to take it, and she gripped it in her hands as he released it to her.
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“The bathrooms need a thorough going-over. You can start by mopping, and then I’ll show you where the rest of the cleaning supplies are kept so you can do the toilets, sink and the like.”
Harper stiffened. Connor had warned her there’d be chores, but she hadn’t expected she’d start her first shift cleaning the restrooms. “Shouldn’t I be learning the menu first?”
Connor clicked his tongue at her. “Tsk, tsk, Ms. Worth. Are you so high and mighty that you won’t lower yourself to scrub a few floors?”
Harper bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping back an undignified reply. Had this been Connor’s motivation when he offered her a job—saddling her with the most demeaning duties in the restaurant?
“I did tell you that you’d have to pitch in with the cleaning tasks,” he reminded.
“You did,” she conceded, “but you seem kind of smug about it.”
“Smug?” He scowled. “Might I remind you that you’re speaking to your new boss?”
She cringed. What had she gotten herself into?
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of quitting before you’ve even begun,” he goaded.
Of course. He’d enjoy that—for her to admit defeat. Was that what he’d wanted all along? Or did he really need a server? Well, it didn’t matter. She needed this job, and she was not the stuck-up snob he implied. She had no problem cleaning toilets—her father had instilled a driving work ethic in her from the time she was small. But her pride prickled at the way Connor had presented the job.
She raised her head and looked Connor in the eye. “You’d better show me where the mop bucket is kept.”
Satisfaction rippled through her as surprise flitted across her boss’s features. Her gratification was short-lived, however, as he gestured for her to follow him to the back room where a rack of cleaning supplies and a mop bucket were stored.
Once she was outfitted with the mop, bucket and a pair of gloves, Connor led her to the restrooms and propped open the ladies’ room door. “Make sure you get in all the nooks and crannies,” he reminded her, “and when you’re done with the floors, start on the commodes.”
He lingered, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed her standing in the middle of the restroom. She had a feeling he was taking a mental snapshot to replay whenever he remembered the sting of her review.
She sloshed the mop into the water and then used the bucket’s lever to press the excess liquid from its strands before she got to work. She did her best to ignore Connor’s presence, and after a couple of minutes, she looked over her shoulder to realize he’d gone. She straightened and surveyed the wet floor before catching her own reflection in the restroom mirrors. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but already the efforts of cleaning the restroom had caused a few strands to come loose around her face. The yellow rubber gloves she wore contrasted with the white button-down shirt and khakis that were a server’s standard uniform at the Anchor. If she’d known she’d be working as a cleaning lady, she’d have shown up in a grubby T-shirt and jeans. She blew the hair out of her eyes and looked away from her reflection.
How far she had fallen. From famed restaurant critic to humble janitor. She was glad her father couldn’t see her now. It had been hard enough for him to accept her choice not to come work for him after college as her older sister, Paige, had done years before. Seeing her reduced to cleaning bathrooms would only deepen his disappointment.
Putting aside those musings, Harper turned her attention back to mopping. When the floors in both bathrooms were spotless, she set to work on the sinks, mirrors and toilets.
Connor popped back in to check on her as she was finishing the men’s room commodes. She sensed him before she saw him, turning to find his lips twitching with amusement at the sight of her hunched over the toilet bowl. She ground her teeth together and swiped at a drip of perspiration along her temple, careful to use her upper arm so she didn’t brush against the rubber gloves she wore. It grated that Connor appeared so unfazed, leaning against the bathroom doorway as she struggled with her task. And what right did he have to look so ridiculously handsome while she was a sweaty mess?
“You missed the base,” he cheerily pointed out, directing her attention to the bottom of the toilet.
She took the opportunity to glare at him before attacking the area he’d indicated. He stepped into the room as she scrubbed at the last of the porcelain surface, and when she stole a glance upward, she saw him surveying her work.
“Not bad,” he finally admitted as she stood and stripped off the rubber gloves.
“Not bad?” she repeated in disbelief. “These restrooms are so clean, you could set up tables in here and serve dinner.”
He affected an expression of horror. “But, Harper, what would a restaurant critic say if they should happen to see something like that?”
She squeezed the rubber gloves in her fist and refused to rise to the bait.
“Well, then,” he said when he saw she wasn’t going to reply. “On to the next order of business.”
Connor looked so eager that she felt a twinge of dismay at what he had planned for her.
The grease trap.
She should have guessed. Cleaning it was one of the worst jobs in a restaurant, and one that was often contracted out to a service company. But with the Rusty Anchor’s tight finances, Connor had decided to keep the task in-house. As frustrating as bathroom duty was, Harper knew it was a plush job compared to cleaning the grease trap. All the oily sludge and congealed chunks of fat from cooking were routed into the trap in order to save the pipes. Even Rafael, whose task it normally was to clean it, eyed her with pity when Connor gave her the instructions. When she first pried off the lid, the sulfuric smells nearly made her gag. She turned her head and saw Connor standing several feet away, watching her with suppressed enjoyment.
With a grimace, she took a deep breath and went back at it, determined not to reveal any more of the disgust she was feeling.
By the time she finished, her stomach was twisted with nausea from the smell, and her arms were covered in black streaks of slick, stinky grease. Her once-pristine white shirt was soaked with sweat, and there were permanent smudges covering the front. But she was secretly pleased. She doubted the grease trap had looked this clean since the day it was installed. Her pride in the achievement was short-lived, though—Connor came over, inspected her work and shrugged.
“I suppose it’ll have to do.”
She gritted her teeth and forced back a growl.
“Since you’re finished with that, why don’t you scour the grills next?”
* * *
CONNOR KNEW HE shouldn’t be enjoying himself this much. But there was something so...satisfying about seeing the haughty Harper Worth at manual labor. It almost made up for that crummy review she’d given him.
Almost. But not quite.
He had to give it to her, though. He’d thought she’d quit on the spot when he handed her that mop bucket. And after the thorough cleanings she’d given the restrooms, he was sure the grease trap would finish her off. Not that he wanted to see her quit, exactly. He hadn’t been lying when he told her he needed a server. Leah was just a high school kid, after all, working part-time over the summer. And Erin couldn’t keep juggling so many responsibilities in the restaurant. But he didn’t see why he should make things easy on Harper just because he was in need of another server.
“Make sure you put some elbow grease into that,” he said as he walked by the grill on his way to the stockroom.
He just caught the face she made before he turned