“Christ,” Mont muttered, “when did you get so heavy?”

“I have heavy bones,” Jacob said proudly.

Mont snorted. “If I’d known concussions could be this funny, I’d have borrowed my sister’s GoPro. And don’t worry about work stuff, Jake. Eve’s watching the place, remember?”

The sound of her own name made Eve jump. And then Mont’s dark gaze swung directly to hers through the gap she’d made in the door, and she jumped again. So much for her cunning spy skills.

Mont arched an eyebrow as if to say, Now would be a great time to come out.

Eve shook her head as if to say, No, thank you, I am a monumental coward.

“Eve,” Jacob muttered darkly. So darkly that, for a moment, she worried he’d seen her, too. But no—he was staring into space, glaring with impressive focus at a spot on the wall. “Eve,” he repeated. “She! Broke my arm.”

“Yeah, Jacob. She did.”

Well! So much for Mont’s comparatively sweet and kind nature, the bastard. And he had the audacity to grin as he spoke!

“She can’t watch Castell Cottage,” Jacob growled as Mont dragged him up the stairs. “She is a disaster!”

“Bit harsh, mate.”

“She has no idea of the proper—the proper—protocols!”

“Well, we were in a pinch, so—”

“She’s obnoxious and disorganized and posh.” This last was said as if it might be the most grievous crime of all. “And,” Jacob went on, as Mont towed him away, “she is hideously pretty.”

Eve blinked. Had she . . . had she misheard that last part?

“Interesting phrasing,” Mont said mildly. “Would you mind explaining . . .” His voice faded as they disappeared, and Eve barely restrained herself from kicking the wall. She wanted that explanation, too, goddamn it. Hideously pretty? What on earth did that mean? Jacob must be confused. He must have said it wrong. He probably meant hideously petty or something along those lines.

She shook her head and backed away from the door, considering her options. Since Jacob was now back—and clearly under proper supervision—Eve was technically free to go. She’d promised to watch the B&B, but it no longer needed watching. She could run from the scene of the crime right this second, return home in time for a late yoga class with Gigi and Shivs, and tell Mum and Dad all about her day’s successes while completely leaving out the part where she bombed an interview and drove over the interviewer.

Except . . .

Well. Except that seemed a little bit terrible. Jacob might be an arsehole, but in this situation, she was even arseholier, which was really saying something. She should stick around to make sure he was okay, attempt to apologize to his annoying, strawberry ice cream face, et cetera.

Plus, whispered a voice inside her head, no job in the world will regain Mum and Dad’s respect if you keep running away from the trouble you make.

Hm. Eve usually kept that annoyingly sensible voice—a voice that sounded irritatingly like her eldest sister, Chloe—under strict lockdown. The stress of the day must have released it from its chains.