Page 43 of The Unwilling Bride
Pale skin, and high cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. She’s the kind of woman who’d look perfect beside someone like James.
A small, unpleasant twist settles in my stomach.
Of course, she’s beautiful. She also looks as unapproachable as James.
For a second, my brain starts down a petty road. Something about ice queens and glacial personalities. But I stop myself.
I don’t even know her.
And anyway, the last thing I want is to turn into the kind of woman who tears another one down just because she’s gorgeous.
Still… The two of them together make an intimidating picture.
Before I can stop myself, a ridiculous thought pops into my head.
If they kissed, would it look like two glaciers meeting?
A snort escapes me.
Oops.
I clap a hand over my mouth, but it’s too late.
The Ice Commander and the woman both stare at me.
His face is, as usual, a mask.
Her expression is one of curiosity. “Are you an intern?”
Damn, my fresh-faced look.
If I expect him to come to my defense, I’m sadly mistaken. He merely looks at me with challenge in his eyes.
Anger churns my guts. I tamp it down and keep my face composed. “I’m the sous chef.”
It doesn’t seem to mean anything to her, so she’s not from the cooking world.
She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I need to complete my conversation with James.”
My first instinct is to turn and leave. But then I remember Ollie’s dazed features. Nope, this can’t wait.
I square my shoulders and fix a pleasant smile on my lips.
“It’s the middle of the working day. I have something important I need to bring up with James.”
Her forehead wrinkles.
Damn, she really is stunning, with that build supermodels favor. Hang on, is she a supermodel?
Not that she looks familiar. But I’m not up to date with the world of fashion. I live and breathe food. I also love to sample what I cook. As my curves will attest to. But I refuse to apologize for that. What kind of a chef would I be if I didn’t enjoy eating, eh?
I fold my arms across my chest and keep my expression professional. “This can’t wait.”
She turns to James. “Can you ask her to give us a moment?”
Can’t fault her for her polite request. Why couldn’t she be more like a caricature villain? At least, that would have given me the opportunity to aim catty remarks at her in my head. But no. Even the women in James’ life are, perfect.
James looks from me to her, a slightly amused look in his eyes. “It is the middle of a working day,” he concedes.
