Act Your Age, Eve Brown (The Brown Sisters #3)(10)

“Also,” Mont cut in, “there are multiple food stalls, all with different themes and providers. Pemberton Gingerbread is a bit of a patron for local business, like in the olden days with kings and . . . harp players. Or whatever.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Point is, tourists come from all over the place, so it’s an unmissable chance to reach new customers. Plus, there’s always press. Jacob wants it to go well. Badly. But, as you pointed out, it kind of requires a chef.”

Eve assumed that last part was the understatement to end all understatements.

“Suffice to say, we really can’t afford to be picky at the moment. So here’s what I think: let’s go to the kitchen right now—”

Jacob’s head whipped around as he glared at his friend. “What are you doing?”

Somehow, Montrose ignored the rigid command of that tone. In fact, he ignored it with a smile. “You show us what you can do, Eve, and if you’re good—”

“Mont, no.”

“If you’re good,” Mont continued firmly, “maybe Jacob will get his head out of his arse and take you seriously.”

“I bloody won’t,” snapped the man in question.

Her patience snapping, too, Eve produced her sweetest smile. “You won’t get your head out of your arse? Aren’t you concerned about potential suffocation?”

A muscle began to tick at his jaw. “I—you—that is not—” Jacob cut off his own spluttering with a sharp inhalation. In an instant, he went from flustered irritation to rigid disdain, his gaze drilling into her.

For some reason, Eve’s breath hitched a little. As if that harsh focus was something other than rude and alienating. Which it was not.

Jacob said, steel braided through every word, “I’m sorry, Ms. Brown, but my friend is mistaken. It’s clear to me, based on this interview, that the two of us would not suit.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Eve said calmly, and she had the great satisfaction of making Jacob Wayne look like he’d swallowed a wasp. She rose to her feet and said to Mont, “It was absolutely wonderful to meet you. Perhaps I’ll loiter around a certain pub this evening. Where did you say it was?”

Mont had been shooting Jacob some serious side-eye, which was rather enjoyable, but now he turned his attention to Eve and gave her the sort of charming and indulgent smile she should always be treated to. “Friar’s Hill, sweetheart. You come and see me. Don’t worry,” he added darkly with another glare at his friend, “Jacob won’t be there.”

Eve beamed. “I can’t wait to talk . . . juice.”

Jacob threw up his hands, clearly disgusted. “Are you flirting with her?” he demanded of Mont.

“Of course he is,” Eve said pleasantly. “I’m delicious.” She turned on her heel and sailed out of the room, tossing a look at Mont over her shoulder in the doorway. Call me, she mouthed with an ostentatious wink.

“We don’t even have your bloody contact details!” Jacob yelled after her.

“Darling,” she replied, “if you wanted them so badly, you should’ve asked.”

Eve was fairly sure she heard a volcanic boom from the dining room as she left. Which kept a smile on her face for . . . precisely as long as it took to reach her car and realize she’d found the perfect opportunity to prove herself to her parents and had immediately, childishly, recklessly fucked it up.

At which point, every drop of her satisfaction went right down the drain.

*

The minute Eve shut the door behind her, Mont turned to Jacob and demanded, “What the bloody hell was that?”

“You’re asking me? That whole interview was betrayal, Mont. Rank and utter betrayal. Guillotine-worthy. What were you doing, you sack of shit? Bending over backward for that—that chaos demon.”

“You mean the woman who could have saved your arse,” Mont corrected. “She was perfect!”

“She was unprepared, unprofessional—”

“Because you were such a shining star, there,” Mont said. “I bet you know her fucking bra size.”

“I was reading the bloody T-shirt,” Jacob roared.

“You were acting bonkers, is what you were doing. I’ve never seen you . . .” Mont trailed off and narrowed his eyes.

“What?” Jacob demanded. He hated trailing off. Hated unfinished sentences. Hated ominous ellipses that other people could mentally finish, but that left him utterly in the dark.

Mont continued to look weirdly suspicious. “I have never seen you speak so much to a complete stranger.”

Heat crept over the back of Jacob’s neck, prickled at the bends of his elbows. “I lost my temper. You know better than anyone how talkative that makes me.” But the truth was, Mont made a valid point. Jacob didn’t typically waste so much of his breath on interacting with untried strangers, because 90 percent of humanity was eventually proved useless and/or infuriating without any exertion on his part. He suspected Eve Brown was both, but he’d exerted himself for her, anyway, and behaved quite badly, too.

He must be at the end of his tether.

Mont shrugged and shook his head. “Whatever. Look, I know you didn’t like her, but just think for a second. She was charming as fuck, which is something the B&B needs that you don’t provide—I’m sorry, man, no judgment, but you don’t.”