The Chocolate Comeback (Love at the Chocolate Shop Book 7)

by Roxanne Snopek

  “Really? Is that what Mark says?”

  He forced his voice to stay calm. “I spent a lot of time and effort researching his options, Ms. Cash. You spent five minutes there and you know better than me?”

  “He hates it.”

  “He doesn’t hate it.” He paused. “Maybe he doesn’t love it, but we all have to do things we don’t like sometimes. That’s life.

  He reached for his wallet, peeled off five bills, then added a sixth and handed them over. “Here’s your cash, with extra for your time. Have a good day.”

  To his shock, she lifted her lip and turned away from his outstretched hand.

  “I’m having a very good day, thanks, and I’m not done yet. Nice fish.” She moved to the aquariums and trailed a slender, pink-tipped finger over the glass.

  “No tapping the glass. What do you want, Ms. Cash? With those nails and clothes, I doubt you’ve ever washed your own dishes, much less scrubbed a toilet, did laundry, or spent time with someone like Mark. You want to know about this position? Looking after Mark isn’t easy. It’s messy, unglamorous, frustrating, and sometimes just plain hard. Is that what you want?”

  Why was he even asking her? It shouldn’t matter what she thought.

  “You’ll find I’m a very flexible person.” Deirdre bent over the fish tank, the movement pulling the fabric of her pants so that he could see the outline of her thighs. A little thin for his taste but very shapely.

  Isaac swallowed.

  “For instance, I’ve never been tolerant of prejudice, but I’m willing to overlook the fact that you’re judging me entirely on my appearance.” Deirdre straightened up and drifted to the other tank. “And not in a good way.”

  Good thing she couldn’t read his mind.

  She made her way to the couch, dropped the purple satchel onto one end, and lowered herself onto the other. The boots she wore would have been worse than useless if the April sunshine hadn’t melted most the snow already. Why would a woman of her height wear heels—on pink leather boots no less?

  His email program pinged, announcing that another message had arrived, but he ignored it. “Ms. Cash,” he said. “I have work to do.”

  He gestured to the door.

  She smoothed her hands along the sides of those endless legs, then crossed her ankles to one side, like she was posing for a photograph. It looked like the smile had been carved into her face. The curve of lip and cheek was still there, but the softness and warmth had disappeared.

  “At least take my information.” She reached over to the body bag—what was the proper name for purses that size?—and rummaged around, finally pulling out a manila envelope. She half stood and handed it to him. The movement made the silky material beneath that poncho thing shift just enough that he caught a glimpse of sun-kissed cleavage.

  Instantly, he averted his eyes, feeling his cheeks heat up. He took a step back, bumping his legs against his desk. Just then, his cell phone vibrated in the back pocket of his jeans. He jumped and nearly knocked over the mug of cold coffee sitting next to his reports.

  He did need to hire someone. Ideally, he needed more than a care aide for Mark. He needed a housekeeper. A cook. A cleaner. His and Mark’s living quarters on the second floor were still covered in boxes, the furniture shoved up against walls or unassembled. They’d used the kitchen only for pizza and cereal so far, having not yet located the cookware.

  The upstairs door slammed, making him wince. He had better get Deirdre out before Mark came down and invited her to move in.

  “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Ms. Cash.” He gestured toward the door of his office once more. “Good luck with your job search. If you’ll excuse me…”

  She got to her feet and took a step toward him. He topped six-foot-two, which put her at about six-one with those heels. It was rare he could speak eye to blazing eye with a woman.

  She didn’t look away, either, but stood as if awaiting a better answer.

  Her jaw shifted. The carved smile returned. The battle, if not conceded, was at least on hold.

  Just then, Mark lumbered down the stairs and poked his head through the door.

  “Isaac, Isaac,” he said. “I made a snack for DeeDee. It’s Ritz crackers and chocolate wafer cookies and I did it all by myself and I hardly spilled at all. Come on, DeeDee! Come see!”

  Mark bounced up and down.

  Deirdre sent a sweet smile to Isaac, then turned her attention to Mark. “Have you got any tea?”

  Isaac pressed two fingers into the place between his eyebrows, where a headache was beginning.

  Chapter Five

  DeeDee surveyed the upper level of Isaac’s house after Mark led her there. It looked like a FedEx truck had gotten friendly with a US Postal freighter and produced an unholy legion of spawn in the form of unmarked packages all over their kitchen.

  “Love what you’ve done with the place,” she said.

  “It’s our forever home.” Mark beamed, oblivious to her sarcasm. “But we’re not really home yet. Isaac says when the boxes are gone, then we’ll be home.”

  “I see.” She wiped a streak of dust off her pant leg.

  “I like peanut butter. Do you like peanut butter?”

  “To eat, to wear, or as a murder weapon?” Gingerly, she lifted a frighteningly large knife out of Mark’s hand. Peanut butter was layered all over the wicked blade, the handle, the counter, his hands, one cheek, and his glasses. No blood to be seen, thankfully.

  She didn’t understand why she was trying so hard. Mark was clumsy and awkward in his cheap khakis and a hideous T-shirt that hadn’t been white for a long time. Bright eyes sparkled above cheeks heavy with a five-o’clock shadow and below the worst bowl cut outside of a cult.

  But something about him was irresistible.

  DeeDee was no idiot. She’d most likely destroyed her chances of getting hired when she pulled Mark out of his program. Quiet, stone-faced Isaac Litton disapproved of everything about her. It was like he didn’t even see her. In fact, the only clue that Isaac was a living, breathing man was when her neckline gaped when she handed him her résumé. And he hadn’t reacted in a good way. He’d acted as if he’d accidentally witnessed her coming from the ladies’ room with her skirt tucked into her panty hose.

  Embarrassed.

  And that just made her mad.

  “What say we clean up this mess?” She handed some paper towels to Mark, and they began tidying up.

  She wasn’t what Isaac was looking for. Well, Isaac Litton wasn’t what she was looking for, either. She just wanted something that would pay off her credit card bills and keep her occupied when she wasn’t working for Cynthia. She did not want to deal with a sternly rumpled big brother in faded jeans that rode his hips like a lover and made her want to yank the hem of his shirt from his waistband to see how warm his skin was.

  “You’re so pretty.” Mark propped his face in his hands and gazed at her.

  “You have peanut butter in your hair.” She really did not want a sticky teddy bear of a groupie who needed clean clothes, lessons in food safety, and possibly deworming.

  “What’s going on up here?” Isaac entered the kitchen. He’d left the tortoiseshell glasses in his office. Why were some men so sexy in glasses, while others just looked like dorks?

  “Decontamination,” she answered. “Might want to have the knife talk with your brother.” She waved the sharp implement and tilted her head at Mark.

  Isaac’s face blanched. “Mark. You know you’re only allowed to use the knives in the drawer.”

  Mark’s face crumpled into a pout. “They’re all dirty.”

  “I’m sensing a theme,” DeeDee said, biting back a smirk. “I have two words for you, Isaac—hazard pay.”

  “I believe our business is concluded, Ms. Cash.”

  In the office below, a phone rang again. Isaac ran a hand through his hair, looking between his disaster of a kitchen and the stairway.

  “Is it?” DeeDee said. “I’m not so
sure. What do you think, Mark?”

  “Yay!” Mark clapped his hands and wiggled his butt in the chair. “Let’s have cookies!”

  Isaac Litton might not want to hire her, but he had a very large Achilles heel in the form of his messy chatterbox of a brother and DeeDee wasn’t above pressing the advantage.

  “What kind of cookies have you got?” She batted her eyes at Isaac. “It would be rude for me to leave now. Your brother would be so disappointed.”

  Mark lumbered past her, knocking her Coach Legacy bag off the chair where she’d hung it. It slipped, hit the seat, and tipped, spilling its contents all over the floor.

  “Mark!” Isaac put out his hand and caught his brother by the arm. “Watch where you’re going.”

  “I sorry, DeeDee.” Mark looked crushed.

  “No big deal, Markie.” She grinned at him. “Help me collect my stuff and we’ll see to those cookies.”

  Mark flushed and sent a sloppy half-smile to his brother. “She called me Markie.”

  Score.

  “Mark, please go watch TV. I’ll help Ms. Cash, but then she has to go.”

  His imperious attitude was giving her hives. And not just her.

  “Don’ wanna go.” Mark’s eyebrows drew together.

  “No need. I’ve got time.” She patted Mark on the shoulder. “I was promised cookies, and cookies I shall have.”

  She could practically see flames radiating off Isaac.

  Mark hunkered down onto his hands and knees. He began scooping up lipsticks, tissues, loose change, and old ticket stubs and shoved them into her bag. She winced as his clumsy hands strained the seams, but what the heck. Surely there was someone in town who did leather repairs should it come to that.

  “Ms. Cash.” Isaac’s voice was low, but there was no mistaking the steel behind it. Finally, she’d gotten under his skin. “It’s vitally important to my brother’s psychological well-being that he stick to his routine. You seem a little… freeform… for our needs.”

  “Really? Ten minutes coloring outside the lines is going to send him into the nuthouse? Cut him some slack, Isaac.” She emphasized his name, determined not to let him bully her with his Mr. Big Boss Man antics.

  Isaac was pressing his lips together so tightly that the skin around them was white. Beneath his patrician cheekbones, a muscle ticked in his jaw. If only he didn’t hold himself so tightly, the man could have made a hell of a cover model. All that Mr. Rochester glowering.

  “There, DeeDee. I did it all.” Mark got to his feet. There was a streak of lip liner, Blushing Bride, on his forehead.

  DeeDee laughed. “How did you manage that? Come here. It totally clashes with the peanut butter.” She swiped a tissue over his skin, and Mark giggled.

  “This has gone far enough,” Isaac said. He took his brother by the shoulder and turned him toward the door.

  “Isaac,” Mark protested.

  “Say goodbye to Deirdre, Mark. Then go wash up.”

  “Bye, DeeDee.” Mark gave her a quick, lackluster hug before slumping down the hallway.

  DeeDee noted the rigidity of Isaac’s shoulders beneath the fabric of his shirt. She ought to butt out, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Be careful, Isaac,” she said, deliberately using a light, friendly tone. “Your brother will think you don’t like me.”

  “I don’t know you.” Isaac flushed and the muscle in his jaw flexed, hard. “And neither does Mark. He’s unable to discriminate between genuine interest and those who consider him a joke or worse. It’s up to me to be sure that his trust isn’t abused. You’ve disrupted my brother’s routine, made him miss work, upset him, and got his hopes up. If I needed reasons not to like you, those would do it. However, there’s no need to get emotional. My brother has plenty of his own friends already. Good luck in your job search.”

  Throughout Isaac’s rant, DeeDee watched him. She had flaws aplenty, but she could read people, and what she read in Isaac was uncertainty.

  She gave a little laugh and propped one hand on her hip. “You, Isaac Litton, are a fascinating man. You clearly love your brother, which says a lot about your character. You’re skilled and knowledgeable and have earned an excellent reputation in your field, which speaks to your values and work ethic. But despite all that, you’ve lied to me repeatedly. You’re not sorry. You do need help. Your brother is lonely. He hates that glorified sweatshop. And you know it.”

  His silence told him she’d hit the mark.

  She sighed. “Okay, okay, I’ll see myself out. There’s no way we’d be able to work together anyway, not with your personality issues. You don’t like me; I get it.”

  “Liking or not liking a person has nothing to do with who I hire, Ms. Cash. I hire based on merit alone.”

  “Bull.” She snorted lightly. “Mark likes me. That’s what has you tied up in knots.”

  Isaac looked away. She hiked her bag higher onto her shoulder and paused in the doorway. It was important to leave a strong, lasting impression.

  “You should listen to your brother and hire me, Isaac,” she said. “He has Down syndrome; he’s not stupid.”

  *

  DeeDee hadn’t intended to return to Isaac Litton’s place. She didn’t need the humiliation. Unfortunately, the envelope containing her résumé also inadvertently contained the last of her head shots and she wanted them back. Hopefully, in a few months, she’d get up the courage to look for another agent. She certainly couldn’t afford to waste expensive photos.

  She hoped Isaac hadn’t bothered to look inside. Who sent head shots out when applying for a care-aide job?

  She knocked on the door, unsure whether to go in guns drawn, or to pretend yesterday hadn’t happened.

  Isaac opened the door, his eyes widening in surprise. “Hello again,” he said. “Did you forget something?”

  There was a dimple in his chin she hadn’t noticed yesterday. The tortoiseshell glasses were back, framing his dark eyes, the academic touch at odds with the faded jeans and torn T-shirt. Someone was definitely getting detention.

  She met his gaze squarely, opting for guns over pretense. “We didn’t discuss my hours.”

  His jaw dropped, but then his posture softened. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, smiling.

  “That’s true,” he said. “Because I’m not hiring you.”

  DeeDee wanted to smack him right in that chiseled jaw. She crossed her arms in a way that ensured her boobs pressed gently against her scooped neckline. She’d worn Maddie’s pink suede boots again, but she’d paired them with a tunic-length cashmere sweater and sleek narrow pants. The pants were also Maddie’s but since she had several pairs exactly alike, DeeDee saw no reason not to borrow them.

  She looked fantastic. Yet, she might have been invisible, for Isaac’s response.

  “I remember it differently.” She tossed her head. “Fact is, I saved your bacon yesterday. What do you have against me, anyway?”

  “You’re not qualified.” But he stepped back and allowed her into his office.

  “How would you know?” she shot back. “We didn’t even discuss my qualifications.”

  “I read your résumé. You don’t have any.”

  Back to pretense, then. She lifted her chin. The envelope was on his desk, where she’d left it. Good. She’d just grab it and go. “I could say I accidentally gave you an old version, but you’ve already made up your mind about me. I could speak ten languages and have graduated cum laude from Harvard Business School. I’m betting I could have a degree in health care and a personal recommendation from Mother Teresa herself and it wouldn’t matter to you. For some reason, you don’t like me. Despite me being an incredibly useful, helpful, and pleasant person to have around, you’ve decided that I am not the one for the job. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll take that off your hands and be on my way.”

  One corner of his mouth tipped up. “Do you?”

  She was breathing hard. “Do I what?”

  “Speak t
en languages?”

  She huffed. “I guess you’ll never know. I’ll find someone who appreciates me for the gem that I am.”

  “The photos were a special touch.” Isaac sidled past her, reaching for the envelope.

  She leaped forward, elbows up, trying to snatch it out of his hands. “I changed my mind. I don’t want this job. I withdraw my application.”

  Unfortunately, she ended up slamming into him like a roller-derby enforcer.

  He spun around, knocked off balance, and then, an endless split second later, they were both on the floor beside his enormous desk.

  “Well…” she said, when she could breathe again. “This is awkward.”

  Isaac shifted out from under her, a shock of dark hair falling over his forehead. His back was strong and lean. He had runner’s legs, long and muscular. She’d liked the way they’d felt beneath her own thighs.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Any chance you have a convenient case of amnesia? Worked for my sister and her boyfriend.”

  Inwardly, DeeDee groaned. Great. She’d made it sound as if she wanted him as her boyfriend.

  Isaac got to his feet and held out his hand to help her up. He wasn’t smiling with his lips, but his eyes were suspiciously crinkled.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know. Are you okay?”

  “Oh, I’m fantastic. Never better.”

  As long as she could remember, she and Maddie had been criticized for going off half-cocked. Throughout their elementary school years, teachers informed their mother that what she saw as fun-loving spontaneity was in fact irresponsibility and lack of respect for authority. High school hadn’t changed things, but they’d done okay. Graduated, gone to college. So, they’d played a few pranks; no one had gotten hurt.

  Their younger stepsister Cynthia might argue otherwise. But she’d been a shy wallflower who needed to be pulled out of her shell. And it had ended with her meeting Chad, so if anything, they’d done her a favor.

  She swept her hands down the sides of her pants and adjusted her sweater. Her hair was all over the place, but what did it matter? He didn’t give a hoot about how she looked. She’d been an annoyance to him since the moment she’d stepped foot in his house.