Chapter 4
CHAPTER
Cruz wanted to curse his father for the ridiculous stipulation in his will, tying him to this place for a year against his wishes. What had the old fool hoped to achieve? It wouldn’t matter if Cruz had to live here for a week, a month, a year or a decade, he’d sell this farm the moment he could.
As for what Mac had done to his mother, ignoring her for years, using her as an adjunct to run the farm and little else … typical narcissist.
Considering Cruz had always accepted his mother’s response about why she wouldn’t leave, maybe he was a chip off the old block, too selfish to delve deeper, because he mightn’t have liked what he heard.
He couldn’t begrudge his mum escaping now, but he wished she’d stick around, for no other reason than to act as a buffer between him and Elora.
Elora. A name as beautiful as the woman. A name he hadn’t known last night when he’d been about to have sex with her in the restaurant.
He didn’t believe in fate or coincidences, so having her turn up here after their unexpected encounter last night … unfathomable.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped outside, the sun, as bright as the golden dress she wore, momentarily blinding him.
Everything about Elora appeared golden, from the top of her blonde hair to the bottom of her sparkly sandals the same startling shade as her dress, and every sun-kissed inch of skin between.
Dazzling. And she sure as hell had dazzled him from the moment they met.
As he strolled towards her, she looked up and the iced tea in the glass she held sloshed a little, meaning she wasn’t as cool and controlled as she appeared. Good. He hated being caught off guard.
He’d acted like an idiot, demanding to talk to his mother in private.
What had he expected? For Ferne to banish Elora?
He’d seen the astute gleam in his mother’s eyes.
Ferne knew there was more to his acquaintance with Elora than he’d revealed, but he’d be damned if he’d tell her he’d almost had a one-night stand with their new social media marketer.
He could wait until his mother left then fire Elora, but Ferne was right—to get top dollar for the farm, it needed to be marketed well and he’d be a fool to let pride cost him money.
Besides, the more money he made from the sale of this place, the sooner he could open his own restaurant.
‘So, have you recovered from your tanty?’ Elora arched a brow in provocation and Cruz bit back a smile.
‘I didn’t have a tantrum.’
‘It sure looked like you were about to.’ She pointed to the chair he’d vacated earlier, as if she was the hostess. ‘Why don’t we get acquainted properly?’
Unlike last night, when they’d bordered on improper.
He wanted to bring it up, clear the air, but wondered if he’d be better off pretending it didn’t happen, considering she’d be staying here for the next week.
‘If you’re thinking that what happened last night has any bearing on this—’ she waved her hand between them, ‘—don’t. It was a blip, an aberration. So, where do you want to start?’
Equal parts relieved and annoyed she’d dismissed their scorching encounter as an ‘aberration’, he sat. ‘My mother seems impressed by your credentials, but I don’t know anything about you, so why don’t you give me the abbreviated version?’
‘Elora Curtis of EC Marketing. I’ve got a degree in advertising and worked for various firms before branching out on my own a few years ago. Most of my referrals are word of mouth, which is the best kind, but you can check out my website for a feel of what I offer.’
To Cruz’s chagrin, his focus wandered to her lips as she spoke, reminding him of how they’d felt pressed against his and of exactly what he’d hoped she’d offer last night.
Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Have you ever marketed a farm before?’
She shook her head, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter what I market, I employ the same principles. Raise the client’s profile with coordinated social media campaigns that direct interested parties to an updated website with excellent graphic design.’
Suitably impressed, he nodded. ‘Sounds good. I assume you’ve researched Kinstead Avocados, so where are you going to start?’
‘Your website is woeful, so I’ve already contacted my graphic designer to provide me with material I can use to modernise it ASAP.
And Kinstead Avocados has Facebook and Instagram profiles, but neither have been updated in months, so Ferne has given me access to those and I intend on posting fresh content several times a day while I’m here.
’ She paused, eyeballing him. ‘Is there anything specific you want me to concentrate on, apart from the obvious?’
‘The obvious?’ he parroted, sounding like an idiot and wondering what it was about this woman that made him feel off-kilter.
‘The avocados,’ she said, and if she’d added a ‘duh’ to the end, he wouldn’t have been surprised.
‘Just post whatever you think is relevant.’
A cheeky glint lit her eyes. ‘Does that include you?’
He snorted. ‘Why would stupid photos of me raise the profile of this place?’
Her smile faded. ‘You think the photos I take are stupid?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he muttered, silently cursing himself for inadvertently insulting her. ‘I just meant that seeing me won’t get people to notice this place, particularly if they’re buyers.’
‘Why not? You’re one of the owners, and getting some candid shots of you around the farm gives people a feel of the everyday.’
Not wanting to argue with her, he shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’
‘You’re surprisingly agreeable for someone who gives off a grouchy vibe.’
Startled by her astute assessment, Cruz said, ‘Most chefs are grouchy. Comes standard with the hat and the checked pants.’
‘So you weren’t kidding about last night being your last in the Tiles kitchen?’
‘Sadly, no.’
‘Your mum couldn’t handle the sale of the farm on her own?’
‘It’s complicated.’ Should he tell her about the stipulation in his father’s will? He hated being tethered here, but no good could come of a transient social media marketer knowing his family’s business, so he decided to say nothing.
‘We all have complications,’ she said, darkness shadowing her eyes. ‘Some more than others.’
‘Let me guess. Yours involve faulty filters and hashtags that don’t go viral.’
Her eyes narrowed as she appraised him with disdain. ‘Don’t presume to know anything about me, because you’d be wrong.’ She stood and hoisted her handbag onto her shoulder. ‘Now, if you’d be so kind as to show me where I’ll be staying …’
Great, he’d offended her. He did that to a lot of people, but it didn’t matter so much when barking orders at sous chefs in the kitchen. With Elora, he had to do better, tread carefully, because he needed her help, even if only for a week.
‘Sorry,’ he said, standing and gesturing at the house.
‘You can’t help being a jackass,’ she muttered, before shooting him a dazzling fake smile.
‘Guess I deserved that.’ Not many people stood up to him and Elora’s bravado added to her intrigue. ‘You’ll be staying in a self-contained studio that’s tacked onto the house. Hope that suits?’
‘If I don’t have to run into you, absolutely.’
‘Are you allowed to talk to clients like that?’
She shot him a coy glance from beneath her lashes that he had no hope of interpreting. ‘Only the ones I’ve pashed.’
‘I thought we weren’t going to mention that.’
‘It’s fine in jest.’ She pointed to his mouth. ‘Besides, I almost made you smile.’
Considering he hadn’t felt like smiling since his mum had delivered the bad news that he’d be tied here for the next year, she’d almost achieved the impossible.
‘Come on, I’ll show you where you’re staying and then we’ll tour the farm.’
To his amusement, Elora’s stomach grumbled loudly, and she winced as she pressed a hand to it. ‘Could we eat after that?’
‘You expect me to cook for you?’
A faint pink stained her cheeks, making her blue eyes pop. ‘Ferne said the kitchen would be stocked so I could help myself.’
‘My mother takes hospitality to extremes. Not only are we paying you, you’re getting free accommodation and food?’
Her blush deepened and he mentally kicked himself for being churlish.
‘I’m happy to drive back to town and do a grocery shop. And no, I’m not expecting you to feed me. I’m perfectly capable of cooking for myself.’
‘It’s fine. I’ll be cooking anyway, and it makes sense for us to share meals so we can discuss business. Plus, there’s only a small fridge and a microwave in the studio, so you can’t do much more than reheat meals.’
She wanted to disagree; he could see it in the way she glared at him, like she’d stepped in a pile of manure.
‘Please, Elora, I enjoy cooking and it’s crazy for us to have separate meals.’ He grimaced. ‘If sitting opposite a grouch doesn’t make you lose your appetite, that is.’
The corners of her mouth tilted upwards in amusement. ‘I’d be a fool to knock back your food, considering you’re my favourite chef in Melbourne. Do you take requests?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Okay, then. Let’s start with your signature slow-cooked lamb shanks with rosemary and garlic and then see what else I can come up with.’
She winked and, for a moment, his mind drifted to requests beyond food, and how he wouldn’t be averse to anything she may suggest.