Sweet Spot (Plaything Book 2)

by Tess Oliver

  I finished tying on my running shoes and headed down to the lobby. As I stepped out into the cool morning air, an idea struck me. Sweet Spot would make a great title for a monthly theme.

  I walked across the plaza. Since she ran a coffee and breakfast cart, she was the first person out on the city square. Aside from an early morning group of hungry pigeons, huddled in a bright corner of the courtyard, waiting for crumbs, she was all alone.

  The woman was leaned over a box as I approached, and since, as my partner, Zane, liked to point out, I was a cocky ass when it came to women, I watched her. She straightened with a plate of pastries. She was a petite little thing, the kind you could pick up and swing into your arms without any effort at all. Suddenly, I found myself wanting to know what her laugh sounded like. Something told me it was the kind you would miss once it stopped.

  "Guess you're the early bird out here." I spoke too abruptly, and it startled her. She swung around and nearly pitched a few pastries off the plate.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that."

  "No, that's fine. I'm just relieved to find out it wasn't the pigeons talking."

  I laughed. I couldn't think of any person in the world who could make me laugh this early in the morning, but she'd managed it.

  She continued working, lining up her delicious breakfast treats in a perfect array on the silver trays. She took the time to glance at my shoes. "Out for a run?"

  "That was my goal," I said. "Do you bake these yourself?"

  "Yes, I do. I'm a trained pastry chef." As she reached to the top of the trays, her t-shirt inched up a bit, exposing the curve of her slim waist.

  "Then I suppose my next question should be—how the heck can you be so tiny when you bake amazing treats every day?"

  "They only look amazing. They taste awful," she said in such a deadpan tone, it took me a second to realize she was joking.

  "Humor at dawn, a rare and admirable trait."

  She still hadn't stopped to look up at me, and I was working hard for it. I wanted to catch that expression I saw yesterday. I wanted to know what it was I’d seen that had me so captivated. Her small hands neatly arranged some colorful berry tarts. I decided on a new tactic.

  "I'm Chase England. I thought since we're sort of going to be neighbors, I should introduce myself."

  She stopped and peered up at me. I hadn't been imagining it. It was there. I just wasn't sure what it was yet. She worked up a sweet smile. "Macy Pennington. Nice to meet you, Mr. England." She went right back to her task.

  And I went right on with my conversation. "This is probably an unexpected question, especially at this hour, but is that name trademarked?"

  "Macy Pennington? Not that I know of, but then my mom can be a little obsessive about things, so who knows?"

  I found myself laughing again. She was quick witted, and I was finding myself more than a little intrigued. "Actually, I was asking about Sweet Spot."

  I had her attention. She had her long tawny hair tied back in a neat ponytail, but one strand of hair was too short for the band. It fell forward, curling across her face. She brushed it away.

  "It's just a name I came up with. The kiosk is so small compared to the shops on the street. I figured Spot was a good word to describe it." Her brow arched up in suspicion. "Why are you interested?"

  "Nothing sketchy, I promise. I'm part owner in a company called Plaything. We are a subscription service—"

  "Yes, Chuck and George told me about your company."

  "Chuck and George?"

  She pointed two directions with her thumbs. "My neighbors." She returned to her work and set about filling her coffee pots.

  "Right. Well, I can see that you're very busy, so I'll just head out on that run."

  I backed up a few steps and waited for her to look up again. But she didn't. I couldn't believe how fucking disappointed I was. Guess my usual dazzle and animal magnetism just wasn't turned on today. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was what intrigued me about her. I'd met a woman who had zero interest in talking to me. Zane was right. I was spoiled when it came to women, which probably meant that his other favorite phrase, conceited jerk, fit me as well.

  I started toward the sidewalk and glanced back at her one more time. She stepped around to the front of the stand and leaned down into a box again. Instantly, I imagined her doing the same thing, only naked, preferably with my hands holding her hips and my cock pressed up against her fine ass. I shook away the image before it hindered my ability to run.

  My feet took off along the cement, and after a few steps, it hit me. It wasn't her obvious lack of interest in me, so much as my extreme interest in her. There was something else about her, but, hell, if I could figure out what it was.

  Chapter Five

  Macy

  I'd done a pretty good job of ignoring my unexpected early morning visitor, but now that he was shirtless and covered with a sheen of sweat, it was going to be a bit harder. Chuck had just arrived to set up and I could hear him mutter something to himself as Chase came around the corner.

  How was it possible to be that spectacular after a run through the city at the crack of dawn? But still, he was so far from my type, I could easily talk myself into looking past the pretty packaging. Most likely there was nothing but vapor, arrogance and indifference filling that dreamy outer shell.

  It was still quite early, but my usual customers would be arriving in fifteen to twenty minutes. I'd only been in business a week, but I'd quickly developed a following, which had me more than just a little pleased with myself. As I waited for some of the first customers of the day, my first visitor of the day headed my direction.

  Chase scrubbed his wet face with his shirt and bunched it in his fist. He stopped in front of the kiosk.

  "Morning again," I said cheerily, trying hard not to get distracted by his breathtaking physique. "Can I get you something?"

  He opened his mouth to speak and then seemed to change his mind. "Actually, I'll take a black coffee."

  I spun toward the cups and picked up the coffee pot.

  "I'm sorry if I irritated you this morning," he said.

  I turned and handed him the steaming coffee with a polite, shop owner's grin. "You didn't irritate me. Anything else?"

  "Just coffee." He reached for a pocket and looked slightly embarrassed. "Oh, I forgot I'm wearing my running shorts. I'll bring it to you on my way to work . . . if that's all right. I promise I'm good for it."

  I couldn't hold back a laugh, even though I gave it a good try.

  He pointed it out. "I knew your laugh was something worth waiting for. I know you're about to be swarmed with coffee drinkers and pastry lovers, but on my run, I came up with a plan for something, and I'm hoping you'll be part of it."

  I couldn't for the life of me understand how I could be involved in any plan of his and thus, responded with a dumbfounded, wide-eyed look.

  "I want to use the name Sweet Spot on one of our boxes—unless you would rather we didn't."

  "As I mentioned this morning, it's not trademarked."

  "I know, but if you don't want us to use it, I'll give up the plan. But I think this idea could benefit your business." His green eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. I was still dumbstruck about how I would be involved.

  I leaned my head slightly to look past his broad shoulders and overall hunkiness. Two of my morning regulars were hiking toward my cart with that desperate for coffee look I knew too well. Chase sensed that customers were heading my direction

  "I'll talk fast. You said you were a trained pastry chef. Do you also work with chocolate?"

  "I do."

  "Great. When I come back down, I'll leave you my number. I want to talk to you about making something chocolate for one of our monthly boxes. It would be a big order, but we are generous with our suppliers. We like to keep them happy."

  My customers reached the kiosk. By the time I took their order, Mr. Beautiful and his running shorts and magnificently naked upper torso
had disappeared into the apartment building.

  Chapter Six

  Chase

  Trey was preoccupied with a text conversation, no doubt with his girlfriend Georgie, and Zane was gobbling down a bowl of Chinese food. He'd given up on the chopsticks and had opted for a fork. Aidan walked into the meeting room. His main workplace was in the warehouse, which was two blocks from the office building, so we always spent a good amount of meeting time waiting for him. All of us were good-sized, which had helped when we were four smart-mouthed punks growing up together, but Aidan was head to toe massive. He was a handy friend to have around in a bar fight or when furniture needed to be moved.

  The chair creaked as he settled himself down for the meeting. "Make this fast, Chase. I've got a truck ready to leave the docks."

  "Yep, I'll be fast. Two minutes."

  Zane laughed. "Yeah, that's what most of the women say about you."

  "Funny. Anyhow, this morning I went on a run after talking to the hottest little coffee seller down in the plaza, and I came up with an idea." I hadn't even thought about describing Macy, but the words just came out naturally.

  "Let me guess," Zane interjected. "Your idea was to seduce the hot little coffee seller?"

  "Hey, comic, shut the fuck up so we can get done with this," Aidan barked before waving his hand to show that I had the floor again.

  "Her coffee cart is called Sweet Spot because she sells baked goods. I was thinking Sweet Spot would make a great name for a box. We could focus on the G-spot or some of the other erogenous zones."

  Trey's chair squeaked as he moved to stand up. "Sounds good. Don't know why you called an emergency meeting about it."

  "Wait," I stopped him. "I was thinking we could try something different this time, but I needed input from marketing." I pointed to Zane. "And the warehouse." I looked at Aidan. "What if we add in a chocolate or something edible to go with the name on the box? The coffee seller is a professionally trained pastry chef, and she also works with chocolate."

  "So, this is about you getting into the panties of the coffee girl?" Zane quipped.

  "No—well maybe—she does have these amazing brown eyes and she has the fragrance of sugar floating around her. But I'm serious about this. What do you think?"

  "Would it work?" Trey asked Aidan.

  "I think so. They make special bubble wrap that acts as an insulator to keep things from melting."

  Zane sat forward. "Marketing would be a no-brainer. Everyone loves chocolate."

  Trey looked across the table at me. "We'll give it some thought."

  It was the answer I wanted to hear, and Trey, who had known me since we were in fourth grade together, figured that out fast. "Let me guess," he said, "you've already set up a meeting with the woman?"

  I glanced at my phone. "Expecting her any minute."

  Trey shook his head. "You're so damn predictable. Just don't make a deal with her and then fuck it all up by breaking her heart."

  "I don't break hearts. I cultivate them," I said as I walked out the door.

  Chapter Seven

  Chase

  Diane, one of our marketing geniuses, was sitting in my desk chair with her green platform shoes propped up on my desk. She didn't drop them to the ground, even after I looked pointedly at them. She was busy texting someone. I waited and hovered over my desk as she finished.

  "So what was the secret meeting about?"

  "Nothing secret. I just needed to run something by the guys. In fact, if you take your big eighties rock star shoes off my desk and clunk down the hall to Zane's office, he'll fill you in. I've got another meeting."

  "I know. That's why I came in here. I was going to let you know that there was a woman waiting to see you. Then I got a text message, so I sat down here with my phone." She clunked each big shoe to the floor and stood up. "She's not your usual type."

  "Who’s not?"

  "The woman you're waiting to meet with." She added an eye roll with her sarcastic pronunciation of the word meet.

  "Shit, everyone is just full of judgment in this fucking place today."

  Diane walked around the table and pinched my cheek. "I'm not judging. But she's still not your type."

  "Why not?" I asked, stupidly getting sucked into her baited trap.

  Her long finger pointed at me. "Ah ha, so I was right."

  "No, you're not right at all. I'm meeting her to discuss a business deal."

  "Oh, I see." She clomped out on her tall shoes.

  "And what's wrong with her? Why isn't she my type?" Obviously, I was still stuck on the end of her hook.

  Diane turned and shrugged. "We had a chat for a few minutes. She seems smart, savvy and just a little too pure for Chase England, that's all."

  "Why, thank you, Di. You're right. That's not the least bit judgy. Is she out in the waiting area?"

  "Yep." Diane walked out, and I could hear her silly shoes on the tile floor of the hallway long after she left.

  I walked to my desk, digesting Diane's words with some anger and wondering if she was right. That was when it struck me. Too pure? It was a strange thing to say, and yet, it resonated with me. Maybe that was what I kept seeing when I looked at her. I pulled a breath mint from my desk drawer and shoved it in my mouth before heading out to the waiting area.

  Macy was standing in front of one of the four wide screen televisions in the waiting area watching, of all things, a cooking show. She heard my footsteps and turned toward me. Her tawny hair made her brown eyes look dark, like chocolate, and her skin had a sun-kissed glow to it. But it wasn’t one of those out of bottle tans. It was real, every golden inch of it. She had come straight from work, and she still had the fragrance of baked goods clinging to her clothes and skin. I briefly wondered what she might taste like. Deliciously sweet, no doubt. Damn, sometimes it seemed my friends and coworkers knew me better than I knew myself.

  I'd arranged the meeting with every intention of discussing the business deal, but it was hard to deny that I was attracted to her.

  She waved her arm around the cavernous room that had been decorated in colorful modern furniture and technology. "Impressive," she said. "But I guess it shouldn't have surprised me too much. I confess, I did a little research."

  "That's smart business." I led her toward the offices. "So, what did you think? Find anything of interest?"

  She pursed her lips in a shy smile. "Interesting is a good word."

  "But our product is not for you?"

  "I didn't say that. I just haven't ever seen anything quite like it."

  "We try to please a wide swath of people, so we include a lot of variety."

  "Yes, variety is another good word." She followed me into my office and sat in a chair across from my desk.

  I sat in my chair. "I just talked to my partners, and they like the idea."

  She dragged her eyes from the stunning view and looked at me. "I'm not sure I'm the right person for this job."

  "Why not? Significant other wouldn't approve?" Yep, I was fishing for information and doing a clumsy job of it. And my out of left field question baffled her.

  "Uh, no, I make my own decisions."

  That told me nothing. "So you make your own decisions because you're on your own, or you just don't let him tell you what to do?"

  She blinked at me in utter confusion. I couldn't blame her. I'd pretty much confused myself.

  "Who's him? There's no him. It's just me."

  I relaxed back, stunned at how relieved I was to find out there was no him.

  She shook her head as if to straighten out the convoluted conversation we'd wound ourselves into. "Mr. England—" she started, and I corrected her to call me Chase. "Right. Anyhow, I just don't have enough hours in the day to get my pastries ready for the cart and make chocolates for your company. I'm sure there are plenty of candy makers who would be happy to take the job. Besides, I work out of my rental house. The kitchen is small. I'm just not equipped to take on a massive project." She reached into her
pocket. "I've written down a few names and phone numbers of people you could call. I hope it helps."

  She placed the paper on my desk and stood up. I hopped up too, my mind was dashing around, trying to think of some convincing argument.

  "What if we sent some of our people to help you make the chocolates?"

  "I don't think so. I only just got the business started, and I can't risk it. It's all I have right now. Thank you very much for the offer." She headed to the door.

  "Have dinner with me," I blurted.

  Macy stopped. Her head dropped and her ponytail fell forward, exposing her long white neck.

  She looked back and flashed me a polite smile. "I don't think so."

  I hurried around the desk. I had no idea if her rejection was causing me to want this more than anything or if it was still that thing that I just couldn't put my finger on. All I knew was I didn't want her to leave without some reassurance that I'd see her again, other than standing inside her kiosk selling coffee to my neighbors.

  I circled around and stepped between her and the door. There was some irritation in her expression, but it was masked by a layer of hurt, something that I hadn't noticed before. Macy had gone through something recently, something ugly.

  That realization threw me off for a second. I had no idea why I could read this woman so well. I was never great at figuring out women's thoughts, except when it came to sex. Then I could read them like a book. But I was a fool when it came to understanding them emotionally. But it was different with Macy. Was I just paying more attention than usual?