She started to argue, but laughed, standing up to let him lead her to the group around the kitchen island.
But that didn’t stop her brain. It continued spinning until the celebration died down, Atlas returned to his nap, and the kitchen fell back into a natural rhythm, which all took nearly an hour.
Finally, she leaned into her father, the two of them nursing gin and tonics that Jonah had whipped up and garnished with limes.
“We don’t have staff down here, Dad,” she said, tackling problem number one first. “We need someone to handle the admin while I’m in meetings and site visits. Could we transfer Roseanne down from Atlanta?” she asked, referring to one of the amazing assistants at Acacia. “Even if it’s just until I have time to interview and hire someone?”
“She’s up to her eyeballs on the St. Germaine project,” he said. “We’ll find someone here.”
“I’ll have to start interviewing, then. I need someone I can trust, someone organized, someone who can handle a fast-moving project without needing to be micromanaged.” She paused, aware of the irony. Meredith Lawson, who micromanaged everything, looking for someone she wouldn’t need to micromanage. “And I need them fast. We’re going to hit the ground running.”
While Jonah and Peter cooked, Connor leaned against the counter, his good arm crossed awkwardly around his injury, watching Meredith with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
“Hey,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
Meredith looked up. “Do what?”
“The job. Your admin person. Project coordinator, assistant, whatever you want to call it.” He shrugged with his good shoulder, wincing slightly. “I’m just sitting around being spectacularly useless until spring. I’ve had enough beach time to last me through next year. I can’t do clinicals, can’t do rotations, can’t even take my classes because the whole program sequence got blown up.”
She understood that frustration—respected it, too—but… “You’ll work…for me?” she asked, not hiding the disbelief in her voice.
“I’ll be your secretary,” he said with a grin that told her he knew darn well they were called administrative assistants. “I can file things. Answer phones. Make sure nobody loses a permit application.”
Peter looked up from the cutting board, a flicker of something crossing his face—surprise, maybe, or hope.
Meredith let out a small laugh. “Connor, that’s sweet, but?—”
“But what? I’m not qualified to organize emails?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I got into dental school, Meredith. Do you know what the application process for that is like? I arranged my entire life into a system other students paid me to create for them. I invented an algorithm for study schedules.” He grimaced. “Actually, don’t tell anyone I said that.”
Jonah snorted. “Too late. I’m telling everyone. Also, it sounds like you two are a match made in color-coded heaven.”
The words hit her, but she managed not to react.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Eli said, leaning onto the counter with a thoughtful expression.
Wait. Was he seriously thinking she would hire Connor as an assistant? They’d be doomed to failure!
“The decision is yours, Meredith,” her father added. “You’re the project manager—you hire and fire.”
Peter set down the mango and the knife. “For what it’s worth, Meredith, he is going stir-crazy. I’ve watched him reorganize my entire garage twice in the last three weeks with one good arm. Get him out of my hair, please.”
Taking a breath, Meredith shifted her gaze to Connor, who looked right back at her, the tiniest challenge in his eyes.
As if to say,Are you scared of me, Mer?
She met his gaze steadily and noticed—against her will and better judgment—that his eyes had a lot of amber in the late afternoon light coming through the kitchen windows.
And under that T-shirt…was absolutely and totally not relevant to anything.
His eyes were not relevant. His chestnut hair—a little long for the corporate world—was not relevant. And his stupid six-pack was so irrelevant that it hurt to even think about.
But she did. And that might be the real problem.
She dug for a better answer thanYou’re too hot, sorry.