by Shandi Boyes
My brisk strides to my office stop when Cormack shouts, “Pride is one thing, Harlow, but your personal feelings should never factor into your business. If you don’t learn that fast, you won’t have a leg to stand on.”
“Oh my god, would you listen to yourself? Every business owner puts a piece of his or herself in their business. If you haven’t learned that yet, you’re the one who’ll soon not have a leg to stand on. I pour my heart and soul into my bakery. This is as personal to me as it can get.”
“Then stop devaluing your work and demand its worth.” Cormack steps around the small glass cabinet separating us. When his eyes collide with mine, the pride in them slams me with confusion. “You provided a service. With or without our kiss, you went above and beyond anything I could have ever foreseen, so no matter what you think of me, or how I handled things, you deserve to be paid for the effort you put in. Not only did your cupcakes not make it to lunch, but they started conversations that should have happened years ago. They are worth more than you are charging, so don’t devalue them because you’re angry at me. Your time isn’t worthless, Harlow, and neither were the ingredients you used.”
His reply has me choking back tears. I’m not referring to my costs; it is the part about my cupcakes starting conversations. My daddy always said that food is magic. It brings people together unlike anything else by nourishing both the body and the soul. That is the sole reason I’m fighting to keep my bakery afloat. I believe every word my father spoke.
As my eyes flick between Cormack’s, I contemplate what to say next. There are so many things I want to say, but since none of them are appropriate for a man I’ve only known a week, I hold them back. It adds to the turmoil swirling my stomach, but it triples my pride. I want my bakery to succeed, and everything Cormack said proves I am on the right track.
The spicy scent of Cormack’s aftershave quells my flipping stomach when he steps closer to me. “Let me pay what I owe, then I’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again.”
His reply knocks the wind from my lungs—but not in a good way. His words sounded forced, as if they were as hard for him to deliver as they were for me to hear. I’m bewildered, devastated…stunned. Why pledge to stay away if it isn’t what he wants? It doesn’t make any sense. Nothing about this week makes sense.
Taking my silence as approval, Cormack digs his wallet out of his pocket and secures a flashy-looking credit card. Incapable of stomaching the highs and lows of our confusing exchange, Renee accepts the card on my behalf. Although I’d like to maintain a stubborn stance, those cupcakes were my biggest order the past three months. I’d be a fool to let anything override my wish for my bakery to return to its glory days, even more so if it is for a man I barely know.
“Just the order from last week?”
Renee’s low tone reveals she is as lost as me. She wants to stay mad at Cormack, but she’s unsure why. I’m having the exact same dilemma. Instead of benefiting from my stubbornness, he risked decimation by facing the issue head-on. If I weren’t still blitzed with confusion, I’d applaud his gall.
I answer Renee’s question, “Yes,” at the same time Cormack says, “No.”
“The Bundt cakes aren’t for sale,” I say, my hurt too high to let him buy something I treasure as if it is nothing more than a measly transaction between a baker and a customer.
Cormack’s eyes drift over my face before he faintly murmurs, “Okay.”
The soft nod of his head discloses he understands my refusal to sell him my dad’s cupcakes has nothing to do with stubbornness. It may not be a big deal to Cormack, but the time we shared in his conference room last week was as close to magic as I’ll ever get. I can’t stand the thought of him recreating that with anyone but me, so I’m not going to give him the tools to do it.
After processing his credit card, Renee hands it back to Cormack. She stealthily exits the hub of the bakery as I watch Cormack return his card to his wallet before raising my eyes to his face. I want to say goodbye like he’s an everyday customer, but the remorse in his eyes stops me. What he said earlier was true. He didn’t intentionally set out to hurt me; it was just a side effect that occurred while he strived to stay out of the firing zone. I can’t say I blame him for putting himself first. I find dating brutal, and I’ve got nothing to lose. Cormack isn’t awarded the same privilege.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
Incapable of speaking for the fear of stammering, I offer him a contrite grin. Although I am unable to read his thoughts, the rock on his heels bestows me with clarity. If his indecisiveness about leaving didn’t stab my heart with pain, I’d relish it. It isn’t often you see a powerful man crumble under pressure. But since it isn’t just his resolve being smashed into smithereens, I keep my mouth as locked down as my heart.
After a final prolonged stare, Cormack pivots on his heels and stalks to the door. His steps are as reluctant as my lips when I whisper, “Don’t blame gravity when you fall. Blame the person stealing the ground from beneath your feet.”
His brisk departure would make most people assume he missed my comment, but I know that isn’t the case. He didn’t freeze, glower, or gasp in a sharp breath. He simply responded in a way that didn’t need words. He continued walking, proving our kiss didn’t sweep him off his feet as dramatically as it did me.
Chapter Seven
Cormack
“Harlow?”
I don’t know why my greeting sounds like a question. Even with her back facing me, I know who is seated in front of me. She hasn’t left my thoughts the past four weeks. But seeing her now, on a date with a man I know visits this restaurant a minimum twice a week with a new woman on his arm every time, is tainting my fond memories with bitter ones. I’m not generally a jealous person. It’s an emotion I don’t have the energy for. But tonight, I’m bombarded with it.
I’ve been watching Harlow from afar the past hour. She and her date have barely held eye contact for longer than thirty seconds, but I’ve scrutinized every look they’ve exchanged. I’d be lying if I said every smile she awarded him didn’t grate my nerves. This man—I use the term loosely—doesn’t deserve Harlow’s attention. He’s so below her league, he should be grateful to serve her, much less dine with her.
Matthew is a leech. He attaches himself to women, sucks the life out of them, then moves on to his next target. He thinks his family wealth will excuse his poor behavior. He is an idiot. Tonight, he got lucky. He’s sitting across from a woman whose values far exceed her wish to climb the social rankings. He might not be so lucky tomorrow. With family money comes a lifelong commitment of watching your back. And more times than not, the daggers thrown at you are from those closest to you.
When Harlow’s greenish-brown eyes shift my way, the unnatural rhythm my heart has been thudding all night switches to a whole new beat. She isn’t as angry as I anticipated. She looks pleased by the disturbance.
“Cormack! Oh my god, hi!”
The floral perfume she is wearing barely overpowers the smell of boiled sugar when she leaps to her feet to throw her arms around my neck. Her friendly greeting is unexpected but highly craved. I thought she’d be angry after our last tussle, so I’ve been avoiding her side of Ravenshoe as often as possible. That’s no easy feat considering I’ve driven past her bakery every single day the past month. I want to pretend her business is in direct route of my travels, but that isn’t the case. Tonight isn’t my first foray as a creep. I stepped into the role weeks ago.
Walking away from Harlow last month was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, even more so when I heard her whispered comment. No matter how much I try to deny the facts, they never alter. I don’t just want Harlow’s bakery. I want her as well—beneath me, beside me, eating dinner with me instead of a bigheaded banker with a seedy grin. But even a month of deliberation couldn’t work out how I can have both her and my dreams.
After curling her arm around my waist, Harlow shifts her eyes to Matthew, who is glaring at me in d
isdain. He is as taken aback by Harlow’s friendly greeting as I am. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me happy. It makes me nearly as unstable as my heart rate from having Harlow’s generous breasts squashed against my arm.
“Matthew, this is a friend of mine, Cormack. Cormack, this is Matthew, partner at Stockton and Fetch, verified sports lover, and all-around Mommy’s boy.”
My eyes rocket to Harlow during her last confession. I expect her face to be filled with jest, but it isn’t. She is as serious as she was when she told me her decision not to attend college.
With a grin as mischievous as the glint in her eyes, she shoves me into the seat she just vacated. Before I can signal for the maître D to bring her another chair, two waiters arrive at her table. The tick my jaw held the past hour triples when aphrodisiac after aphrodisiac-laced food is placed in front of me. Oysters, watermelon, garlic, avocado and chili. If it has ever been mentioned as a food known to increase your libido, it is presented before me.
The quick clench of my fists rattles the dishware when Harlow’s date waggles his brows before puckering his lips at her. If Matthew thinks she is impressed by his bigoted ways, he is severely ill-informed. Harlow looks just as prepared to deck him as I am.
Harlow waits for the waiter to set down a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries drizzled with crushed nuts before standing midtable. With a clap of her hands, her eyes drift between Matthew and me.
“It seems like we’ve got everything in order for a fun and exciting night.” The sexy purr of her words would usually stiffen my cock, but seeing the lust detonate in Matthew’s eyes makes quick work of my hard-on. “Great food. Delicious wine.” My eyes snap to Harlow’s when she snarls, “And two men I can’t wait to see the back of.”
Ignoring Matthew’s gaped mouth, she snags an unopened bottle of vintage Dom Perignon from a wine bucket at my side and hooks it under her arm like she arrived with it. “I’d like to say it was lovely seeing you both, but since I’ve never been a fan of lying, I’ll just pray it doesn’t happen again any time soon.”
After a final grin that reveals she’s exerting constraint, she pivots on her heels and dashes for the exit. I’m so in awe of her sass, it takes me nearly a minute before I push off my feet to chase her down. I thought I was rushing over to save her from the big bad wolf. That wasn’t the case. Not in the slightest. She didn’t need my help; she is more than capable of taking down unwanted attention herself. The way she put Matthew and me in our place verified what I needed confirmed last month. Our kiss would have never happened if she didn’t want it to. That confession alone increases my strides.
One of my biggest hang-ups about Harlow is how reckless she makes me. Just the thought of her believing I’m a man who takes what he wants without a second thought sent me to her bakery last month. I know firsthand how dangerous greed is, so I’d rather be seen as generous than a user. Although Harlow’s offer to forgo payment was kind, it was completely unnecessary. The makeshift bakeries my corporation placed around her are already financially strangling her. She can’t afford to give away her products, ethically or financially.
It takes scanning the packed sidewalks of Ravenshoe for nearly fifteen minutes before I locate Harlow. She is walking down a dimly lit alley a few blocks up from her bakery. The bottle of wine she stole has been cracked open and partly consumed, and her heels are dangling from her empty hand.
“Circle the block,” I advise Augustus before slipping out of my car.
My sneaky steps slow when Harlow’s singsong voice echoes down the alley. “Poor Matthew. Dissed twice in one night. If he wasn’t such an asshole, I’d feel sorry for him.”
The ruffle on her skirt swishes against her slim thighs when she spins around to face me. She doesn’t stop walking; she just paces backward. Considering she chugged down half a bottle of vintage wine in under twenty minutes, her steps are remarkably stable.
“Was Matthew not your cup of tea either? For how often you glanced his way tonight, I assumed I had competition.”
A faint smile cracks onto my lips. I wondered if she had spotted my inconspicuous gawp. Clearly, my intuition isn’t as bad as I thought. “You knew I was watching?”
The poor lighting can’t hide the glimmer in her eyes when she replies, “I knew you were spying on me.”
“I wasn’t spying. I was. . .” I stop talking, having no plausible defense. I didn’t start my night out to intentionally track her down. I was merely having dinner. But once I spotted her on a date, my creep factor grew exponentially.
“Jealous?” Harlow fills in. “Yeah, I gathered that.”
I don’t bother correcting her. Honesty doesn’t require correction. Watching Matthew seduce her with a big dumb grin on his face made me jealous. It was a foreign feeling, but unmistakable all the same.
Like my insolence can grow any bigger, I up the ante. “Is that why you went out with him? To make me jealous?”
Harlow laughs. “Of course I did.” I can barely hear her words over the sarcasm in her tone. “Because that’s what all desperate women do. We go on dates with jerks just to make the jerks we’re trying to avoid jealous.”
I quicken my strides when she spins on her heels and continues down the alley. “If he was such a jerk, why go out with him to begin with? Everyone in that restaurant could see you were way above his league, so why lower your standards?”
She rolls her eyes, not believing a word I speak. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I was testing out my jerk radar? It did have a glitch last month that took me a few days to work through, so I figured I better test if it was back in working order.”
Her tone is as snarky as earlier, but it can’t hide the hurt in her words.
“Harlow. . .”
Her eyes drop from the sky to me. “It’s fine, Cormack. You don’t owe me anything. You paid your dues, then you left, just like you said you were going to. I can’t be angry that you kept your word.”
I tug on her elbow to stop her strides. When her glistening eyes lock with mine, it makes what I am about to say ten times harder. “You don’t understand. You should be glad I walked away because there is so much more to this than just you and me.”
“I know,” she agrees, nodding. “There are lot of obstacles between us. You’re rich. I’m poor. You’re handsome. I’m average. You think I’m pathetic. I think you’re awesome. I get it. I do. You don’t need to spell it out for me.”
When she attempts to walk away from me for the second time, I firm my grip on her elbow. “It has nothing to do with any of those things, and you know it.”
She laughs as if I am being funny. It isn’t a joyful laugh; it is full of agony and turmoil.
Her laughter stops when I say, “You have no idea how hard it’s been for me to stay away from you. I’ve driven past your bakery every single day the past month. It’s not even on my route home! Why would I do that if I thought you were beneath me?”
“Because you like playing games—”
“Games are supposed to be fun, Harlow. This isn’t fun.”
I meant my comment in a metaphorical way, but Harlow doesn’t take it that way. “Well, excuse me, Mr. Entertainer. I’m so sorry to have ruined your good time.”
She shrugs out of my hold and continues down the alleyway. I rake my fingers through my hair in frustration before taking off after her—again. “You’re not hearing the words I’m speaking.”
“Then try English,” Harlow replies, her pace quickening. “Because all you’re talking right now is bullshit. Our kiss—god, how can you deny that chemistry, Cormack? I don’t care if you know someone for two years or two seconds, when you know, you know. I know! You’re just too scared to admit it!”
The slur of her words can’t lessen their impact to my gut. I saw the signs she’s referencing. They were so bright, they’re permanently burned into my retina. But I can’t do this. I can’t sacrifice everything I’ve been working toward since college on nothing but an impulse. I’m not impulsive. Every
move I’ve made the past nine years was methodically thought out before it happened. I don’t act on a whim. But I will admit, watching her walk away from me hurts more than a thousand scars.
Just before Harlow reaches the end of the alley, her steps come to a halt. It isn’t because she ran out of asphalt to pound. It is from me shouting, “I’m trying not to destroy you.”
My words are derived from fear but are as honest as they come. I don’t want to hurt her; that’s why I stayed away. It’s not just because I want to buy her bakery. It is so much more than that. Things I never want to share with her because I don’t want her to look at me differently. I like the man I am when I am with her. She switched on a light inside me I thought had been extinguished years ago. I don’t want anything to taint that.
“You’re right. I am scared. I’m scared of fucking this up, and I’m scared of hurting you. I’m not a monster, Harlow. But I am flawed in a way I never want you to see.”
After a short stretch of silence, Harlow pivots around to face me. Her steps are wobbly, but not from the alcohol she consumed tonight. It is from the raw honesty in my confession. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want her, but having her comes at a cost. One I’m shit-scared of paying for the second time in my life.
“No one is perfect, Cormack—”
“You are.”
“No, I am not. I am far from it.” For the first time tonight, she walks toward me instead of away from me. “I let a stranger steal the land from beneath my feet without a single objection. One pathetic kiss, and he ruined me for any other man. How is that perfect?”
With her words reflecting thoughts I’ve had numerous times myself the past month, I’m left speechless. I was both angry and confused as to why I couldn’t make a measly business decision without her entering my thoughts first, and don’t even get me started on personal matters.
Harlow’s chest rises and falls in rhythm with mine when I take a step closer to her. “For one, our kiss wasn’t pathetic.”