Better Than Chocolate

by Sheila Roberts

  She donned her business smile and forced herself to move forward, hand out. “I heard we had visitors.”

  Blake shook her hand. She felt a jolt at the contact and told herself it was rage, pure rage.

  He looked embarrassed. He should. He should be mortified by his behavior. Entering the Mr. Dreamy contest and now bringing the vultures for a little deathbed visit. She ended the handshake as quickly as possible. Shaking hands with the other two men as he made introductions wasn’t any more pleasant. No jolt there, just panic. Don’t panic!

  “Nice to meet you,” she said to Trevor Brown even though they both knew it was a lie. “Your reputation precedes you.” As a maker of inferior chocolates.

  “Does it?” He smiled and took another bite of the pecan butter crunch fudge Heidi had given him.

  Meanwhile, Heidi was standing behind the counter, a question mark in her big blue eyes.

  Samantha smiled reassuringly at her, then returned her attention to the trio of vipers in front of her. “So, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

  “Actually, we’re here to tour your facility,” said the man Blake had introduced as Darren Short.

  “I’m afraid we don’t give tours.” Samantha smiled with faux regret.

  “To the bank that’s calling in your note you do,” Darren said pleasantly.

  Samantha’s veins turned to ice. Heidi’s shock came at her like a wave; before the day was over, all her employees would be in a panic. She suddenly felt like the proverbial little Dutch boy trying to plug a multitude of holes in the dike. “The bank doesn’t own Sweet Dreams.” Not yet, anyway.

  “No,” Darren said, “but as holder of the note we do have the right to inspect the facility at any time and make sure it’s in good working order.”

  “Then I suggest you send in someone who’s qualified to do so.”

  “We have,” Darren said. “That’s why Trevor is with us.”

  This had to be how a cat felt when it was cornered by a pack of dogs. Both Darren Short and Trevor Brown were slobbering to devour her, and Blake the Snake stood there, his jaw clenched like he wished she’d just shut up and die and be done with it.

  Well, she’d be damned if she would. She raised her chin. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’m afraid Mr. Brown doesn’t qualify as an inspector.” The only title he qualified for was king of mediocrity. “If you’re concerned about the condition of our building or equipment you can, of course, send someone appropriately qualified, although I can assure you everything is in perfect working order.” Now she smiled, the charming businesswoman offering hospitality. “Mr. Brown, I know you’ve got a long drive back to Seattle, but I’m sure you’ll want to check out one of our fine restaurants. Zelda’s is popular, and if you like Mexican there’s Der Spaniard. And Schwangau can give you some wonderful authentic German fare.” She moved to the door and opened it.

  “Now, wait a minute,” Darren sputtered.

  “Gentlemen, I think it’s time for lunch,” Blake said, moving to the door.

  Trevor shrugged. “I’ve seen enough. Great chocolate, by the way,” he said to Samantha as he sauntered past.

  Darren wasn’t such a good sport. He punched a finger at her. “I want reports on all your equipment and the condition of your building on Blake’s desk by the end of business today. Got it?”

  In his dreams. Samantha glared at him. “Get. Out.”

  He stormed off, but Blake lingered. “Samantha, this was not my idea.”

  She glared at him, too. “But here you are, anyway.”

  “Not by choice.”

  “Said the hangman to the prisoner,” she retorted.

  “Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you.”

  “Yes, I can tell,” she said through gritted teeth. She nodded at his departing partners in crime. “You’d better hurry and catch up. I’d hate to see the vultures start lunch without you.”

  For a moment he stood there, his jaw working.

  “I guess that was too polite. Let me translate. Leave.”

  He nodded curtly and strode off down the street and she closed the door behind him, then collapsed against it.

  “What’s going on?” Heidi asked in a small voice.

  “A temporary glitch with the bank,” Samantha said. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

  She said the same thing to Elena a minute later.

  “No me digas mentiras, chica. We have troubles, don’t we?”

  “We have troubles, yes, but we’re going to pull out of them,” Samantha insisted. “Hang in there with me, okay?” It was asking a lot. Elena needed both the money and the health insurance.

  She nodded. “You know I will.”

  Samantha’s throat tightened and her eyes stung with tears. “Thanks,” she managed to say, and shut herself in her office.

  The rest of the day was torture. More than one employee came to her wearing a worried expression.

  That night she tossed and turned and stared at the ceiling. When she finally slept, her dreams took her to the factory, where she stood alone on the assembly line, trying to gather a million chocolates off the conveyor belt as they scooted by and put them in boxes. Above her a giant grandfather clock began striking the midnight hour. With the final bong the factory door shot open and the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz swooped in. One snatched her up and out the door they flew. Over a frozen Wenatchee River, it let go and she began to fall.

  She woke up right before she hit the ice, her heart pounding. And she’d wanted to go to sleep? What had she been thinking?

  She called a meeting with her employees the next day and assured them that Sweet Dreams was not closing its doors, all the while hoping she didn’t end up a liar. “With Waldo’s death we’ve had a few challenges to work through.” Yeah, and the great flood of Genesis was just a rainstorm.

  “But what were those men doing here?” Heidi asked.

  “Snooping,” Samantha said.

  “I heard one of them was from the bank,” said Chita Arness, a single mom who worked the production line. “Are they trying to close us down?”

  None of Samantha’s business classes had prepared her for this. She took a deep breath. “No one is closing us down. My family owes them money and they were checking on their investment. It’s that simple.” And that ugly. She didn’t have the heart to tell everyone that if they didn’t pay up, Cascade Mutual would be selling Sweet Dreams to the highest bidder.

  But Chita obviously wasn’t fooled.

  “What if you can’t pay the bank?” she asked. “What about our jobs?”

  “If we were to get bought out, I’m sure you’d still have them.” Trevor Brown would keep everyone employed, wouldn’t he? Samantha’s stomach churned. “Don’t worry,” she said as much to herself as her employees. “We’re restructuring and, as you all know, we’re gearing up for a lot of business the weekend of the chocolate festival. We have no plans to shut our doors, no matter what you may hear to the contrary.” That was her story and she was stickin’ to it.

  She went back to her apartment drained and ready to do nothing but stare at her TV like a two-legged squash. But vegging out wasn’t an option. It was Friday and she had to go to Mr. Dreamy Night—the brainchild of her sister and Charley—which was taking place in the bar at Zelda’s. And, according to Cecily, the face of Sweet Dreams needed to be there for the big contest kickoff.

  “Well, you’ll have to find another face,” she’d said when Ceci
ly had first asked her to attend. “I’m not going.”

  Then Cecily had caught a bad cold. She was still in bed, slurping Mom’s homemade chicken soup and watching old movies on her computer and guess who was going to Mr. Dreamy Night.

  Samantha pulled her hair into a sloppy ponytail, put on a black skirt, her favorite V-neck gray sweater and a pair of boots and left it at that. No way was she freshening up her makeup or getting all dolled up for what could very well prove to be a repeat of the Bill Will incident. Cecily and Charley had promised her things wouldn’t get out of hand, but she knew better. Her whole life was out of hand. Why would tonight be any different?

  There wasn’t much to eat in the fridge but that was okay. Since her confrontation with the vultures earlier in the week she’d had no appetite, anyway.

  She got to the restaurant at quarter to eight. The dining area was almost empty with only a few older people and one or two couples. From the noise drifting out from the bar, it wasn’t hard to figure out where all the customers had gone.

  “Everyone’s raring to go,” Charley told her. “Go on in and order a drink. I’ll be there as soon as I can get away.”

  Samantha entered the bar. It was so packed with people both standing and sitting, she could hardly see the vintage pictures of twenties gangsters and flappers that hung on the wall. Laughter and loud talk rolled over her like a tidal wave. This was going to be a zoo. No one under the age of forty had stayed home tonight; they were all here, slurping huckleberry martinis and chowing down on hot wings and pretzels. Samantha looked around and saw that most of the tables were occupied by couples, but there were also plenty of singles. Four women sat at one table, clearly out hunting for their own Mr. Dreamy. They were dressed to the max in outfits designed to show both cleavage and leg and wore full makeup. At another table she spotted a couple of grocery checkers from Safeway, probably new Mr. Dreamy contestants.

  Rita Reyes, looking hot in her simple black shorts and shirt and requisite flapper headband, came over to Samantha, bearing a sheaf of papers. It was impressively thick. “New entries,” she said.

  “Just from tonight?”

  “Yeah. Oh, Charley said to ply you with booze. What would you like?”

  The way her week had been going? Arsenic. “I don’t know.”

  “Your sister had Hank invent a drink for the night—a chocolate kiss. They’re pretty popular. Want to try one?”

  What she really wanted was to go home and feel sorry for herself but that wouldn’t help, so she said, “Sure.”

  “Charley will be here soon. We’re about done out in the restaurant.”

  Samantha was about done in here and they hadn’t even started.

  “The shirtless-man parade’s in twenty minutes. She’ll be MCing it.”

  Shirtless-man parade. Oh, Lord. Cecily had conveniently neglected to tell her about that. “Hurry up with my drink,” Samantha said weakly.

  She tried her best to shrink into the shadows, but failed. Several women dragged their boyfriends over to schmooze and a couple of guys offered to buy her drinks. And then—oh, no—here came Bill Will.

  “Samantha!”

  She held up a hand. “No singing.”

  He grabbed a chair from the other side of her little table and set it next to her, then slid onto it and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, come on,” he teased.

  Rita arrived with her drink and she grabbed the glass and took a swallow. “Wow, this is good,” she said in surprise.

  “What it needs is a Sweet Dreams chocolate in it,” Bill Will said, going for shameless flattery.

  Actually, though, that was a good idea.

  Red Ralston, who worked on the guest ranch with Bill Will, came over and seated himself in a chair on her other side. “Hey, is Bill Will trying to bribe you?”

  “I can’t be bribed,” she said. “Anyway, the competition isn’t tonight. You both know that. This is just the kickoff.”

  “We know,” Red said amiably.

  “And I’m not the only judge.”

  “You’re the most important one,” Bill Will said, giving her a playful bump with his shoulder.

  She had to smile; Bill Will was so full of it. “How much have you had to drink?” she asked him. Like he needed alcohol to be outrageous?

  He raised both hands. “Just one beer. Honest.”

  “Well, go get yourself another,” Samantha said. “You, too,” she told Red. “This table is reserved.”

  “Okay, fine,” Bill Will said with a shrug.

  “Bill Will, over here!” called one of the Mr. Dreamy hunters.

  That was all it took. He sauntered off, his buddy following him. Samantha watched them go and took another slug of her drink. This was re-e-eallly good. A couple of these could go a long way toward helping a girl forget her problems.

  Now Rita was back with a bowl of pretzels. “This is good stuff,” Samantha told her.

  Rita smiled. “We thought you’d like it.”

  “Can I have another?”

  “Sure. But go easy. It’s sweet but it packs a wallop.”

  As hard as she’d already been walloped this week, Samantha wasn’t afraid of a little old drink. “I can handle it,” she said.

  Rita seemed dubious, but went to put in the order.

  “I can handle my liquor,” Samantha muttered, then smiled. She’d heard that expression before. Never thought she’d use it, though.

  Now Charley was at the table. “I guess you got the entries,” she said, pointing to the pile of papers on the table in front of Samantha.

  “Oh, yeah. Looks like we’re going to have quite the pageant.”

  “I’d say so,” Charley said. “Make yourself at home with the pretzels. I’ve got to announce our shirtless-man parade.”

  Samantha frowned. “That is so disgusting.”

  “Don’t blame me. It was your sister’s idea.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one who conveniently isn’t here,” Charley said, and made her way to the tiny stage at one corner of the bar, where a mike had been set up.

  * * *

  Blake had been in a corner booth when Samantha Sterling entered the restaurant. Brave man that he was, he hid behind his menu at the sight of her. Ever since she’d disappeared into the bar he’d tried to consume the medium-rare steak and baked potato he’d ordered, but with little success. Thinking about the mess she was in had taken away his appetite. Samantha Sterling had been in his thoughts since the first day she’d walked into the bank. Even worse, she’d quickly migrated from his thoughts to his dreams, and they weren’t the kind of dreams a guy shared with his mom.

  Those dreams would never come true. He was the unwilling villain in her life. He recalled the very unpleasant scene with Darren after the factory fiasco. Brown had merely shrugged off their encounter with Samantha. He had the patience of a croc. He’d wait. Darren, on the other hand, had seethed with a barely controlled rage all through lunch. And before he and Brown took off for Seattle, he made sure he got a minute alone with Blake to rake him over the coals for his lack of team spirit.

  “If Trevor wants this,” Blake had retorted, “he’ll wait. Meanwhile, Sweet Dreams is still a bank customer.”

  “Not for long, just like your run as bank manager,” Darren had snarled, and stormed off.

  Wounded pride, Blake had reasoned. He’d calm down. And in another couple of months Trevor Brown would happily swallow a new chocolate company. The only one wh
o’d come out of this badly was Samantha Sterling.

  “Shouldn’t you be in the bar?” Maria asked as she gave him his check.

  “What’s going on in there?” he asked.

  “It’s the kickoff for the Mr. Dreamy pageant,” she said. “You’re one of the contestants. Why aren’t you in there?”

  “I’m what?” Was she making some kind of sick joke?

  “Nobody told you?”

  He shook his head.

  Maria made a face. “Well, you’re on the list.”

  “What list?” Was he in the Twilight Zone?

  Now she shook her head and put a hand on her hip. “The one with all the contestants. You have some serious competition.”

  “I didn’t enter,” he protested.

  “Somebody nominated you, because your picture’s hanging up with all the other contestants in the Sweet Dreams shop.”

  He grabbed his wallet and pulled out his credit card. “Well, it’s news to me.”

  She shrugged and went to ring up his bill, and he sat and drummed his fingers on the table, trying to figure out who’d done this to him. Someone had a sick sense of humor.

  Or thought he was fabulous. He frowned. Gram. Oh, man, this was sick.

  Maria returned with his receipt. He added a generous tip and scrawled his name, then headed for the bar to make sure he was removed from the infamous list. After what happened this week, he had no doubt Samantha Sterling would be happy to remove him, right off the face of the earth.

  He arrived just in time for roll call. Charlene Albach, the owner of the restaurant, was bringing the contestants to the little stage at the end of the bar, one by one. Judging by the hoots and applause as each man took his place, it appeared that the contestants had all brought their cheering sections.