by Tina Martin
“You gave him a cupcake?”
“I did. I had made a dozen at home the night before and something told me to take one just in case I saw him again. He’s been addicted ever since. I always save some for him. The only thing is, I never know when he’s going to show up.”
Ramsey narrowed his eyes trying to understand her. As it was, she didn’t have many customers, wasn’t turning a profit (in his assumption) and she was giving away cupcakes for free?
“What?” she asked him when she saw the confused look on his face.
“Most people wouldn’t do that.”
“You mean most people wouldn’t be nice and treat people with dignity and respect? Yeah, you’re right. Most people wouldn’t do that.”
He stared at her for a moment. Gianna’s heart was as good as her cupcakes. He liked that. He pulled the paper from around his cupcake to finish it. “Delicious.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” Gianna took a bite of her chocolate cupcake and after chewing, she said, “Jerry’s the guy who told me to start selling coffee to get more business in the mornings. It got a few people through the doors. Not much traffic, though, as you can see.”
“Yeah.” Ramsey took a sip of coffee. “Earlier, you said you love baking cupcakes.”
“I do.”
“But this,” he said, looking around, “Is not your passion.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling.”
“And how do you figure that?” she asked with crumbs falling out of her mouth. “Oh, sorry. Let me go grab a napkin.”
“Here’s one,” he said, offering it to her quickly so she couldn’t get up.
“Thank you. Apparently, I don’t know how to eat either.”
“You’re fine.” In every aspect of the word.
“Whatever,” Gianna said, knowing he was probably disgusted by her poor table manners.
Ramsey continued, “What I was saying was, I don’t get the vibe that this is your passion.”
“It kinda is.”
“It either is, or it isn’t. There’s no in between when it comes to passion.”
A nervous smile shaped her lips, lips that Ramsey had been watching intently. She glanced up at him curious if a man like him could really be interested in a woman like her or was he just being overly friendly? It was probably the latter. Plus, he seemed to enjoy cupcakes. Maybe he had a sweet tooth and a fetish for licking women’s fingers.
His eyes narrowed. She still hadn’t answered him.
Her pulse quickened by the second, but when she heard the doorbell, she jumped up from the chair, literally saved by the bell. She greeted the Caucasian brunette, a woman she’d seen in the bakery before.
“What can I get for you today?”
“Let me get a small decaf and one of your cream cheese carrot cupcakes.”
“To go?”
“Yes, please.
“Okay. Coming right up.” Gianna put on a serving glove and took a cupcake from the display. She put it in a cute, little pink box with her bakery’s logo on it. After placing a small coffee cup on the counter, she swiped the woman’s credit card and gave her a receipt.
While the woman was standing at the coffee station, Gianna went to check the oven. Then she walked back to the front counter and stood behind the register.
She watched the woman leave, then glanced over at Ramsey.
“Are you coming back, or are you scared?” he asked.
“I’m…not…scared.” Who am I kidding? I’m scared and nervous. I haven’t had a conversation with a man in…O-M-G! I’ve never had a conversation with a man. What am I doing? Reluctantly, she walked back over to the table and sat down.
“Now, where were we?” he asked.
“I’m not answering any more questions about my bakery until I find out a thing or two about you,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I mean, you come into my bakery, two days in a row now, asking questions…you could be the IRS for all I know.”
He chuckled. “What if I was? You owe back taxes or something?”
“I’m not saying anything that could incriminate myself.”
He grinned. “You don’t have to plead the fifth with me, Gianna. I don’t work for the IRS.”
She gazed at him skeptically. “Then who do you work for?”
“Myself. I own an architectural firm.”
Her eyebrows raised. “You’re an architect?”
“I am.”
“That’s…that’s awesome.”
He smiled. “What’s so awesome about it?”
“It’s…um…it’s something you can be proud of. Something that impresses people. People respect architects.”
“People respect bakers.”
“No, they don’t.” Gianna chuckled. “Look at me. I’m covered in flour and wear this hideous hairnet like an old lady who serves meals at a hospital cafeteria. Meanwhile, you’re looking like you just walked out of GQ magazine.”
“What does it matter how I look? I’m telling you...I don’t know how to make or bake cupcakes and I respect the fact that you do. And you’re skilled in it.”
“Well, thanks, but to my point, there’s nothing to making and baking cupcakes. You could learn that very easily. Designing buildings and city structures, on the other hand, is much more complicated. It takes years of schooling. Learning how to bake didn’t require any schooling. It’s—”
The sound of the doorbell interrupted them again. She looked at the door then glanced at Ramsey. “It’s getting close to my busy time.”
“I see,” Ramsey said. “How about I see you at a time when you’re not so busy—a time we can resume this conversation with fewer interruptions? Like, let’s say dinner tonight.”
Her face contorted. Did he—? He couldn’t have—? Did he just ask me out to dinner? “Um, I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked if we could resume this conversation over dinner tonight.”
“Dinner?” she asked, aloof.
“Yes, dinner. You know, when people sit down in the evenings and eat a meal,” he said, amused. There was something about this woman that brought out a lighter side of him. He didn’t have to be so rigid the way he was at the office. The way Royal constantly complained about.
“You want to have dinner with me?” she asked to be sure he knew what he was asking.
“Yes, Gianna. I want to have dinner with you.”
“Umm,” her voice wavered. “I’ll have to think about it.”
He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and said, “Then take my card. Call me before five if you’re interested.”
“Okay,” she said taking the card from his grasp, being extremely careful not to touch him. She didn’t want her hand making any contact with his in any way. She stood up. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“I will. You do the same, Gianna,” he said, watching her as she walked away, looking her up and down again.
Chapter 5
Ramsey sat in the front seat of his Audi and smiled. Still parked out in front of the bakery, he looked through the windows and could see Gianna working while a few more people went inside. A smile settled into the corner of his mouth. He liked her. He didn’t know why she was of particular interest to him, but he liked her. Maybe it was because she was unlike any woman he’d ever encountered with her peculiar ways and rattled demeanor. While it could’ve been a turnoff to some men, he enjoyed it mainly because she wasn’t being pretentious. She was being her, self-described, weird self. And she wasn’t doing a thing to impress him – almost like she knew she didn’t have a shot with a man like him. But the truth of the matter was, she stood a better chance than the women Felicity James wanted him to meet.
He shook his head. It frustrated him to no end to have to drive across town to talk about some women he didn’t like and barely found interesting. It was obvious to him that Felicity had no clue what kind of woman he wanted. The profiles she sent were of some beautiful women, but what els
e did they have to offer? What made them unique? What set them apart from all the other women who gave him unwanted obeisance just to have a shot at a date with the Ramsey St. Claire? He already knew he had it like that. He didn’t need praise from a woman and he definitely didn’t want a woman who wanted him because he had money and looked good. He wanted a woman who wasn’t influenced by his looks and wealth. Like a woman who would hug him even if he was a bum on the street instead of a well-dressed, millionaire boss. A woman like…
Dang.
He was thinking of Gianna yet again. Even when he turned into the parking structure of the building that housed Wedded Bliss – a building he designed – he was thinking of her. He wanted so badly to finish their conversation from earlier. Wanted to see her talk and make attempts to pretend she was at ease around him when she was anything but. He liked the way a dimple formed in her right cheek when she smiled. He loved the soothing sound of her voice. The way she chewed. He even liked the way the crumbs fell out of her mouth. Crazy, but he liked it. Things he would usually find unappealing in other women didn’t bother him when it came to Gianna.
He pulled in a deep breath and snatched the manila folder from the front seat containing the profiles Felicity had emailed to him. He reckoned if he printed them out, it would serve as proof that he actually took the time to read through and study these so-called matches. They were anything but.
Stepping out of the car, he closed the door, hit the lock button on his keyless entry and walked up to the building as confident as he wanted to be. He spoke to a woman who was staring him down as he passed her by. He said a quick hello to another woman in the elevator who’d catch glimpses of him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking.
When the elevator opened to the third floor, he got off and headed for Wedded Bliss’ suite.
“Mr. St. Claire, it’s good to see you again,” the receptionist, a young black woman who looked like she could be an intern, greeted him as soon as he opened the door.
“Good morning. How are you?” he asked courteously.
“I’m good. Thanks for asking. Ms. James is actually ready to see you if you’ll just come this way.”
I’m ready to see her, too, he thought, fuming inside. Quietly, he followed her to Felicity’s office and when he stepped inside, he waited for the receptionist to close the door before he walked over to Felicity’s desk, slammed the folder down on it and said, “This is absolute bull!”
He didn’t know his irritation would come out so soon and unfiltered but had she done her job in the first place, she’d known what kind of woman he was looking for.
Felicity frowned, taken aback. “Excuse me?” She opened the folder as he took a seat in front of her desk. She looked up at him, trying with all her might to keep her composure. She was a hair away from dropping this man as a client. She wasn’t one to give up on someone, but he was making her decision so much easier. “Okay. I take it you didn’t like them.”
“That would be correct. Nothing about these women appealed to me. Absolutely nothing. You said my wife was in my inbox when we last spoke, so where is she? I don’t see her. All I see is the profile of three women who have nothing that attracts me.”
Felicity studied the hard edge of his jaw and leaned back in her seat. She’d sent him profiles of three, beautiful women with careers, so what was the problem? “Okay, Mr. St. Claire. I need you to level with me.”
“About what?”
“For starters, there’s a section on the intake questionnaire you filled out that requires you to list the features of the woman who would be perfect for you. You left it blank. Why?”
“How am I supposed to know what her features would look like?”
“Usually men have a preference. Are you telling me you don’t?” she asked with raised brows.
He thought about preferences for a moment but could only see Gianna’s face from this morning and that dimple he’d grown fond of. He liked her dimple. He liked her light brown eyes and how they’d change with her mood. When she was happy, they were the lightest of browns – like a ray of sunlight striking a jar of honey. Nervous, they’d darken with hints of green. And when she was angry, like when he licked her finger, they’d turn as brown as freshly brewed coffee. He smiled.
Short of snapping her fingers, Felicity said, “Mr. St. Claire?”
His smile slipped as his eyes rolled up to meet hers. “Yes?”
“Do you have a preference?” Felicity asked again.
“No.”
Felicity sighed. It almost seemed like he was being difficult on purpose. “Okay. You’re a thirty-nine-year-old millionaire who doesn’t have a preference about the kind of woman he wants to marry. That’s illogical, unreasonable and I’m not falling for it, so let me help you out. You’re tall. Most tall men like short women. Do you like your woman short? Long hair? Short hair? Brown-skinned? Light? Thick, skinny or somewhere in between? You have to give me something to work with here.”
Ramsey glanced at his watch.
“Mr. St. Claire?” Felicity said testily.
Ramsey stood up, slid his hands into his pockets and silently paced the area in front of her desk. “I want a woman who’s easy to like. A woman who’s genuine. I don’t like a lot of fakeness. Fake hair, fake nails. Botox here and there. Implants. None of that. I want a real, down-to-earth, genuine woman, and Ms. James—I don’t care how she looks. Looks have never been a motivating factor that would determine whether I could like someone. I see hearts, not faces. That’s why I left that section blank.”
She lowered her head. “Seriously?”
He stopped pacing, looked at her and said, “Yes. Seriously. In fact, I would prefer to go on your database and look for myself. Can I do that, or is that not a part of the package?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You certainly can do that if you have free time to search through a database that contains well over one-hundred-thousand women.”
“I’m certain I can narrow the results based on search criteria.”
“Yes, you can. The database does contain filters. Unfortunately for you, there are no filters for fake hair and all that other stuff you named, but if you would prefer to take a stab at it yourself, be my guest, Mr. St. Claire. I’ll send a guest login and password to your email.”
“Perfect,” Ramsey said. “After I finish doing your job, I’ll get back to you on Monday.” He headed for the door.
“No, you got that all wrong, Mr. St. Claire. I did my job. If you don’t like the results, maybe you should’ve fully completed your questionnaire and gotten back to me before an entire month passed by. You can’t blame me for your inability to follow through on something you signed up for.”
“I’ll blame whoever I want to blame. Thank you for your time, Ms. James,” he said quickly before exiting the office.
Felicity rolled her eyes. “What a jerk,” she hissed. She was on the fence about letting him sign up when she’d first met the man. She thought something was off about him. Now she knew it for a fact. She felt sorry for the woman he’d choose to marry. He would be one of those dictator husbands. One of those, when-I-say-jump-you-say-how-high husbands. She shook her head. The sad part was, some desperate woman would take him and deal with it, all because he was rich.
Chapter 6
At home, Ramsey followed up on emails while eating pretzel chips and fresh guacamole dip made by Carson, his butler whom he liked to refer to as his personal assistant. He didn’t want to indulge in a full lunch since he’d planned on eating dinner with Gianna this evening.
He glanced at the clock. The time was 1:45 p.m. and she still hadn’t called him. Given her shy nature, he didn’t expect her to but it would’ve been nice if she had pushed herself beyond her own limitations to make an effort to talk to him. At least then, he’d know she was interested. Now, he had to sit and wait until 3:30 since he’d already made up his mind that if he didn’t hear from her by then, he’d be right back at the bakery. The bakery closed at 7:00 p.m. and was a for
ty-five-minute drive away from his house. That would give him at least two hours to spend with her.
To pass the time, he replied to a bunch of emails. He followed up with Ralph and Gilbert about the University City excavation. Ralph reassured him that the new crew would start on Monday. He set an appointment reminder on his phone to be at the site Monday morning.
The ringing of his cell phone took him out of his email-answering marathon. Could it be her? Hoping that it was, he picked up the phone and looked at the display. He sighed. It wasn’t her. His brother, Regal, was the caller.
His brother!
He was supposed to pick up Regal from the airport two hours ago. Regal had been in Paris finishing out their business there – meeting with a company who wanted to hire St. Claire Architects to design a new twelve-story structure in the United States for their unique fashion line, and they wanted the business based in Charlotte. Picking Regal up from the airport would’ve given them time to talk face-to-face about the project, especially since they still hadn’t decided whether or not to take the Paris gig.
“Regal,” Ramsey answered. “I completely forgot to pick you up.”
“And this is the very reason I told you we need to hire drivers. We’re at that level now, Ram. It’s not like we can’t afford it. I had to take an Uber home.”
Ramsey grinned. “You called an Uber?”
“I did. It’s a good service to use, especially when your brother—the one who’s so anal, he usually never forgets anything—forgets to pick you up from the airport.”
“Why didn’t you remind me, man?”
“Because I usually don’t have to. What’s got you so preoccupied?”
Ramsey frowned a little. He had been distracted by Gianna, but that was a good distraction. It was the nonsense with Wedded Bliss that had him off balance in addition to the delays with the University City project. “It’s nothing, Regal. I’m good.”