The glimmer in his brown eyes said he didn’t take her seriously. A mistake he’d soon regret.
“Next weekend we have Al and Emma Imhoff’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary,” she said. “Big Al, as all the locals know him, owns the car dealership in White Bear Lake and most of the guests, other than a few family members coming from out of town, are local folks.”
“Any luck with coming up with a musician for that night?” he asked, taking a bite of toast.
Her stomach growled again, and twisted at his smugness. The fact that her father had told Ty twice as much as he’d told her burned.
“No,” she said. “Therefore, the sooner we get through the guest lists, the sooner I can get back to work that needs to be done.”
He touched his lips with his napkin and laid it down before saying, “You say that as if you believe going through the lists will be a waste of time.”
She didn’t want to notice such things—the way he used his napkin, how he’d held the chair. Manners like that couldn’t be taught overnight, they were instilled from childhood, a fact that made her curious. She wasn’t overly impressed by her curiosity. “It is a waste of time, Mr. Bradshaw.”
He poured coffee out of the silver warming pot into his cup. “So, you’ve lived here, at the resort, your entire life?”
“That,” she said, leaning back to cross her arms, “is none of your business. Furthermore, there is no need for small talk. I have a lot of work to do today.”
“I know,” he said, sipping from his cup. “Finding a replacement for Brock Ness.”
Irritated she didn’t have some small tidbit of information about him to toss back, she leaned forward and flipped open her registration book. “Among other things.”
He set his cup down. “The Plantation pulls in some good performers, maybe they’d—”
“I don’t need any help from the Plantation,” she snapped. Forrest Reynolds was right next to Ty Bradshaw on her list of people she’d never ask assistance from.
“All right,” he said, pushing away from the table. In less than five steps, he’d rounded her desk, where he carefully moved aside her phone and sat on the corner. His long legs, angled to the floor, completely blocked her in. “Let me see the ledger then.”
His closeness disrupted her breathing, and the air that did manage to enter her nose was full of his aftershave. A woodsy, novel scent she wished was far more offensive. Norma Rose hadn’t got over all that, or come up with a response, when Moe walked in the door she’d left open.
“How was breakfast?” the cook asked. “You liked it, no?”
“Yes,” Ty answered. “It was very good, Moe. Just as you said it would be.”
The cook, having already put Ty’s empty plate on the silver tray he carried, lifted the lid off Norma Rose’s plate and shook his head. “Rosie, you didn’t eat your eggs.”
“I—”
“She’s been busy,” Ty answered. He lifted the ledger off her desk. “Set it here, Moe, she can eat it now.”
Moe set her plate before her and laid out silverware on a napkin while she glared at Ty for interrupting her. He, of course, was smiling.
“Eat before it gets cold,” Moe said. “Can’t have any wasted food.”
A growl rolled around in Norma Rose’s throat. She was a stickler for not wasting food, not wasting anything, and the cook knew it. Ty’s grin said he knew it, too.
She grabbed her fork, and almost choked on her first bite when Ty said, “Close the door, would you please, Moe?”
The cook had already complied by the time she’d swallowed and Ty was flipping through pages. Head down, he swiftly ran a finger down the page of names she’d painstakingly written out on each line.
Glancing her way without lifting his head, he said, “Don’t mind me. I’ll read the lists while you eat.”
She minded, all right—minded every little detail about him, but she ate, washing down the cold poached eggs and soggy toast with gulps of orange juice.
As she set down her empty glass, he asked, “How many employees do you have?”
The change of subject didn’t surprise her and she suspected he already knew. He’d obviously taken the time to learn everything there was to know. “You tell me,” she said, pushing her plate to the far edge of her desk.
“Counting you and your three sisters, fifty-two, and most of them live within a few miles of the resort.”
Brushing crumbs off her gloves—which she normally removed while eating—she said, “You seem to have gathered a lot of information from my father in a very short time.”
He flipped another page. “You forget I had lunch with Dave yesterday.”
That didn’t bother her nearly as much as it had last night. Whatever Dave may have told him couldn’t compare to the way her father had already taken Ty into his confidence. She took the book from his hand and laid it on her desk. “I don’t forget anything. Ever.” Meeting his gaze, she added, “And I know you are not a lawyer.”
“You’re right,” he said, twisting to rest a hand on her desk so he could continue to scan the names listed in the book. “I’m not.”
Norma Rose waited for him to continue, needing the time to get her nerves in order. Dang but he smelled good. Too good. And he was way too close. The hair on her arms was standing at attention. She jerked back, putting some space between them. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking over the guest lists.”
“No. What are you doing here?”
He sat up straight, and leveled his gaze on her. He was good at that, looking her directly in the eyes, unlike most men, whose eyes often wandered. For the first time, that bothered her. There wasn’t anything about him, not a single iota, she wanted to like.
“I’m a private investigator,” he said.
A private eye. She’d heard of private detectives but never met one before, so she couldn’t say if he looked the part or not. Waiting for more, she arched her brows.
Ty grinned, as if he found her reaction funny. “I can’t say anything more than that. I will tell you that after checking out of my hotel, the Fairmont, yesterday, I happened upon your uncle at the drugstore. Later, while exploring the city, I visited the Blind Bull. I was there when I heard the police sirens and went outside to investigate. I recognized your uncle as they loaded him in the car and went to the police station to see if I could help.”
Norma Rose couldn’t say she was convinced he was telling the truth, but she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t, either. Which was strange. Her intuition usually picked up on things relatively quickly. The Fairmont was in St. Paul, but anyone driving past the four-story building could have picked up the name, and Dave
