From Boss to Bridegroom. Karen Kirst

was carefully removing a stack of dinner plates when Kenneth’s hand shot out and, seizing her wrist, yanked so that she tipped the lot of them. The crash reverberated in the silent store. Stunned disbelief held her frozen.

      An expression of false concern settled across his features. “Uh-oh. That’s going to be expensive to replace. Mr. Darling, I’m afraid your assistant got careless with the merchandise.”

      Straightening from his crouch at the opposite end of the room, Quinn’s frown carved deep grooves on either side of his mouth. He came and surveyed the shards littering the floorboards. Beyond his shoulder, Pete and Timothy elbowed each other.

      A resigned sigh escaped him as his gaze prodded Nicole’s. “Clean up this mess. And from now on, ask for help with the heavy stuff. Kenneth will be happy to help, I’m sure.”

      “Anytime.” Kenneth’s smile held a hint of cruelty. Quinn couldn’t see it, because he was looking at her with something akin to disappointment.

      Indignation seared her, burned into her cheeks. If she confessed the truth, Kenneth would only deny it. Her trustworthiness would be called into question.

      Subduing the urge to stomp her feet, she croaked, “It won’t happen again.”

      “Will she have to pay for the damage, Mr. Darling?”

      Quinn’s brow furrowed. “That won’t be necessary this time.”

      This time. An unspoken warning to not make the same mistake again.

      When he’d returned to his work, she shot her nemesis a scorching glare. “How could you do that?” she demanded.

      “I didn’t.” His upper lip curled. “You did.”

      Leaving her to clean up alone, Kenneth went and pretended to help his friends. Nicole took out her frustration on the broom. Being blamed for something that wasn’t her fault left a bad taste in her mouth. Anger and humiliation warred for supremacy.

      She could hardly bear to look at Quinn. Irrationally, she blamed him for not seeing through Kenneth’s act.

      The remainder of the afternoon and early evening crawled by. Just as escape looked likely, Quinn waylaid her in the office. The trio had left ten minutes ago, and she was eager to get away from her boss’s assessing glances.

      “It’s late, Quinn. I’m exhausted and hungry.” I need time to recover before doing it all again tomorrow morning. No telling what my enemy has planned for me.

      “This won’t take but a minute.” He leaned against the door frame, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed.

      “If this is about the dishes, I—”

      “No.” His expression turned thoughtful. “I detected something...off between you and Kenneth. Do you two have a history? Because if you’re uncomfortable working with him, I can send him on his way in the morning.”

      “If you’re asking if we’ve ever courted, the answer is no,” she spluttered. “Absolutely not.”

      “Then what’s the problem?”

      Here was her chance to explain everything. To absolve herself and be rid of Kenneth and his buddies. But she was, above all, a private person. Exposing her problems to her boss didn’t hold an ounce of appeal.

      “No problem.” Pushing an errant curl behind her ear, she rubbed a sore spot in her lower back. “If there are no more questions, I really do have to go.”

      Quinn didn’t appear convinced. Still, he moved sideways to let her pass. As she was edging through the doorway and he was centimeters away, he said softly, “Good night, Duchess.”

      Nicole stiffened at the brush of his minty breath across her cheek.

      She didn’t like nicknames on principle. Caleb did it to tease her—good-natured, brotherly ribbing that nevertheless irked her. Kenneth’s intent was to demean her. What was Quinn Darling’s motive? And why did a little thrill zip up her spine?

      Risking a glance at this close range, she didn’t detect a trace of cruelty in those light brown eyes, merely lazy curiosity.

      She was an enigma to him, was she? Well, he was wasting his time trying to figure her out. She wasn’t about to divulge her secrets to the likes of him.

      * * *

      The locals weren’t adjusting to Quinn’s implemented changes as quickly as he’d hoped. Ever since they’d reopened three days ago, the customers had doggedly avoided him. Some went so far as to denounce his decisions to his face, unsatisfied with his explanations.

      No amount of pleasantness or willingness to help had put a dent in their wariness.

      Leaning against the shelving unit, he eyed the five-deep line of customers waiting for Nicole’s assistance.

      He caught the familiar elderly lady’s eye and thanked the Lord he had a memory for names. His smile didn’t come as easily as it had that morning. “I can help you over here, Mrs. Kirkpatrick.”

      Crinkling her nose, she shook her head, gaze skittering away.

      The rejection stung. He, Quinn Darling, heir to the Darling fortune and a man whose very presence deemed a social gathering a success, could not convince the lady to let him wait on her. Weariness pressed behind his forehead, turning the slight headache he’d nursed since Nicole whopped him with that pot into a full-blown hammering against his skull.

      He pinched the bridge of his nose. Shoving off the counter, he strode to his assistant’s side. “I’ll fill orders for you. What have you got?”

      Her face a polite mask, Nicole’s pencil hovered above the ledger and pointed at the row of red metal spice bins on the bottom shelf. “I need one ounce of cinnamon, four ounces of cream of tartar and one container of vanilla extract.”

      “Throw in a pack of chewing gum,” the needle-thin man on the opposite side of the counter added.

      “Coming right up, sir.”

      Grinding his teeth, Quinn quickly gathered the items. Up until this moment, he hadn’t considered himself a proud man too good for lowly work. He hadn’t started out at the top. Edward Darling had thought it important his son experience all facets of the industry. He’d done everything from sweeping factory floors to operating ten looms at once.

      Why, then, was being reduced to Nicole O’Malley’s go-to boy so difficult to swallow?

       Because this is my store. I bought it with my own money, gave up everything I’ve worked for—upsetting a lot of people in the process—to start over in an unfamiliar place where I know no one.

      Neatly folding the paper sacks, he slid them across the counter. “Will there be anything else?”

       Lord Jesus, help me not to be prideful. Help me to win these people’s trust.

      The man squinted at his list. “Nope. That will be all.”

      Nicole informed him how much credit he had left and moved on to the next customer. Together, they worked through the line until the last person had been served. The clock chiming three o’clock split the weighted silence.

      Without a word, Quinn pivoted on his heel and stalked down the hall to the cramped, low-ceilinged quarters. He needed an outlet for his pent-up frustration. Since he couldn’t drop everything and go for a swim, going through the motions of making coffee would have to do. He was filling the kettle with water when Nicole peered around the door frame.

      “Is it safe to come in?” she said, cringing when he thumped the kettle down with more force than necessary.

      “Enter at your own risk.” Snatching the tin of coffee grounds from the shelf, he slammed it down.

      “Even if I come bearing gifts?” Emerald green skirts skimming the polished floorboards, she approached and slowly