well has run dry. So for now, I’m unintentionally monogamous with Blue.

“Right,” he says, and drops my hand.

A beat of uncomfortable silence blooms between the three of us, along with the scent of rosemary. The herb borders the path in pretty blue-green swaths, along with a riot of azaleas and a gigantic magnolia tree. From the service to the grounds, everything about Blue Mountain Farm is impeccable.

Doesn’t hurt that it’s a beautiful spring day. It’s another warm afternoon in what’s been a remarkably mild winter. We