A guy who was over her probably wouldn’t think about any of that either.
Of course, he was neither of those things.
As evidenced by the things he’d said to her. And the fact that he was still here and planning to say more.
He squeezed the ball harder as he studied the framed photos that she had on the shelves of the massive cherrywood bookcase by her window.
The photos were of her with her family. Of course.
And wow, he really hated her grandfather and father.
He felt his chest tighten with bitterness and anger just looking at photos of them.
Dean and Eric Lancaster were the epitome of entitled, rich assholes who thought that they could do whatever they wanted to because they had money and power.
It was not a secret to anyone who knew Cam and his history with the Lancasters, or to himself—or the therapist that he’d seen for a while a few years ago—that a lot of his drive came from wanting to be a rich asshole too. He wanted to be at their level of wealth and success so that he could prove that they’d been wrong. About everything.
It absolutely wasn’t mentally healthy, but it had worked out so far. He was rich and successful and he had surpassed them in both wealth and success. And he was asshole, but he was less of one than Dean and Eric were.
In fact, he now owned their business and was in the midst of helping build it into something that was bigger and better than anything they’d ever done.
The Lancaster family had run Hot Cakes for as long as it had existed. Up until about two months ago when Cam and his partners had bought it. Whitney’s grandmother had started the company. After she’d stolen the first recipe from his grandmother. Him now owning the factory was fucking sweet. Pun totally intended.
Clenching and relaxing his fist around the lime-green stress ball, Cam leaned in to peer closer at the photo of Whitney and Dorothy—Didi to everyone who knew her—in front of the factory. Whitney had to have been about six or seven.
Even then she’d been cute. Long, dark hair, those big brown eyes that he’d always been a sucker for, that huge smile. She was wearing a red coat, grinning at the camera, while holding Didi’s hand with one of hers, hoisting a Hot Cakes snack cake—it was too small in the photo to tell which one—in the air with the other.
It was strange, but it was the red coat that caught his attention.
Red.
She never wore red.
That was one of the reasons seeing her in Piper’s dress had punched him in the chest. It was a bright, bold, happy color. She never wore bright, bold, happy colors.
But he hadn’t realized it until he saw her in that fucking dress.
That was only one of the things about the dress that had sucked every molecule of oxygen out of his lungs and made him hard and stupid all at once.
Her tits really had looked amazing in that thing. And no, her ass had not looked weird.
But he could not get over that color.
She used to wear red.
Not just as a little girl, but in high school too. In the time he’d know her she’d worn red. And other bright colors.
Hell, he’d picked bright blue panties—well, it had technically been a thong, a detail he had not missed—up off the street at Christmas.
So she wore red under her black and gray and navy blue clothes that she wore to the office.
He hadn’t put his finger on it until this very second, but that was why he hated her fucking clothes.
At first he’d thought it was because those pencil skirts did actually make her ass and legs look great and he figured he was just dealing with horniness and the whole wanting-what-he-couldn’t-have that always simmered in the air when he was near Whitney.
Then he thought it was because they were very conservative, something he was not, and she paired them with those buttoned-up blouses that reminded him of what a good girl she’d always tried to be. Or the image of one that she’d tried to project at least. Which then reminded him of how naughty and fun that good girl could be when he got her to loosen up. Which led back to the horniness and the wanting-what-he-couldn’t-fucking-have that plagued him.
But now he put his finger on it.
She wore those damned boring-assed colors that were not her and he would put a million dollars—and he could literally do that, thank you very fucking much—on the fact that she wore those because her grandfather or father had told her that’s how she should dress to work for Hot Cakes.
He loved her in that red dress of Piper’s.
Not just because she looked sexy as hell but because he would bet another million that she really liked that dress.
The door to the powder room opened behind him and he turned to face her.
She came up short when she saw that he was still there.
She was back in her silky light blue blouse and the dark gray skirt. He found it interesting they were wearing the same colors today.
But he really fucking hated her outfit.
He frowned and moved to her desk to return the stress ball to its spot next to her plain black pencil holder. Damn, even the stress ball and pencil holder were boring. Dax had one that when you squeezed it the inner liquid squished out into multicolored bubbles. Whitney needed one of those. Desperately. Literally and metaphorically.
“You’re still here,” she said.
“You didn’t tell me if we’re going to dinner tomorrow night or the next night,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets.
She tossed Piper’s dress over the back of one of the chairs that faced her desk and regarded him with narrowed eyes.
“Neither. But you already knew that answer. So why are you really still here?”
Ah, see, that was the other reason he hated her clothes. When she dressed like this it was clear that she felt more buttoned up and cool. Not at all vulnerable and sexy.
“I’m really still here because I want to know when we’re going out. We don’t have to go to Timothy’s. Hell, we don’t have to go to dinner for that matter.”
“Just straight to the hotel then?” she asked.
“Sure.” He shrugged.
“Well, I guess it’s a step up from the riverbank.”
He lifted a brow and took a step closer to her. He didn’t miss the way her breath caught for just a second. “You had no complaints on that riverbank, Whit.” They’d been so damned hot together. Even as teenagers.
She wet her lips. “I was seventeen. What did I know?”
Yeah, well, at seventeen Miss Whitney Lancaster had been the best sex of his life. And that was still true ten years later. And he’d absolutely tried to erase that memory.
“You knew that you were madly in love with me and that nothing felt better than when we were naked together,” he said.
She pressed her lips together, lifted her chin, and met his gaze directly.
He appreciated that. She was tough. She didn’t want him to see that he affected her. That made this all so much more fun.
He took another step. Now he could reach her. He wasn’t going to, but he could and she knew it.
“Go out with me.”
“No.”
“Let me put you up on your desk and convince you.” Damn, he wanted to do that so fucking bad he almost had to reach down and adjust his cock. He did appreciate dress pants and the bit of give they had compared to denim. He was going to have to remember that if he was going to have these conversations with Whitney.
“No.” But she swallowed hard after that one.
“Okay.” He took one final step. Now she had to tip her head back to look up at him. “Let me bend you over your desk and convince you.”
This time she had to swallow before she answered. “No.”
He studied her face. Her pupils were wide and round, her cheeks pink, her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. “You think I’m testing you,” he said as he realized it.
“Are you?”
Well… He nodded. “Maybe a little. But not th
e way you think.”
“You’re not trying to find a reason to fire me?”
He was legitimately surprised that she thought that. “I don’t want to fire you, Whit.”
“No?” She looked skeptical.
“Oh, no,” he said. “I want you right here, front row, center, watching me and my friends turn this company into so much more than your family ever did with it.”
Emotions flickered in her eyes and he wasn’t sure if he should brace for a fight or… what.
Finally she nodded. “Good. I want all of that to happen.”
Yeah, he hadn’t been expecting that. Not even a mild defense of her family?
“But,” she said lifting her chin. “I want to… I intend to be a part of that. Not just sitting and watching.”
She did, huh? “Because you’re not really qualified to do anything else?” he asked, unable to resist the jab.
Hey, he wasn’t as big of an asshole as the Lancaster men, but he would never deny that he could be one. Unmistakably. Unapologetically, too. Most of the time.
She took a breath. “I’m an asset to you and this company,” she said instead of directly answering the question.
She was.
He nodded. “But you want to stay because you like that big old house you inherited from your grandma and you don’t want to have to move and buy something on your own?”
Did it matter why she wanted to be here? As long as she was and she was a witness to the great work he and his friends were doing here? Yeah, it did matter. She needed to know where she stood with him, but he needed to know where he stood with her too.
And he had a feeling she was going to lay it all out. And that he already knew.
“I do like that house,” she admitted. “This town is also my home. I don’t want to live anywhere else. And I don’t have a college degree to take to another company,” she said, her chin up again, her gaze on his. “And I don’t have any other experience except what my family gave me and I know exactly how that would look on a resume. But”—she took a breath—“what I really want is to take this company to levels my family never did. I want more markets, more products, and to double our bottom line. I want to expand the number of jobs here and to look at a second factory location. And I want to be a part of all of that.” She crossed her arms and took a deep breath. “I want to be a partner.”
He stared at her.
He hadn’t been expecting any of that.
He really hadn’t.
Whitney had always been sweet, dedicated to her family’s company because that had been ingrained since she’d been born, believing that her grandfather and father could walk on water, willing to go along with whatever they wanted or needed from her. She’d been a part of the company up to this point. So why did this all sound like she’d been frustrated and was so determined to grab on to this change in ownership as an opportunity?
“I—” he started.
“Which is why I can’t go out with you and I certainly can’t sleep with you,” she said.
Cam’s eyebrows rose. “Hang on now.”
“For one, it’s ridiculous to even think we should go there,” she told him. She dropped her arms, but she also moved behind her desk, putting the wide expanse of solid wood between them.
Cam knew that wasn’t an accident.
“We broke up ten years ago,” she said. “We are exes who haven’t exactly been friends. Why would you think we should go out?”
“Well, first, we didn’t break up. You broke up with me,” he corrected, unable to help himself.
She just lifted her brows.
“And the fact we’re exes and that you want to be more involved in the company is exactly why we should go out.”
She gave him a really? look. “So if we sleep together you’ll give me the partnership?”
“Girl, if you’re even half as good as you were on that riverbank, I’ll probably give you my shares too,” he said. Again, unable to help himself.
She rolled her eyes.
He was probably lucky that she knew him well enough to know he was mostly just mouthing off. He really could end up with a sexual harassment suit against him with someone else. Of course, he’d never say that to anyone else. He did have some restraint and decorum. Besides, it wouldn’t be true with anyone else.
No one else had ever rocked his world like Whitney had. It hadn’t been because she had been experienced or even all that wild, she’d just been… he blew out a breath… madly fucking in love with him.
“But what I meant,” he went on before he said anything else about sex. For now. “I think we have to date.”
She frowned. “That makes no sense.”
“Of course it does. We’re not the only ones wondering about what’s going on with us.”
“Except that we’re not wondering what’s going on,” she said.
“We’re not?”
That hand went back to her hip. “Are we?”
“I am,” he admitted. “You’re not?”
“We broke up.” She held her hand up. “Fine. I broke up with you. Ten years ago. You’ve hated me for a decade, Cam. Now you own my family’s company and you’re my boss. That is what is going on.”
He stalked to her desk, braced his hands on the top, and leaned in. “I do not hate you, Whitney.”
Her eyes flickered with vulnerability for just a second. Then she did that annoying straighten-her-spine-lift-her-chin-smooth-her-features thing that made him want to swear. Loudly.
“I’m glad,” she said coolly. “I really am. But the fact remains that we didn’t work out and now—”
“I’m back.”
“So?”
“So you sent me away. You broke up with me because you thought I needed to leave Appleby. You thought I needed to go off to college and see what I could do outside of this town. And you thought you needed to stay. So we did that. I left. You stayed. And now I’m back.”
“You’re back for now,” she said. “You’re here to help Aiden and Grant and Ollie get Hot Cakes going.”
“Why would I leave?”
“Your life is in Chicago.”
“My best friends in the world are here now. Aiden and Dax and Grant are all staying,” he said. They’d all fallen in love with Appleby girls. Girls who were happily tied here, girls who had no intentions of leaving. His sister and her best friends to be exact. “My family is here. My work is now here.”
They’d headquartered their company, Fluke, Inc. in Chicago because that’s where they’d all been when things had taken off. Grant was from there and he was the money guy. The rest of them hadn’t had a preference for where their offices would be. But they’d sold Warriors of Easton, their online game, to a bigger gaming company several months ago. Dax and Ollie were still involved in creative and marketing tasks. Aiden consulted here and there. But Cam and Grant were mostly out of the loop now. That company had their own money guys and lawyers. Fluke could go in a number of directions now but right now their focus was Hot Cakes. Cam had no reason to go back to Chicago, honestly.
“You’re staying?” Whitney said. “Really?”
He straightened. “Yes.”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Obviously this was news to her.
“So we need to at least see if there’s anything between us anymore,” he said. “Everyone will be wondering.” He sure as fuck was. He suspected there was plenty still between them, but he really did need to find out. He didn’t know if what he was feeling was still all about the girl she’d been, the one who’d broken his heart, or if their past was something they could build on.
She was shaking her head now.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “We need to go out. We need to give it a chance. If it doesn’t work out, then we part as friends, and we can convince everyone that we gave it a fair shot, we both realize that we’ve changed and that we only want to be work partners now and everyone can finally exhale because the sexual tension will be gone and people wo
n’t have to walk on eggshells around us.”
She frowned. “People aren’t—”
“They are,” he interrupted. “They don’t know how to act around us because we don’t know how to act. Are we friends? Are we more? Are we less? Are we just work associates? And are we both cool with that if so? Or is one of us uncomfortable or upset or horny? What if we’re not together and we have a big company party and we bring other dates? How are we both going to act? Is anything going to get thrown and broken? Anyone going to get punched?”
She rolled her eyes at that.
Yeah, he’d punched a guy over her in high school. Twice.
Not the same guy. Two different occasions. One of them might have been an overreaction on his part though.
“We need to figure all of that out and get a handle on how we feel. We don’t know because we haven’t talked about it. We haven’t explored it.”
“Horny?” she repeated.
So she’d focused on that word. Interesting.
“Yeah, horny,” he said. “My friends are wondering if I’m sitting in meetings thinking about fucking you on the conference table instead of actually listening to the details of the new proposal.”
She blew out a breath. “You keep saying this stuff just to get a rise out of me.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.”
“Why would your friends be wondering that?”
“Because they know how I feel about you.”
She wet her lips. “Which is… horny?”
“We can call it intensely attracted if that sounds classier to you.”
“That would sound classier to anyone.”
He just lifted a shoulder. Not many people would apply the word classy to him. Or any people.
She was watching him, her eyes slightly narrowed.
“What?”
“That all sounds very… mature.”
He lifted a brow. “I’ve got my moments.”
“Huh.”
He couldn’t help the half smile. He could admit that “mature” was another word that not many people had used to describe him in the past.
“We’re ten years older, Whit. We’ve grown up. I went away and did other stuff. Now we have to find out what this is.”
She took a deep breath, focused on the very boring black and silver lamp on her desk. “It’s nothing, Cam.” She met his eyes. “It can’t be.”
Semi-Sweet On You: Hot Cakes Series Page 3