by Shandi Boyes
I don’t hear his chuckle, but I don’t need to hear it to be aware of it.
“You know who she is, don’t you?”
Finally, the confusion my face has been wearing since Harlow left crosses to Isaac’s. He props his ass on the edge of my desk before shaking his head.
“She’s a baker—”
“Duh, captain-fucking-obvious. . .”
His words trail off when I continue speaking as if he never spoke, “Of a relic bakery smack dab in the middle of Ravenshoe.”
“Oh.” He draws out his short word as if it is an entire sentence.
I arch a brow. “Yeah. Oh.”
He unbuttons his tailored jacket before taking the seat across from me. I’d rather have his ass print on my desk than in my chair, because with a change in position comes an alteration in his appearance. His unique gray eyes are no longer brimming with humor; they are clouded with worry. And the stubble his face is usually void of can’t hide the tick of his jaw.
“Is she a friend of Isabelle’s?”
I shrug my shoulders, honestly unsure. Isabelle is one of the rare customers my underpriced bakeries haven’t poached from Harlow the past nine months. I don’t know if Isabelle’s dedication stems from friendship or because she isn’t footing the bill for the coffees she’s purchasing at double the rate one of my bakeries only four doors down from Harlow’s. But whatever it is, she is one of a scarce few keeping Harlow’s bakery afloat.
She is also the woman I mentioned earlier—the one doing the two-step routine with Isaac. I’ve never met her, but I’m convinced she is a witch, as she’s had a spell on Isaac since the day she bumped into him at an airport two months ago. Isaac isn’t a man-whore, but he has no problems attracting the ladies. I haven’t seen him on a “date” in months. That is as foreign to me as Isaac witnessing me pinning Harlow to the wall with my crotch.
Isaac scrubs his hand along his jaw before lifting his eyes to mine. “I don’t need more conflict, Cormack. I’ve got enough issues already.”
Although I’m unsure if his reply concerns Isabelle or business matters, I still nod. I don’t plan to add more worries to his already stacked plate for either his private or personal life.
Happy with my agreeing gesture, Isaac slumps into his chair. His silent stand down eases the tension brewing between us but doesn’t completely erase it. “What do you want me to do? The acquisitions team can pursue other locations? Hunter could run a background search on Harlow? You name it, I’ll have it done.”
I drop my eyes to my desk to contemplate. It is a long and painful deliberation I shouldn’t be doing for a woman I just met. My plans have been in motion for years. I can’t dismiss them for a stranger, can I?
No, I can’t.
I must prove him wrong.
I must achieve greatness.
I must stay away from Harlow Murphy.
Chapter Six
Harlow
“You’ve got a call.”
I raise my head from the stack of unpaid bills I’m sorting into two piles—urgent and absolutely must be paid now or lose electricity—to the door of my office. My now solo employee, Renee, is standing halfway between my office and the kitchen. Her blonde hair has gray streaks down one side, compliments of the fight she lost with our bread mixer this morning. Although she didn’t have an ounce of bakery experience when I interviewed her four months ago, she had enthusiasm in spades, so she was a perfect candidate for my bakery. Skills can be taught. Dedication can’t.
“Did they say who was calling?” I’m all for talking to customers, but I’ve been avoiding these bills for months with the hope they’d disappear. I can’t keep ignoring them.
My heart rate goes from sluggish to brisk when Renee answers, “Someone from Destiny Records?” Her tone is uneasy, as if worried she jotted down the wrong name. “They asked for you.”
“Okay. Great.” Incapable of missing the excitement in my tone, Renee’s brow peaks. I try to downplay her suspicious stare with a laidback response. “It’s just a customer I delivered an order to last week when you were sick. They’re probably calling to order a second batch.”
She claps three times. She’d never say anything, but she is as desperate for customers as me. You can only look busy in an empty shop for so long before you worry about becoming unemployed.
“Give me a minute to freshen up, then I’ll take the call in here.”
When I stand from my chair, Renee peers at me with confusion. She doesn’t speak a word, but her lips don’t need to move for me to hear her thoughts. The bakery phone doesn’t have video capabilities, so why are you freshening up?
Shooing away her silent interrogation with a wave of my hand, I dart into the small bathroom attached to my office. I hear her giggle, but it doesn’t weaken my resolve in the slightest. It’s been nine days since Cormack and I kissed in his office. That means it’s been nine torturously long days I’ve spent staring at my phone, waiting for his call.
A lack of confidence has never been an issue for me, but his inability to keep his promise did dent my ego. We were practically strangers, but the connection we shared during our kiss can’t be mistaken for just lust.
After checking my hair and face in the cracked mirror, I sit, breathe out three times, then raise the receiver to my ear.
“Are you ready?” Renee asks down the line, her girly voice deepened by laughter.
I answer her with a growl.
“Okay, calm down.” Just before she patches Cormack’s call through, she whispers, “Good luck.”
Her high-pitched tone is replaced with a much smoother one two seconds later. Unfortunately, it isn’t the one I am hoping for.
“Hello, is this Harlow?”
I swallow my disappointment with a breathless sigh before stupidly nodding. “Yes, it is. How can I help you?”
“Oh good. I made such a blunder last week, I thought the least I could do is offer you my apologies.” The female’s tone is friendly, but it isn’t pleasant enough to douse my disappointment. . . until she says, “Mr. McGregor requested I do this last week, but with more tasks than hours in the day, I lost the business card he handed me. I’m so sorry for the delay. I truly feel terrible.”
“That’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes.” I try to keep the hope out of my voice. My attempts are half-assed.
I can’t see her, but I can imagine her face being screwed up with worry. “Thank you for your understanding. Mr. McGregor is quite finicky with most things, but he is even worse when it comes to matters like this.” She giggles, having no idea she has my heart dangling on a thread.
“Aren’t we all. . .” my words trail off, and I’m praying she will fill the gaps.
“Anyhow,” she follows along nicely, “I have a credit card at the ready if you have a pen.”
My brows furrow. “A credit card?” Confusion echoes in my tone.
“Yes.” Ruffling sounds down the line, as if she is briskly nodding. “For the cupcakes. The invoice is overdue. It was supposed to be paid within seven days.”
“Oh.” I’d like to say more, but disappointment is smacking into me so hard and fast, I can barely stay upright, much less speak. “Corma—ah, Mr. McGregor asked you to pay his invoice?”
I don’t know why I am asking a question when the glaringly obvious is right in front of me. I was hoping Cormack had requested for her to sync our schedules. Clearly, I’m an idiot. He’s not arranging for us to go on a date. He heinously passed the buck of dismissal to his PA. How gentlemanly of him.
“Listen. . .” I pause again, hoping my caller will once again fill in the gaps.
She doesn’t keep me waiting long. “Peta.”
“Peta,” I parrot, striving to simmer the anger in my voice, but miserably failing.
Nothing happening right now is Peta’s fault; she is merely doing her job. Cormack, on the other hand. . .
“Can you please pass on a message to Corm—uh, Mr. McGregor?” Although I am asking a question, I continue talking as if I
didn’t, “Payment for services rendered is not required. His tongue down my throat when he held me against the fancy schmancy frosted wall of his conference room by his cock was more than adequate to cover my expenses.”
I inwardly cringe when Peta’s deep gasp sounds down the line, but before she can voice a single comment, my anger keeps steamrolling in. “And although his inability to act like a man instead of a coward makes me want to charge him double, I’ll stick to our initial arrangement. It is, after all, the right thing to do.”
Peta babbles out a string of unintelligible words, but the hard slam of my phone drowns out her reply. I am so angry I feel seconds from exploding. I’m more annoyed at the way I treated Peta than anything. She didn’t deserve to endure the verbal tirade I should have given Cormack, but she swung first, so I blocked her blows without adequate consideration.
I stop glaring at my phone when a soft voice asks, “I take it that wasn’t who you were anticipating?” Renee saunters into my office. Her eyes are so cautious, she just needs to hold her hands into the air and she’d look like the victim of a crime.
“Not exactly. I’m sorry you had to witness that.” My apology is for both Peta and her.
“It’s fine, truly. Although I think I missed the part in my employment contract that stated I can accept tongues for payment. There were a few tradesmen I could have used that on last week.”
I laugh. This is the exact reason I hired her. She reminds me of myself when I don’t have the threat of bankruptcy hanging over my head.
“Ah, that’s better. I’ve missed your laugh the past week.”
With a cheeky wink, she sits in the chair opposite me. I’m not worried about her leaving the bakery floor unattended. I’ve barely sold enough baked goods to cover her wages today, let alone my measly salary. I doubt we’ll serve another customer before closing.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
She’s not just referring to the bakery. She means personally as well. Renee is an employee, but she is also my friend.
“Unless you can unravel annoying men who say they’ll call then don’t, I’m fairly well screwed.”
She smiles a dainty grin. “Have you ever seen an electrified squirrel?”
Although cagy on where our conversation is heading, I shake my head.
“If you’re curious, pop over to my house on date night. My dates arrive as men but leave as rodents.”
Our conjoined laughter bounces around my office.
“Your dad or brothers?”
Renee’s older twin brothers, Joshua and Daniel, were friends of mine in high school, but with early mornings chewing up my social time, we’ve lost contact the past few years. We’re still friends, but I can’t stay out partying until 2 AM, then open a bakery only a few hours later. At one stage last year, I had considered closing my doors on Sundays, but with church gatherings and family get-togethers, Sundays are my most profitable days, so the idea didn’t linger for long.
“Both,” Renee answers, returning my focus to her. “After they run the gauntlet known as Overbearing Brothers, they have to pass my dad’s scrutiny as well. Not many survive the carnage.”
I can hear the trepidation in her voice, but I don’t fully understand it. I’m seven years older than my brother, so I’ve never had to worry about my dates being screened by him. Before my dad passed, he did meet my suitors before we went out. But since he was a much-loved member of our community, he didn’t have the scare factor Renee’s father does. Her dad carries a badge and a gun. You can’t get more scary than that.
I balance my elbows on the mountain load of bills on my desk. “Is it tough having your dates scrutinized?”
Renee twists her lips. “Yeah, I guess. But it has saved me a lot of heartache.”
Before I can request for her family to screen my future dates, the bells above the bakery door chime. Renee’s face lights up as brightly as mine.
“Call out if you need any help,” I shout when she races to the bakery floor, my tone hopeful.
While she is busy serving customers, I get back to sorting my bills. I try not to think about Cormack and his underhanded dismissal, but my mind often moseys into unchartered waters. I guess this is what happens when I allow my heart to override my brain. Magic doesn’t occur with a click of your fingers, but it sure as hell felt like it did within seconds when Cormack was in my presence.
It isn’t just Cormack occupying my time, though. The rude way I interacted with Peta bothers me as well. If I weren’t broke, I’d send her a bunch of flowers in apology. If I could afford the gasoline, I’d apologize in person. But since I don’t have either the money or the means, I ease my burden by deciding to send cake.
After calling a local courier company to arrange a last-minute delivery to Hopeton, I meander into the main area of the bakery. It is fortunate Tristan accepts payment for services in sugary treats or I’d have another bill to add to my pile of many.
My quick steps to the refrigerated cases slow when a flurry of blond captures my attention. Cormack is standing in front of the cash register, pointing to a tray of cupcakes. Just like the last time I saw him, he has the smart casual look down pat. The top three buttons of his dusty blue business shirt are undone, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The crinkles in his high thread count material advises he was wearing a jacket and tie at one stage today. Although I doubt they were as brutally burned by his rejection as I was.
If Cormack were any other man, I’d walk away knowing his inability to see greatness meant I was walking toward someone even better. But because it is this man—the one who hasn’t left my mind for a single second the past week—I’m not handling his rejection very well.
I’m snapped away from my dreary thoughts when Renee asks, “All of them?” She sounds confused.
Grinning like the cat who ate the canary, Cormack nods. It takes me all of two seconds to recognize what he is purchasing. My spine snaps straight as anger smacks into me. Oh, hell no. You do not get to eat my favorite cupcakes after dismissing me so rudely.
“I’m sorry, that tray of cakes is reserved for paying customers.”
Renee freezes with a tray of pistachio nut Bundt cupcakes halfway out of the case before shifting her eyes to me. She stares, unsure why I’m refusing to sell over two dozen cupcakes I intend to give away in under an hour.
“They’re sold?” she queries, still baffled.
“Yes, they are.” I step two paces closer to her before turning my eyes to Cormack. “Just like every other item in this bakery, they are either out of your price range or no longer within your reach.”
“Harlow. . .” The way Cormack growls my name pisses me off—and makes me horny—but we’re not going there.
When he jerks his chin up, requesting for Renee to give us privacy, I curl my arm around her slim waist, demanding she stay or die. “We here at Harlow’s Scrumptious Haven treat our customers as family. So anything you want to say to me can be said in front of Renee.”
With the wide eyes of a child visiting Santa for the first time, Renee’s head bounces between Cormack and me. We’re not doing anything entertaining, merely squaring off in an intense stare down that fries my senses as badly as Renee singed the bottom of my cake pans last week.
The increase in Renee’s pulse a few seconds later reveals she has finally realized who the man is standing across from us. “Tongue for payment guy?” She purposely keeps her voice high so Cormack will hear her sneered comment. After dragging her eyes down Cormack’s body, she murmurs, “I can understand your variation in payment schedule. Damn.”
I nudge her with my hip. She’s supposed to be backing me up, not encouraging more craziness. He kissed me, said he would call, then didn’t. I don’t care how sexy he looks with his unbuttoned shirt and playful grin, you don’t get to disrespect me like that and get away with it. If I weren’t worried getting close to him would make me backpedal like a spineless, lust-crazed fool, I’d throw him out of my store. Fortuna
tely for him, his handsome face ensures I know where the line is drawn.
Finally clueing in on my anger, Renee straightens her spine. “Oh, he’s one of those guys.” Her eyeroll is both witty and degrading. “What was his excuse? I lost your number. My mom was sick. I don’t do relationships.” She deepens her voice during her last sentence to imitate every man she’s met in her short twenty-three years.
“Oh, no, this man is the cream of the crop.”
The anxious smirk on Cormack’s face transforms into a true grin when he misconstrues the bitchiness in my tone as praise. I better set him straight. “He’s the pompous ass who says he’ll call you, but instead of calling you, he has his PA call you to rub in the fact he had no intentions of ever calling you.”
Renee’s obnoxious gasp nearly drowns out Cormack’s reply, “I had every intention of calling you.”
When I raise a brow, calling bullshit, he adds on, “Until you left my office. Then . . .” His words turn into a whisper too faint for my ears.
“Then. . .?” I prompt, not at all embarrassed.
I can’t say the same thing for Cormack. His cheeks are bright red. Although an apology hasn’t seeped from his lips, his eyes are full of them.
“Then things got complicated.” He keeps his eyes locked with mine, ensuring I can see the honesty in them. “I didn’t intentionally set out to harm you, Harlow.”
My heart rate doubles. A snippet of deceit formed in his eyes during his last statement.
“You weren’t what I was expecting, and you honestly blindsided me. When I am with you, I feel like I am one man. When I am alone, I am another.”
Now he is being straight-up honest.
“So why come here? If you don’t like the man you are when you’re around me, why subject yourself to it?” Confusion echoes in my tone.
Cormack’s frankness continues when he replies, “Because I knew you’d be too proud to accept my offer of payment.”
Equally angry and devastated by the sympathy in his tone, I spin on my heels with a grunt. I’ve been up since 2 AM crunching figures. I’m too exhausted to play mind games.