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“Can I help you with something?” she says curtly.

I don’t think I’ve come to see her once here in her office. In fact, we tend to avoid each other like the plague. It’s not easy, seeing as she works at my resort.

Much to my fuckin’ chagrin.

I know my twin Cassandra hired Reese because she’s brilliant at what she does. But sometimes I’m convinced my sister also wanted to make my life difficult.

“How are you?” I ask, trying to kick this off pleasantly. What I’m about to tell her is going to piss her the fuck off, more than she already is. It’s the same thing that’s making my heart beat like a damn timpani.

“Fine,” Reese says, adjusting the little cactus on her desk. She only moves it a hair, though. Is she nervous?

I relax, just a hair.

But it doesn’t last. I’ve never been one to beat around the bush, so I clear my throat and say, “Listen, I just got off the phone with Neil.”

Reese leans back in her chair, closing her eyes. “Oh God.”

I hate how this makes my stomach churn. I know Reese isn’t looking forward to this show. ButChef’s Apprenticeis the least of our issues right now. It’s what comes with it that’s going to make her lose her shit.

“Reese, I know you’re not a big fan of this show—”

Reese’s eyes fly open. “I never said that, Eli. I told you when you called me about this six months ago, that what I didn’t like was your booking them for my kitchen without even checking with me, or more importantly, Jacques!”

“Jacques seems to be okay with it now. Have you seen his socials?”

Reese’s eyes narrow. She’s still pissed. It’s okay, I knew that coming in here. I fold my arms. “Yes.” Jacques has been posting about the show nonstop for months.

“Jacques is okay with the show because I spent a month working on him to convince him that the disruption to our kitchen would be worth it for the exposure his role in the show would give him.”

“Bet he didn’t mind the fact he can openly fire whomever he wants while the show is airing.”

Reese lets out a breath. We both know I’m right. That’s probably Jacques’ favorite part—he has to go through Reese for staffing decisions now—a rule my sister, CEO of the resort, implemented after his disastrous run with the previous manager, who lasted all of a month. Jacques may be a world-renowned chef, but he has the people skills of a gnat.

“He’ll be disqualifying contestants, which is not exactly the same thing seeing as I didn’t hire them.”

I lean against the doorframe, scraping my hand over my face. Even through the cacophony behind me in the kitchen, the sound of my palm going over my stubble is audible in the quiet of her office. “I know I fucked up with the way I handled this, Reese.”

“Seems to be a pattern.” Her eyes never leave mine.

My stomach twists. Low blow. But she’s not wrong. The brief time we dated before she worked here was nothing short of a disaster. She was light then; full of vivacity where I was in the darkest place I’d ever been. Mom had just passed, foisting the hotel she’d run for decades on all five of us siblings, and my wife, Kelly, who I’d poured my whole life into, had filed for divorce.

Our three-week fling had turned out to be a hot-as-fuck, painful-as-hell disaster.

Because of me.

Just like this is going to be. “Reese—” I begin, needing to spit it out.

But Reese speaks first. “No.” She must misinterpret the pain on my face as being wounded by her words, because she sighs, leaning back in her chair, looking resigned. “Eli, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter now.”

“Yes, it does.”

I hesitate.Just say it, you fucking wuss.

But she beats me to it again. “Eli?”

I meet her eyes.

She looks away. “Would you call them off if I asked you to?”