10. In His Eyes
Chapter ten
In His Eyes
Chloe
“Hey, boss.” Krista waves from the front desk. “Didn’t you take tonight off?”
“This is an off the clock stop,” I say, not breaking my stride as I head toward the back.
A familiar buzzing hums through me, like pins and needles under my skin.
The closer I get to the dining lounge, the more it coils.
A wolf whistle slices through my nerves, and I glance over to see Vince, our chef, stepping back in from the courtyard.
He has a habit of sneaking out there for a smoke when things slow down.
The timing’s off, it’s nearly dinner rush, and the kitchen’s probably pressuring him more than usual.
“Looking sharp, Chloe.” He offers me a wink. “Thought you were off tonight.”
“I’m a patron for the next hour or so, and you know those things will kill you, right?” I say it almost by reflex at this point. I’ve probably made him smoke more, not less.
“I’m headed that way,” he says, falling in step beside me. “Don’t worry, I’ll wash my hands before I do anything in the kitchen, and I’ll be sure to add extra crisp to your Brule.”
“You better.” I bite back a smile, relieved for the distraction that pulls me from my own thoughts. “And don’t let the other guests see or you might have a mutiny on your hands.”
"Other guests?" he frowns, the way he says it like I’m missing some crucial info.
His obvious confusion tightens my chest. It’s Saturday night, our busiest night of the week, even in low tourist season. Locals love the cedar-planked salmon special, and they go crazy over Vince’s timber bark dessert.
"What, did you finally banish everyone from the lounge?" I force a laugh, pretending to keep things light.
He snorts, shaking his head. "I wish. Your lounge gets another round tonight. But it's all for Mr. Stirling."
We reach the double doors that lead to the lounge, and that’s when he says it. My feet freeze in place. The place is empty, except for Paulie behind the bar. Well, and Brody, of course. I spot the top of his head, visible over the back of a private booth in the corner, his back turned toward me.
“He did this?” I mutter to myself, because, obviously the almighty Brody Stirling needs an entire restaurant for himself. What’s next? Booking out the entire town for a coffee date?
“If I had his kind of money and that charm to go with it, I’d do the same,” Vince replies simply, and goes straight through to the kitchen.
Which leaves me, wavering on the precipice of what to do about this.
“I like a woman who’s prompt,” Brody shoots me a knowing look as I approach the table. That cocky smile’s already there, and I haven’t even sat down yet. Fantastic.
“You booked the entire place?” I don’t hide my disbelief.
This is next-level douchebaggery. He probably has a private helicopter waiting for him, too.
Gross. I plop down onto the bench opposite him, forgetting the lectures I’d given myself about being professional. “It’s the busiest night of the week.”
He waves off my remark with a casual flick of his hand and takes a sip of his drink—whiskey, neat, with one ice cube clinking against the glass.
“ Relax, Chloe ,” he says, eyes sparkling. “It’s a great deal, totally in the lodge’s favor. Trust me. Our dinner here tonight could cover a few months of Saturdays.”
Being told to relax pisses me off. It’s worse when it comes from a guy who’s as infuriating as he is ridiculously handsome.
And yet, there’s this part of me, this stupid part, that wants to melt under his stare.
I hate how easy it is for him to disarm me.
I’m not that girl. I can’t be that girl.
The way he looks at me, he knows exactly how to make me forget everything I’m supposed to be fighting for.
“This is your problem.” I snap, the anger and…whatever this is between us mixing in a way that’s making my head spin. "You think you can buy anything you want. Like nothing’s off limits. But money doesn’t fix everything, Brody."
He tilts his head, the tiniest pause, before he responds.
“Doesn’t it?”
“No,” my jaw tightens. Do NOT melt, Chloe . God, the way he looks at me is going to be the death of me. I swear. It takes everything to stay upright under the intensity of his stare.
He leans back, taking another sip of his drink. “ Well, I know a few billion people who’d beg to differ. But before I convince you otherwise, let’s eat.”
He raises a finger, and the only waiter on duty rushes off to the kitchen. I shake my head, torn between admiring his charm and hating him for it. It’s like I’m fighting myself here.
"I haven’t even looked at the menu." The words come out sharper than I meant, but I’m too irritated to care.
“I’ve planned a special menu for tonight,” He speaks like nothing’s wrong, his calmness only making me angrier. Too calm. It’s infuriating. “Vince is an amazing chef, by the way. Hold onto that one.”
“I don’t need your business advice, thanks.”
Paulie slides up to our table, fresh whiskey in hand for Brody and a glass of something sparkly for me.
Nothing screams ‘I’m trying to convince you I’m not an evil corporate overlord’ more than bubbles in a flute.
“Bring the bottle over,” he says. Paulie leaves with a stiff nod. I’ve never seen our bartender act so formal and, well, polite. I bet if Brody told him to juggle the bottles, he’d try it.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” I say, now that we’re alone.
He downs the last of his drink and pushes the glass aside. “The night’s still young. Loosen up, enjoy yourself.”
He probably thinks the more drinks I have, it will be easier for him to steamroll me.
“Why did you do this?” I rest my arms on the table. “Why do you always have to…” I gesture at th e empty dining lounge when words fail me.
“I thought we could have a private evening,” Brody replies. “A place where you can speak your mind without worrying about who’s around. I know you work here, and it might have been uncomfortable to have a difficult conversation in such a public place.”
I sit back, thrown by his answer. Thoughtful, of all things.
Who is this guy? This wasn’t the Brody I expected.
I could’ve sworn he thrived on putting me on the spot, tearing into me like I was some kind of challenge.
And yet, here he is, actually listening to me.
Fuck, why does that make my chest feel tight?
No. I can’t think like that. Not when he’s still trying to destroy everything I care about.
Accepting the unspoken show of respect he’s offered, I nod. The tension in my shoulders loosens enough to remind me that I might make it through this without resorting to throwing something in his face. It’s a small victory, but it’s enough for now.
“So, what’s so special about the menu?” I sip my champagne, relishing the tickle of bubbles down my throat. It’s the good stuff, too. Should’ve known.
“It’s something my parents and I used to get pretty much every Sunday when I was a kid,” he says, his fingers lazily circling the rim of his glass.
Slow and steady. Well, this is great. Every movement makes me think about what his fingers would feel like on me.
The stupid thing? I’m actually tempted to find out, and that’s a huge problem.
He follows it up with a casual, “ Feeling nostalgic, I guess. It’s been that way since I got into town.”
My brows furrow as I listen to him, that single sip already creating a soothing buzz in my head. “When you were a kid? Here, you mean? You’re from Bluepeak?”
He chuckles softly and nods.
“Why didn’t you mention that before?”
“You never asked,” he says. “Or it never came up. Either way.”
“I had no idea,” I repeat, staring at him like he’s turned into a complete stranger. That makes this worse. “So you’re from here, and you’re still willing to destroy the town. Why?”
Our food hasn’t arrived, but it feels like the time to get to the meat of the matter.
Brody fires back, no hesitation, “Why are you so hell-bent on fighting natural growth and change?”
“It’s not natural, that’s the thing.” My posture stiffens. “This is my home. My heart is tied to every inch of this place, and what you’re planning will erase that. So yeah, maybe I’m a little hell-bent on it.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I quickly blink away the mist in my eyes. I take a long sip of my drink, hoping it’ll settle my nerves, to stop me from losing it on him.
He’s from here, but how can he not see what he’s doing to the town I love?
Our waiter arrives with a food cart laden with a huge platter. “Chef says he added something special, off-menu, for you.”
Brody’s face lights up as he looks over the platter, inspecting the mouthwatering spread. “Tell the chef I’m impressed. It looks and smells exactly as I remember.”
The waiter nods and hurries off, likely to pass along the message, leaving us in this strange, uncomfortable silence. I’m all over the place. I shouldn’t be here, sipping champagne with the man who’s trying to bulldoze my town.
"The mountain harvest platter." Brody sets it down between us, his reverence impossible to ignore. “Wood-roasted vegetables, herb-infused butter, fresh-caught trout…”
“I have eyes. I can see it.” My voice comes out harsher than I intended, but I can’t help it.
Seeing him vulnerable throws me off. I don’t want to know a nice, sentimental side to him. I don’t need that image in my head when I’m fighting for my life and the future of this place.
His face falls, and guilt creeps in, making me feel like a jerk for ruining the moment. Why do I feel wrong here? I’m not the one wrecking everything. A deep breath dulls the edge of it, easing the weight that’s settled behind my ribs.
“How’s the drink?” he asks, popping another mushroom into his mouth, words muffled as he chews. “I went for champagne. Classic.”
“It’s fine, although I’m partial to Paulie’s Whispering Willow,” I reply. Anything to keep my brain from spiraling into thinking he’s actually not that bad.
As if mentioning his name summoned him, Paulie appears with an ice bucket and a fresh bottle. He sets an extra glass on the table for Brody, then leaves without saying a word.
“Not a Weeping Willow, but it’ll have to do for now,” Brody says.
“Whispering, not weeping.” I pull the bottle from the ice and fill my glass. “It’s this pale green concoction that tastes like a brisk, ice-cold shower. Elderflower is the secret.”
He watches me intently, his expression almost searching. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to figure me out. How does he have such a calm exterior? It's maddening. With the champagne loosening my thoughts, I catch myself wanting to know everything about him, the mind behind that smooth facade.
His voice drops low, “There’s something about you. Your eyes are stunning. Makes it impossible to look away.”
His words slither under my skin, and I realize I’m not the only one falling prey to the effects of alcohol but find myself blushing anyway.
I want to slap him for doing this to me, call him out on his charm.
But I need to keep focus and do what I came here to do.
He’s the enemy. An extremely attractive enemy.
“You’re so jaded…” Without warning, Brody starts singing, catching me off guard.
I sit up straight, stunned and speechless.
“... and I’m the one who made you feel that way.”
I stare at him for a second, stunned, before bursting into laughter. Genuine, belly-deep laughter I haven’t had in what feels like forever.
“Uh… what just happened?” I manage between giggles.
He chuckles, dipping his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know, a random thought process, I guess. Your beautiful eyes. But they’re more jade than green, with darker specks near your iris. Anyway, jade led to Jaded by Aerosmith. That chorus is awesome. ”
Another giddy laugh slips out of me, mostly because of how he described my eyes. But I could never tell him that.
“I love Aerosmith, and that song.”
“Right?” His excitement ramps up, and I find myself instantly infected by it. “Nothing beats good old-school rock.”
“The Rolling Stones made the best songs to sing in the shower.” The words slip out easily, surprising me. A warm sensation spreads through me, the champagne is doing something more than making me a little tipsy.
His adorable grin pulls a soft giggle from me. Suddenly, the awkwardness vanishes, replaced by light, easygoing energy.
“I’ll see your Van Halen, and raise you Zeppelin.” I tilt my head, throwing him a challenging look, daring him to respond.
Brody leans forward, his presence filling the space between us, pulling me in without me even realizing it. I lean in too, and he lowers his voice. "Queen."
I fall back into my seat as if I’ve taken a shot to the heart, hands held up in surrender. It’s the ultimate trump card. The unspoken, undisputed champion of rock. He laughs, so damn pleased with himself.
“You win, you win,” I laugh, a little surprised at myself, then down my drink in one go.
Brody shakes his head, that irritating glint in his eye. “We’re all winners when it comes to classic rock.”
“Hard agree.” I slap the table, the sound slicing through the air. Where the hell did that come from? This new version of me is reckless, but damn, it feels good. I’m done with sitting here, talking.
“Wanna see something cool?” I ask, trying to play it off like I’m not about to lose my shit. I’m already on my feet before Brody can answer, and the fact that I’m this close to him and still managing to keep it together is honestly a miracle.
He follows me without hesitation, the spark of intrigue in his eyes.
I lead the way, heart pounding. I know this could be the point of no return.