Harper Gardener rushed around the kitchen island, rescuing the homemade Italian bread from the oven just in time to avoid it being burned. Not for the first time that day, she berated herself for not driving up from the city the day before so she could familiarize herself with the restaurant-style kitchen she'd call home for the next six weeks.

She knew how lucky she was to land this job. If she hadn't, she'd probably be squatting on her best friend Vivian's couch on the lower-east side, or in her run-down Honda on her way home to Illinois with her tail between her legs. This job may be a temporary stay of execution, but she knew there was a very good possibility she'd be packing-in her dream of making it in NYC and heading home before Christmas.

"Okay, introductions are finished. The participants have mingled over drinks for thirty minutes. Mr. Wallace gave the green light for me to start serving the first course as soon as they're seated," Cecelia, long time caretaker of the property, confirmed.

"Sounds good. The salads are in the walk-in fridge on a tray to the right. I made a couple homemade dressings, too."

"Wow, such talent. You've only been here a few hours." The kind, older woman's smile was genuine, a rare commodity in Harper's life recently. "It's so nice to have the kitchen back in use again after all these years. The Ungers weren't well the last few years they resided here, and well, the main house has been empty now going on a year."

"I can't believe this dream kitchen has been going to waste. And don't tell Mr. Wallace, but I cheated a bit. I made one of my signature dishes from my old job. I could make this ravioli dish in my sleep. I'll have to work my way up to harder entrees after I get the lay of the kitchen," Harper added.

But it wasn't the kitchen she was worried about. It was the long list of special requests from the temperamental participants in the show that concerned her. Having dietary restrictions was one thing. The lists of things some of these women refused to eat read like a culinary final exam: what meal can you make from water and this stalk of celery?

Two identified as vegan, which in and of itself was difficult for a chef responsible for feeding a large group of people. Another refused to eat carbs or dairy. A fourth hated vegetables and seafood, while a fifth would only eat vegetables and seafood. Add in a gluten-free and sugar-free request, and she felt like the producers should call her part of the show Mission Impossible.

This should be fun.

The one thing she knew for sure was that they would all be hating tonight's dinner. She'd kept it simple, with soup, salad, pasta, and dessert, and based on the information sheets, each of the women would be equally disappointed by their first meal in their temporary home. She could only hope they'd be too distracted by the misogynistic asshole they were all trying to woo to notice.

Harper had taken a few minutes of her break to do a Google search on Colton King and had immediately wished she hadn't. His clear baseball prowess aside, the guy was nothing short of a man-whore. Rarely photographed with the same woman more than once, he'd managed to live thirty-six years as a confirmed playboy. King of baseball, indeed. More like king of one-night stands. She could only hope the jerk stayed out of her kitchen, because she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep her opinion of his treatment of women to herself.

Cecelia had returned, a frown on her face.

"Is everything okay?" Harper asked.

"Those are some sour women. We're only on day one, and already they're complaining about this or that. I don't envy your job trying to make all of them happy, Ms. Gardener."

"Please, call me Harper. I didn't have enough time to deal with their special requests tonight. I'll have to study the demands and go shopping tomorrow with a new plan."

Cecelia smiled. "You sure made Mr. King happy, though, when I told him we were having mushroom ravioli for the main course. He told me it was his favorite entree at this restaurant he likes to go to in the Italian Village. I told him that was a coincidence. Didn't you say you used to work at an Italian restaurant in the city? Wouldn't that be something if he was talking about your ravioli?"

"Yeah, something," she said, non-impressed. Every Italian chef worth their salt could make this dish.

Members of the filming crew took turns flitting through the kitchen, introducing themselves and grabbing a bite to eat when they could. Everyone was very nice, other than the complaints she could hear through the swinging door separating the kitchen from the formal dining room. Comments like, "It's a good thing I brought a bag of my own food" and "I'm not going to gain ten pounds while I'm here," got Harper's blood simmering. She was relieved when the meal was over, and the participants all left to go get to know each other in some other area of the big house.

"Excellent meal, Ms. Gardener."

Harper turned to find the producer of the show in the doorway. "Thanks, but I don't think your dinner companions agreed."

"You made Mr. King happy, and you gave him and the future audience a good chance to see how the contestants handle adversity."

She chuckled. "Adversity? I asked them to eat carbs."

"Precisely. Keep up the good work. I'm glad I took Georgio's recommendation to hire you."

Her heart stopped. "What do you mean his recommendation? I applied for the position on my own."

The producer looked like he'd said too much, but she pressed him until he added, "How do you think you got the notification of the opportunity?"

"That sonofabitch." She threw the hand towel down she'd been drying dishes with and started pacing, putting together the puzzle pieces. She'd known the asshole was cheating on her. She'd confronted him, and he'd lied. She'd threatened to leave, for Vivian's couch, but then this amazing opportunity had fallen into her lap at the last second. She'd thought it was divine fate, when in reality, it had been her no-good ex-boyfriend ensuring she'd move out, so he could carry on his affair with the maître d' of his restaurant.

"I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

"Oh, I think I did. It helps to know the score."

"Well, regardless, keep up the good work. I'll see you at seven for breakfast."

* * *

It was late by the time Harper turned off the last light in the kitchen and left through the back door to make the short walk to the pool house. She'd been relieved to find they didn't have enough bedrooms in the main house for her. She preferred to stay hidden away from the residents when she wasn't working.

She tried not to think about the contract she'd signed agreeing to be on camera 24/7. It wasn't like she'd ever have a camera crew assigned to her for the reality show, but just being in the big house, she was constantly aware of the cameras hidden away where it was too easy to forget they were there. She longed to be in her own room where she could finally relax, if only for a little bit.

She'd arrived late and hadn't been able to unpack. She had two bags that she'd need from her trunk. Feeling tired, she almost let it wait until the next day, but knew she'd need her toiletry bag with her toothbrush and contact lens solution.

As she began walking across the yard, the whinny of horses could be heard from the well-lit stable, drawing Harper in. She'd grown up on a farm. As a kid, horses had played an important role in her life, but choosing to go to culinary school in downtown Chicago had taken her away from home, and she'd only been back for short visits since.

Cecelia's husband, Charlie, was brushing down a lathered horse when she approached the first stall.

"He's beautiful," she observed.

"Why, you scared me, Ms. Gardener. I'm afraid the Mrs. and I are not used to having folks around. It's gonna take some getting used to having you here."

"I'm sorry if I frightened you. I just saw the light on, and well… I love horses and wanted to check it out."

"Do you ride?" he inquired.

"I used to. It's been a while."

"It's a bit like riding a bike. I'm sure you'll remember."

"Oh, I wouldn't impose."

"No imposition at all. In fact, over half of the horses we stable are for city folks too busy to get out here to ride very often. They pay us to not only feed and care for their animals, but to make sure they get regular exercise. If you'd like to ride, just say the word, and I'll hook you up with Dolly down at the end of the paddock. She's a good mare for you to get reacquainted with riding again."

His offer was most unexpected. "That would be amazing. I never dreamed I'd get to ride out here. I'll be a bit busy for a few days, but maybe over the weekend."

She patted the soft nose of the gelding he was brushing, drawing a whinny from the handsome sorrel.

"Sounds good. Confirm with Cecilia, and I'll have a saddle and bridle waiting for you."

Harper reluctantly said goodnight, knowing she had a lot of work ahead of her before she could call it a night. Cecelia had told her they'd moved her car to the ten-car climate-controlled garage. Her Honda would be spoiled when it was time to return to city street parking in December.

It was eerily quiet as she approached the garage. Gone were the city cars and buses, honking cab drivers and crazy people talking to themselves. Out here, those sounds were replaced with frogs croaking and an occasional hoot owl in the distance.

She stopped to admire the scenery, taking in a deep breath of clean air. The moon was half full, shining just enough light on the land to highlight the property's pond and a small lake in the distance.

"Nice night for a walk." The masculine voice in the shadows scared the bejesus out of her.

"Who's there? Mr. Wallace, is that you?" Harper swung in the direction of the voice, only able to make out the tall frame of a man in the darkness, leaning against the trunk of just one of the many mature oak trees on the grounds. Her heart leapt in her throat realizing how secluded the property was, not sure if Mr. Finnegan would hear her from the stables if she cried for help.

Her pulse spiked up a notch when Colton King stepped out from the shadows, his hands raised above his head as if to surrender, a broad grin visible in the moonlight. The glow of the cigar in his left hand gave her the answer as to what he'd been doing sneaking around outside.

"Oh for crap's sake, you scared me. Don't sneak up on a girl like that," she huffed, both relieved and aggravated at his presence. She'd never been afraid of the dark before, and it pissed her off that she was reassured to have company as she was about to go into the dark outbuilding. She made a mental note to grab the flashlight from her glove box to carry in her coat pocket for the future.

Harper pushed past the baseball player, refusing to return the smile still playing at his lips in the dim lighting. She opened the side door to the garage and felt around the wall, looking for the light switch.

"Here. Let me get my cell phone out." Colton King had followed her into the darkened building and was helping to search for the switch. Their fingers brushed briefly in the dark and she quickly pulled her hand back, not wanting anything to do with the guy who smelled like clean soap and cigars.

The flashlight on his phone almost blinded her when he switched it on pointed right at her. "Oh, sorry about that," he apologized, but the smile on his face didn't make him look very sorry.

She frowned.

"What? Did I do something to offend you?"

She ignored his question, determined to keep her distance from lover boy. Harper reached past him to flip on the now visible switches, blanketing the garage in florescent lighting.

"Whoa," they said in unison as they turned their attention to the contents of the garage. Harper was no expert on luxury cars, but even she knew there was a fortune's worth of vehicles parked side by side in a neat row.

Colt started walking the line, naming the cars as he went. "I'm not good on guessing years, but this is a vintage Jaguar convertible. A Corvette from the 70s. A Maserati. A Lamborghini. A Land Rover. A Bentley. An Audi. And..." He stopped, looking back confused. "One of these things just doesn't belong here."

What a joker. Did he really just quote Sesame Street?

"That's my car, you big jerk," she huffed at his deserved insult.

"Listen, lady, I don't know who the hell you are, but I'll ask again. Have I done something to offend you?"

She sailed past him, anxious to get her bags and hide in her room. "It doesn't matter who I am. Thanks for the help with the light." She hoped her brisk comment would send him on his way.

She wasn't so lucky. She'd just gotten to her car when she felt his hands on her arms, spinning her around until her back was jammed against the window. He crowded her, stopping shy of actually touching her. He was luckily a good six inches taller than her, giving her the perfect excuse to stare at his chiseled chin instead of into his eyes as she tried to defuse the situation.

"Listen, I'm just tired, okay? I drove out from the city, had to work all day and now I need to get my stuff upstairs and unpacked, so I can plan out everything for tomorrow." She stopped short of apologizing because—well—she wasn't sorry.

Was it her imagination or was he leaning closer? She jumped when his index finger lightly touched her chin, lifting her face until she had no choice but to acknowledge him.

Her breath caught. He was more handsome in person than in any of the thousands of pictures on the Internet. For the first time, she had an inkling of why so many otherwise intelligent women might lower themselves to be used by the guy and then thrown away.

It was a good thing she was stronger than that.

"I'm Colt."

"Duh."

That made him smile which only made him more good-looking… virile… suave…

She shook her head as if to clear the unwanted thoughts with a reboot.

"Now. Let's start again. I'm Colton King, and you are?" His question hung in the air.

Oh for crying out loud, they'd be here together for six weeks. There was no way he wouldn't figure out who she was. "I'm Harper Gardener. I'm the chef they hired to cook for the cast and crew for the next six weeks."

It was a good thing her car was propping her up, because the hug he scooped her into had a way of making her knees weak.

"That was the best damn mushroom ravioli I've had. It was even better than Georgio's in the Italian Village."

Holy shit. What were the odds?

"Actually, I would argue that it was exactly like the dish from Georgio's."

"You've eaten there?"

"No, I got fired from there. It was my dish."

"What? I won't be able to get it any more when I'm in town?"

So typical, looking out for himself. "I'm so sorry my career's demise will be an inconvenience for you."

"Okay, I guess I deserved that one. Why the hell would you get fired? You have skills."

"Apparently not the right ones." When he waited expectantly for clarification on her cryptic answer, tears crept into her eyes as she added vulnerably, "George and I worked together… lived together. I thought we might even get married one day, but that was before he decided to dip his nib in the new girl. Suddenly, I'm out of a job. An apartment. So yeah, I'm a little angry at men in general right now."

"What a fucking asshole."

The vehemence of his anger surprised her.

"Isn't that a little hypocritical of you? I mean, don't look now, but you're going to be sleeping with six women for the next six weeks, not to mention the hundreds, if not thousands, in your notorious portfolio. I'm pretty sure there might be a few hundred women out there feeling exactly like I do right now, only with your picture pinned to the voodoo doll instead of George's."

Colt fell forward, trapping her body between his and the car door, anger flaring in his eyes. "First, I've barely even met the women in the main house, let alone slept with them. And while, yes, I may have played the field over the years, I sleep like a baby at night knowing I have never—not once—cheated on a woman I was in a monogamous relationship with. I've been nothing but honest with the people I go out with. That may seem like splitting hairs to someone not involved, but any woman who complains I cheated, wasn't paying attention."

Harper was stunned into silence. He was close enough she felt his breath on her cheek as he fought to calm his burst of anger. Her misguided read of George aside, she thought of herself as a good judge of character. In that moment, she knew Colt King was telling the truth.

"I'm sorry. It's really none of my business anyway."

He hesitated, pressing against her long enough that, even through her coat, she could feel the hardness of his athletic body. She needed to put some distance between them.

Her hand snaked between their bodies to press against his immobile chest. Seconds later, he stepped back, this time shaking his head as if to shake an unwanted thought out. She used the opening to dash towards the back of her car, popping the trunk with her key fob. She wrestled her biggest suitcase out before reaching back in for her smaller carryon bag. When she turned back, Colt had the handle raised and was pulling the bag away, between the cars and towards the exit.

"You don't have to do that!" she called out to him. "I can handle it."

He waited for her at the door, slapping her hand away when she went to grab her bag. "You’re really a stubborn woman; you know that?" He flipped off the lights, blanketing them in darkness before ushering her out into the yard. She was about to reach for the bag again, when he picked up the heavy case. "There's no way you can roll it across the yard on these stones. Stop being a baby, and let me help you. Where is your room?"

There was no way in hell Colton King was going to help her to her room. Awareness hit her, and she swung around in a circle, frantically looking for a hidden camera crew.

"Don't worry. I ditched 'em already. I'm guessing they'll figure out my tricks eventually, but for tonight at least, I'm sans cameras." Her face must have registered her relief, but he added a jovial, "That's exactly how I feel too."

Recognizing he was being genuinely helpful, she started walking back towards the pool house. She could hear his shoes crunching on the stones behind her. She'd dropped her briefcase and purse in her apartment earlier, so she at least knew where the light switch was to illuminate the first floor of the impressive space.

Colton's impressed whistle made her smile. She'd have thought a guy like him was used to this kind of almost gross opulence. The space was the size of a basketball court, two stories high, with walls of windows from floor to ceiling. She hadn't explored, but she could see a whirlpool, heated pool, lap pool, and billiards area from the entrance.

"The caretakers, Charlie and Cecelia, told me there's a gym, kitchen, stocked bar, and locker rooms behind the wall at the other end."

"Impressive."

"If you say so. I say, excessive."

He pinned her with a stare she didn't know how to interpret. She had to force herself to look away, moving towards the flight of stairs to her right that led to the apartment above. "My place is up here. If you want to leave the bag there, I'll come back down for it."

"Do you ever just let someone help you and then say thank you?"

His question annoyed her. She wanted to keep him at arm's length, and it was getting harder and harder the nicer he acted.

"I'm independent; is that a crime?"

"Crime? No. A shame? Yes."

"Why do you care so much?"

They were at her door. Not wanting to invite him in, she turned, pressing her back against the hard wood as he crowded closer, just as he had in the garage. The guy had some serious personal space issues.

"I guess because every single other person on the property wants something from me. It's refreshing to find someone who doesn't."

"And yet you helped me anyway." She softened. "Thank you."

For the briefest of moments, she wondered if he would kiss her. He stepped back, taking a deep breath of his own before adding a quiet, "Goodnight, Harper Gardener."

He'd turned and was halfway down the stairs when she caught her breath again. Only after the bang of the door to the outside confirmed she was alone, did she whisper, "Goodnight, Colton King."