The C.E.O. & the Cookie Queen

by Victoria Chancellor

  Then she pushed it shut and he got his first glimpse of the whole woman. Wow. She looked better than any homecoming queen he’d ever seen. Dressed in one of those soft, sort of hippie-looking blouses that tied in front and a short denim skirt, she appeared too young to be a mom. Too sexy to be a spokesperson.

  If she went along with his plans, he’d have to dress her in body-hiding suits with high necks and low hems. Not that he was going to dress her. He meant the image consultants he’d hire, he corrected himself as she walked toward the front door.

  He’d much rather undress her.

  No! That line of thinking was entirely inappropriate for tonight. This was a meeting. A business meeting to discuss important issues. He’d better not forget that fact for one minute while she was alone with him in the house.

  He pushed open the storm door and grinned to hide his flustered state. “Hello! I’m glad you made it.”

  “Am I late?”

  “No, not really. I was just hoping nothing had come up to keep you away. No problems.”

  “No, nothing. I dropped Jenny off at her friend’s house and drove over.”

  “Great! Come on in.” He held the door wide so she didn’t have to brush against him as she passed inside. Unfortunately, that didn’t keep her fragrance from wafting close. He inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent until he felt light-headed. Gripping the door tightly to keep from reaching out, he said a quick prayer for strength.

  She turned around and frowned at him when she was halfway across the room. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure. Why do you ask?” he asked as he peeled himself away from the storm door.

  “Because you seem a little tense. Maybe a little hyper.”

  “Me? Hyper? No way. I’m fine.”

  She appeared skeptical, as she should be, but walked in and sat in a chair across from the couch. Good. He wouldn’t be tempted to sit next to her. Slip his arms around her and pull her close so he could feel her curves and breathe in her scent.

  He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. This was ridiculous. He was a thirty-two-year-old man, not a nineteen-year-old kid. He was supposed to have control over himself, but each time he was alone with Carole, he wanted her more and more.

  “I’m glad you wanted to listen to my ideas,” she said as she leaned back in the chair. Her skirt eased a little higher on her thighs, making Greg swallow and take a deep breath.

  “Right. Would you like some iced tea?” He pushed a glass in her direction, not willing to risk accidentally touching her hand as he had when they’d first sat down for coffee and cookies at her house.

  “Um…thanks.” She tilted her head and frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Maybe a little nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve been trying to get your cooperation ever since I came down here, and we really haven’t been able to solve the problem.”

  “I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot, but honestly, you’ve been trying to talk me into doing something I was very up-front about from the beginning. I simply don’t want to be a spokesperson, a celebrity or anything else that would rob me of my privacy.”

  Greg shrugged. “I guess I have been a little over-bearing, but like I’ve explained, my family’s business is on the line.”

  “I know, and that’s why I’m here.”

  Greg leaned closer and handed Carole a spoon. “Is that the only reason you’re here?” He heard the intimate tone in his voice and immediately sat up straighter. “Sorry. Forget I said that. I promised myself I wouldn’t flirt, but I can’t help myself.”

  Carole sighed. “I know. You’re a natural flirt. A charmer. I saw you at the café, remember? You have all the women eating out of your hand.”

  “All the women? What are you talking about?”

  “My mother, Thelma. Even Jenny isn’t immune to your charm. She thinks you’re great, by the way. None of them will listen to me when I explain that you’re a smooth talker who’s after something.”

  “Wait a minute! You make me sound like some sort of devious…Lothario. You’re the only person I’m trying to talk into something. Something, I might add, that would be of great benefit to you.”

  “Only if I’m motivated by money, which I’m not. Even if Huntington didn’t pay me another penny for my cookie recipes, I’d survive. I’d get a real job, which wouldn’t be as much fun as baking for a living. So I don’t think that the carrot you’re dangling is doing much good.”

  “If you’ll notice, I quit dangling that carrot a couple of days ago. I’m not talking about money being the benefit, although that’s a big one, in my opinion. No, I’m talking about stretching yourself. Making yourself do something that isn’t automatically comfortable so you’ll learn and grow as a person.”

  “I don’t want to grow in that direction, thank-you-very-much.”

  “Will you just tell me why? What terrible thing happened to make you so publicity shy?” He hadn’t heard anything definite from Stewart Allen, except that Carole had no criminal background, bankruptcy, warrants or liens in any state. Greg was still waiting for more information on the personal stuff. Like whether she’d really been married, or if that was a story she or her family had created for the benefit of friends and family.

  Carole added two spoons of sugar into her tea and stirred. Buying time. Greg recognized the move because he’d done it himself often enough when he needed to regroup.

  She took a sip before answering. “I ran away and got married when I was only seventeen. I got pregnant with Jenny immediately, because I was stupid enough to believe that I couldn’t get pregnant the first time I ‘did it.’ I wasn’t mature enough to be a wife, much less a mother. Even so, she was going to be born. I never thought of any other option, even when she didn’t seem real.”

  Greg nodded. After seeing Carole and Jennifer together, he also couldn’t imagine life without the little girl.

  “Fortunately, my mother came after me when she discovered where I’d run to. She brought me home and helped me end the marriage on the basis we were too young to make an adult decision.”

  “Did she know you were going to have a baby?”

  Carole shook her head. “I didn’t tell her until later. Not that I could hide it long. I swelled up like a blimp.”

  “I’ll bet that’s not true.” He tried to imagine her rounded and ungainly, but the imagine wouldn’t form in his mind. Still, he imagined she’d be beautiful, all glowing skin and motherly serenity. At least, that’s how he thought pregnant women should look. He hadn’t had much experience being around them yet, since his siblings were all single.

  “Oh, it’s true all right. Before running off, I used to strut around town in tight jeans and a big silver belt buckle from a regional pole-bending championship. I thought I was pretty hot stuff,” she said with a chuckle. “I was so arrogant…and so stupid. I had no idea there was life beyond being an event champion or a rodeo queen. My thoughts and actions focused on looking good and expressing my independence.”

  “Until you had to suddenly grow up.”

  “Right. Suddenly people weren’t talking about me because I’d won some event, gotten an award or just generally tried to be cute or clever. They started talking about me running off and coming home with my tail between my legs. About the tummy I couldn’t hide beneath loose shirttails and unbuttoned jeans.”

  “The people of town seem really nice. I can’t imagine that they were cruel.” On the contrary, Thelma had been very protective of Carole. And everyone seemed to like Charlene Jacks, so he couldn’t believe they would intentionally hurt her family.

  “They weren’t really cruel, but they weren’t the only ones. You see, while I was gone, I was…involved with a band. There was a documentary shot that appeared on television. I was only a minor part of the story, but I really looked like a fool. A naive, stupid fool who fell for a complete jerk.”

  “Hey, lots of teens make mistakes.”


  She shook her head. “Not like me. I really messed up—not with drugs or anything, but just making bad decisions. Then I got my life straightened out, just in time for Jenny’s birth. Once I had her, I promised myself and my family that I would never be in the position to be hurt by people—especially strangers—again. I would never put myself in the spotlight. My daughter would never suffer because of something I’d done to satisfy, indulge or enrich myself.”

  Greg sighed. Her story was compelling. He had to face the fact that Carole might never change her mind. He couldn’t think of one persuasive argument that she might listen to. She had a valid reason to be publicity shy, one he couldn’t easily discount.

  Maybe he shouldn’t even try to tell her that her reasons were bogus. They were very real, very immediate to her.

  “Okay, I understand now. And I want to thank you for telling me. Although I can’t really imagine what happened when you ran off, or what being in that documentary was like, I can tell it was traumatic for you.”

  “Yes, it was, but that’s in the past. And that’s where I want to keep it. I don’t want my actions or things that happened to me brought up to Jenny. I don’t want her to feel as though she was an unwanted by-product of my wild teenage years.”

  “No, of course not.” He was surprised to realize he felt so strongly that he didn’t want anything ever to hurt the girl he’d grown to like very much. Not as a real daughter, he reminded himself. He was way too young, too career oriented, to have a ten-year-old.

  Carole leaned back in her chair. “So, now what?”

  Chapter Eight

  “Well, according to your contract, you’ve always been opposed to having someone else represent you to the public. Is that something we can discuss?”

  She frowned, then said, “I suppose we can talk about it, but I can’t imagine how we can agree on that, either. I don’t want to deceive people with a fake Ms. Carole. Other companies have tried to hire actresses to portray their signature ‘person,’ real or imagined, but it usually doesn’t work.” She shuddered. “I definitely don’t want to be turned into the equivalent of Ronald McDonald or Jack-in-the-box or even Betty Crocker.”

  Greg chuckled. “Do you remember when I told you that I’d imagined Aunt Bea or Alice of The Brady Bunch?”

  “Please! No more clichés—television, advertising or otherwise.”

  “Okay. I promise I won’t mention any of those characters to our advertising agency if you could work with us to find a suitable representative.” Despite her teenage “mistake,” Greg still believed the real Ms. Carole would be the most suitable person for the job. Unless, of course, Stewart Allen turned up something damaging. Huntington Foods couldn’t survive another public relations fiasco without serious financial setbacks.

  Not on my watch, he silently vowed.

  “I still don’t think it’s necessary for the company—any company—to hire an actor or actress to portray someone for ads. I mean, what benefit could that possibly have for the consumer? Does a smiling woman holding a plate of cookies make the product look any better? Taste any better? I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll leave those questions to our advertising agency working with our internal publicity department. Right now, I’d like to know what you think are the most important traits for any ‘Ms. Carole’ to possess.”

  “Gosh, that’s a tough question,” she replied, reaching for her glass of iced tea.

  Greg could just make out the shadow between her breasts, framed by the gap between the ties of her shirt. Peasant blouse, he remembered they were called. Carole certainly didn’t look like any peasant he’d ever imagined. She looked classy and alluring and a dozen other complimentary adjectives.

  “What do you think the product represents, then? I mean, why should someone buy our cookies? Or any cookies, for that matter?”

  “Because they taste good? Isn’t that enough?”

  “Lots of things taste good.” Like you, he wanted to add. His mouth went dry thinking about running his tongue alongside her neck until she shivered and arched against him.

  “Cookies are an all-American tradition,” she thoughtfully declared. “Made with ingredients that by themselves aren’t great for you, but combined, satisfy us more than any other snack.”

  “Hmm. Satisfying. Wholesome. All-American. I think you’re on a roll.” All of those adjectives also applied to Carole, if she’d just realize it. Of course, he was most interested in the satisfaction part of her argument. “Maybe I should start writing this down.” And maybe he needed to cover the proof of his desire with a clipboard or at least a thick, yellow, lined tablet.

  “When I think of cookies, I have to admit that a smiling mother, welcoming her child home from school or inviting her child’s friends over for a snack comes to mind.” She looked down at her hands and rubbed her thumb along her empty ring finger. “After I had Jenny, I was still young. Just eighteen and already a mother. My mom helped me understand how to be a parent. Together, we were both parents. My sisters were great, too, especially Kerry, who was so supportive even though she worked and went to school. My younger sister, Cheryl, loved Jenny from the moment she was born and always offered to babysit to give me a little time for myself. I couldn’t do much to repay them, so when I was alone at the house with the baby, I started baking. Since I always wanted things my way—that independent streak that got me into trouble to begin with—I decided I’d change the standard recipes for chocolate chip, sugar and several other cookie recipes to suit my own tastes. My sisters and mother were the recipients of my experiments.”

  “I’ll bet they enjoyed your efforts.”

  Carole chuckled. “Not all of them were so successful, but I remembered to write down the ones that were good. Pretty soon I was selling cookies to the Four Square Café and packaging them for sale at the Kash ’n’ Karry and a couple of other businesses in the area.”

  “You were an entrepreneur by the time you were what, nineteen?”

  “About that,” she answered, shrugging.

  “How long did it take you to think about licensing the recipes?”

  “Someone visiting town mentioned it as a way to make a living for myself and Jenny. She was almost three then.”

  Greg smiled. “So you were barely old enough to sign a contract when you negotiated with Huntington.” He shook his head and chuckled. “And here I thought you were probably someone’s grandmother.”

  Carole looked up and smiled. “Not quite. I hope I won’t be a grandmother for a long time.”

  “Absolutely!” He didn’t want to think about Jennifer having her own child anytime soon. Maybe when she was thirty or so. And Carole—why, she wouldn’t look old enough to be a grandmother for at least twenty or thirty years.

  He felt a sudden flash of panic. Was this what other men—fathers of adolescent girls, to be exact—experienced when they imagined their daughters dating? And why would he be thinking such a thing about Jennifer? He reminded himself one more time that he wasn’t nearly old enough to be a father, so such thoughts were ridiculous.

  “So, that’s how I got in the cookie business and why I associate cookies with something positive. This whole controversy about how bad they are nutritionally…well, I just think it’s silly. I mean, it’s not as though cookies are the main source of food for anyone. Or anyone sensible.”

  “That’s a very nice way of saying what my hotheaded brother was trying to express on national television.”

  Carole chuckled. “He didn’t do such a very good job.”

  “No, he didn’t. Which is why I’m here, trying to talk you into doing something you really don’t want to do.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You really won’t consider representing us? Because I have to tell you, you’re the closest person to the wholesome, all-American, cookie-plate-holding mom that I could ever imagine.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Greg. I really am, because I understand your dilemma. And I understa
nd how and why this is important to you. If I was heir to a big company like yours, one that had been in the family for years, I wouldn’t want to see it hurt, either.”

  Greg sighed, then stood. “I suppose there’s no reason to talk about it anymore then. Perhaps you can become a consultant for a possible Ms. Carole image to use for ads.”

  “Well…perhaps,” she replied, looking confused at his abrupt capitulation. “I suppose I should go if we have nothing more to discuss.” She stood, facing him across the table.

  He walked around the coffee table. “I just don’t see how talking about the problem is going to make any difference.”

  She nodded, looking a bit grim. Greg kept his features carefully blank, afraid he would suddenly grin. “Will you be going back to Chicago…soon?”

  He walked toward her. She appeared so petite and vulnerable as she stood in his living room. She wasn’t really that tiny—probably five foot four or five inches in her bare feet, which he’d very much like to see. And she wasn’t at all tiny in all the right places. Her curves had attracted him even before he’d become intrigued by her animated response to Jennifer in the arena. When he’d thought of her as his cowgirl.

  “Soon, but I’ll return,” he replied, stopping close. Too close for her peace of mind, he knew.

  “Why would—”

  “Since we can’t come to an agreement, and you won’t become our spokesperson, there’s no reason I can’t do this,” he said softly, reaching around, sliding his fingers to the hair at the nape of her neck. He pulled slightly, catching her off balance, as his mouth descended.

  BEFORE SHE COULD take a breath, before she could move out of his way, his mouth descended on hers. Carole felt a moment of panic, an instant where she thought, this is wrong. Then, this is so right. This was no tentative exploration, but a full-blown kiss. An adult kiss.

  The lightning struck. All ten zillion volts. She closed her eyes against the white-hot heat and absorbed the shock of his lips on hers, pressing, molding. His tongue stroked against the seam of her mouth and she opened to him. Oh, he was so patient, yet so insistent. He stroked, he overwhelmed. She felt both lightheaded and giddy, yet completely grounded and heavily sensual.