Sugar and Spice

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Sugar and Spice Page 15

by Shandi Boyes


  “No. I just. . . I just . . .” My eyes stray to Harlow. Her gorgeous face instantly strips the mayhem from my gut. “I want to do it the right way. This isn’t just a parcel of land.”

  “Nothing we have done is illegal. You don’t operate that way. It is all above board.”

  I lower my eyes to the ground, incapable of looking at Harlow while saying my next line. “And the bakeries? Are they above board?”

  Levi sighs, knowing I have him pinned to the wall. “They are legitimate businesses—”

  “Run at a loss to undercut our competition. We are thousands in the hole every week because we’re charging below wholesale prices. That’s not above board. That’s low, Levi. And it is not how I operate.”

  “The bakeries were your idea, Cormack.”

  He is not arguing. He is stating facts. After months of failed negotiations, I sought other avenues to force Harlow to at least glance at my proposal. But that was before I knew her. Before she revived the light inside me. Before I started falling.

  “Close the bakeries—”

  “Cormack, you need to think about this. This isn’t a decision you should make in haste. We’ve put months of work into securing this deal. If her bakery returns to its glory days, she’ll never sell.” His voice exposes his desperation. It also reveals he thinks I am an idiot. I probably am, but right here, right now, I don’t care. “Are you truly willing to risk everything on a woman you barely know?”

  “Yes,” I reply without hesitation. “Close the bakeries; offer the staff positions in my other companies, then transfer the assets back to Isaac.” Levi tries to interrupt me, but I continue talking, foiling his endeavor. “This isn’t a negotiation, Levi. I want them closed by the start of the week. If you don’t do that, I’ll expect your resignation on my desk by close of business Monday.”

  “And the proposal?” He doesn’t sound pleased, but he knows I’m not a man who backs down when I’ve made a decision.

  My eyes drift around Harlow’s loft while saying, “Leave it on the table. If she wants to accept it, she can. But it will be her own choice, not because we force her to.”

  Stealing Levi’s chance to reply, I disconnect our call.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harlow

  The opening of my mouth mirrors ancient tombs being pried open after centuries of burial. It is dry and reeking of death. I’m so parched, you’d swear I haven’t touched a drop of liquid in a year.

  “Someone kill me.”

  My one eye not covered by a bedsheet pops open when a deep voice says, “Don’t pawn off the task to someone else. You did a stand-up attempt last night.”

  Cormack is sitting on the edge of my bed. His dress shirt is crinkled, and his eyes are tired. The pleasing visual of his panty-wetting face weakens the thump in my skull, but it doesn’t completely erase it.

  “Water?”

  He stands from the bed when I feebly nod. I am hoping we are in his home and not my loft, but the ache in my lower back makes my hope dwindle. The stiffness you get from a twelve-year-old mattress can’t be mistaken. I’ve had this bed since my thirteenth birthday. It was a lot more comfortable back then.

  My wish to die grows when the old pipes of my kitchen give out a squeak when Cormack attempts to fill a glass with water.

  “You need to give it a minute to run out or you get nothing but corroded pipes and dirt.” I scoot up the bed in just enough time to witness him pouring an orangey-brown sludge down the drain.

  When two minutes fail to clear the water to suitable drinking standards, Cormack spins around to face me. “Do you sell water downstairs?” He hooks his thumb to the floor that announces my bakery’s daily schedule is in full swing. Even though I’ve smelled fresh bread wafting through my floorboards every day the past six months, not once has it grown old.

  “Yeah. Just ask Renee for a bottle. You don’t have to pay for it.” I hope my hangover is making me mistake the embarrassment in my voice. I am embarrassed, I just don’t want Cormack to know I am.

  Cormack smiles gently, revealing he heard my shame. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I wait for him to take the first four steps of my creaky stairwell before darting into my bathroom. My swishing stomach is inappreciative of my speed, but I continue on, more determined than ever. Cormack’s arrival on my bakery step every morning the past week means I’ve set my alarm clock an hour earlier. I didn’t wake up at an ungodly hour for him to see me like this—all disheveled and messy.

  After dragging my skintight dress over my head, I replace it with a loose-fitted shirt and a pair of shorts. With the pipes in the bathroom not as outdated as the kitchen, I wet my toothbrush and set to work on eradicating the dead animal smell from my mouth. I scrub the pegs of my teeth as my thumping head works through the facts.

  Dust bunnies—that’s what my memories of last night are like.

  By the time I hear Cormack reclimbing the stairs, I’ve wrangled my hair into a side braid, pinched color back into my cheeks, and taken a seat at my dinette.

  His brisk pace slows when he spots me sitting at the table, casually flicking through an outdated gossip magazine. “If you’re ever after a job, come work for my firm. I’m always seeking quick movers.” He sets a bottle of water in front of me, the pride in his words more appetizing than the sparkly clear beverage.

  After running his hand down my hair, he presses his lips to my temple. “How are you feeling?” The prolonged linger of his lips exposes he is striving to answer his own question. “You’re not as warm as you were last night, but still carrying a fever.”

  I tuck my feet under my bottom, confused. “I had a fever?”

  Sweat stops beading on my nape when he removes his lips from my forehead. “Do you not recall what happened?”

  I wait for him to take the seat next to me. Instead of sitting as you’d expect a twenty-eight-year-old businessman to sit, he straddles the wooden chair backwards. His laidback approach makes me smile. With a chauffeur, housekeeper, and a personal assistant, you’d be quick to suspect Cormack is a snob. You’d be wrong. He lives well above my means, but his heart craves the same thing every other red-blooded American does: he wants to enjoy his life with those he cares about the most.

  This is an early call considering we’ve only known each other a few weeks, but I’m reasonably sure I’m included in the list of people he cares for. Even if I’m not, he will always have a place on my list. He earned his position when he arrived on my doorstep at 4 AM to help me bake. My bakery is an extension of my family. Just knowing he cares for it as much as me fills me with gooey mushiness.

  “Harlow?”

  “Huh?” I reply, unsure if the inane beat of my heart made me miss an entire sentence.

  Cormack’s smile at my blasé response makes my heart situation ten times worse. “Last night? Do you remember what happened?”

  I shake my head. “I’m assuming I got a little tipsy?”

  Grinning, Cormack nods. “Then. . .?”

  “Then. . . you brought me back here and we. . . got freaky?” My last two words are delivered as eccentrically as they sound.

  Cormack usually takes my witty personality in stride. This time, he doesn’t. “Nice to know what you really think of me, Harlow.” His tone alarms me more than the nasty sneer on his face.

  “I was joking. I’ve always thought it’s a little rapey to have sex with someone while they’re intoxicated, but you can’t blame a girl for being hopeful.”

  Cormack arches a blond brow as his face reddens with anger. “Hopeful that I took advantage of you?”

  “No. . .” The remainder of my reply lodges in my throat when he stands from his chair and moves into my living room/bedroom.

  While throwing his cell phone into his pocket, he asks, “Is that why you got drunk? To test me?”

  The viciousness of his words slice through me like knives, but they don’t stop me from saying, “No. Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I need to test you?”
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  He huffs but remains quiet. After gathering his shoes and jacket, he lifts his eyes to mine. The hurt clouding them nicks my heart with a thousand razor blades. “You ate salmon roe. It made you sick. I took care of you. I didn’t touch you like that.”

  “Okay.” I want to say more, but since I can’t guarantee I can speak without sobbing, I keep my mouth shut. I only cry happy tears, not sad ones.

  “Your cell is on the bedside table. It was dead, so I charged it for you. Renee said she has everything handled downstairs, so don’t go down until you’re ready.”

  My heart sinks when he pushes off his feet and heads for the stairwell.

  “Cormack. . .”

  He stops pacing, but doesn’t turn around to face me. I want to demand an explanation for his erratic behavior. I want to tell him to stop talking in riddles and try straight up honesty. But since I am more confused than I am hungover, I settle for a weaker, more pathetic reply, “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  After briefly dipping his chin, he gallops down the stairs. The brutal rattle of the back door of my bakery shudders my core not even two seconds later. It chips my heart even more than the desolate look his eyes had in the seconds leading to his brisk departure.

  I think I just broke us before we even became an official us.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harlow

  Renee’s blonde hair falls into her face when she glances over her shoulder to follow the direction of my gaze. She knows why I am staring at my bakery door; she is just hiding her disappointment from me.

  It’s been six days since Cormack last walked through that door—six torturously long days. To a normal person, it wouldn’t be a big deal, but with my every waking moment of the past six weeks occupied by him, it feels like a lifetime.

  Even though I’m still hazy on exactly what happened, I tried to make amends. After washing away some of my confusion with a long shower, I texted Cormack. He returned my message, but his reply was more of a blow-off than an acceptance of my apology. It wasn’t what he wrote, it was the lack of substance in his reply.

  With most of our one-on-one time occurring amongst my staff, we experimented with all forms of non-verbal communication. Texting was the most accessible—and risqué.

  The reply I got Saturday was nothing like the hundreds we shared the week prior. It was short and direct.

  Cormack: It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.

  I have considered texting him for every minute of every hour the past six days, but my spitfire stubbornness stops me. I messaged him last, so until he returns the token, our contact will remain nonexistent. I’m all for bending the rules, but this is one I can follow to the T. I miss the chaotic mess he caused last week, but I want him to be here because he wants to be here, not because I shamefully groveled for his scraps.

  Not recognizing my brewing determination, Renee suggests, “Call him, Harlow.” Her voice is as high as my heart rate. “For all you know, he could have lost his cell. You know what men are like. If it’s not tied to them, they’re bound to lose it.”

  “He knows my address—”

  “As you know his. This is a two-way street. You’re not a damsel in distress. You take care of yourself.” The honor in her voice nearly bowls me over. After the shitty few days I’ve had, I need her praise.

  I should be riding a high; my bakery is the busiest it’s been the past six months. But there is a sick, uneasy feeling in my gut not letting me bask in the glory. It is clear something I said Saturday morning flicked Cormack’s switch. I just can’t for the life of me work out what it was.

  “Here, let me take over. If you keep kneading the bread like that, you’ll overwork the gluten.” Renee drags the bread board to her side of the counter before rolling it into a massive bun. “If we let it rise a little longer, we might be able to save it.”

  Her knowledge of baking makes me proud. It also makes me want to cry. Those are the exact words I said to Cormack last week. I miss him more than I should. He was a stranger mere weeks ago, and now we’ve spent more time apart than we had together, but I still miss him like crazy.

  There is only one man I miss more: my dad. If he were here, he’d steer me in the right direction. He always knew how to handle confusing men.

  “Don’t,” Renee warns through gritted teeth when she spots the moisture brimming in my eyes. “If you cry, I’ll cry. If I cry, my brothers will kill the person responsible. So unless you want tonight’s supper to be Cormack’s last, I suggest you hold in your tears.”

  “I’m not going to cry. . . I’m not.” I growl my last sentence when Renee bows her brow, calling out my deceit without words. “I’m going to do what my father taught me to do. I’m going to confront the issue head on.”

  Renee’s face lights up like a Christmas tree when I untie my apron and dump it on the counter. Flour billows into the air from my fast movements, but I continue on, too determined to worry about a little mess.

  “If he wants to break up with me, he can do it in front of me and not by some cryptic half-assed text message.”

  Renee whips a tea towel into the air as she hollers, “Hell yeah, sister! You show him who’s boss.”

  Her support fuels my determination for the first three miles of my trip. The other thirty-seven are filled with nervous tension. I want Cormack to man up and end our relationship in a respectable way, but am I misconstruing the facts? Were we even in a relationship to begin with? He went down on me, but that was nearly two weeks ago. Since then, our interactions have occurred around my staff, so they never stepped over a PG rating. Don’t get me wrong, they had enough intensity to electrify a nation, but I didn’t up the ante Friday night for no reason.

  I didn’t get drunk to trick Cormack into my bed. I merely needed some liquid courage to invite him into my bed. I rarely drink, so those three cocktails I had on top of the wine I sucked down with dinner hit me harder than anticipated. My mind is still a little hazy on the events that occurred between leaving the bar and waking up to Cormack sitting bedside, but I’ve never doubted Cormack’s recollection of events. He may have been a stranger weeks ago, but I still trust him.

  After finding on-street parking a few spots down from Destiny Records, I check my face in the rearview mirror. Panic does wonders for my eyes. They’re not as luckless when they’re underscored by massive pits of black. My cheeks are colored from the cool air pumping into the cracked window, and my lips are plump from dragging my teeth over them. I’m not overly presentable to confront a man as handsome as Cormack, but he has already seen me at my worst, so I clamber out of my car and head for the double doors of his business.

  With it being a little before 5 PM, I expect Cormack to be hard at work, so you can imagine my surprise when I spot him standing on the sidewalk. He is speaking to a gentleman with inky black hair. Due to the low hang of the sun, I can’t make out any features of the stranger’s face.

  “Done for the day already? I thought it was the second mouse who got the cheese?”

  I raise my hand in front of my face to block the blinding sun in just enough time to witness Cormack cranking his head in my direction. He mutters something under his breath, but he is too quiet for me to hear what he says. Probably for the best considering his comment wasn’t for me. It was for his suited companion who pivots on his heels and stalks away from us at the speed of a rocket. His movement is so fast, I don’t get a chance to apologize for the interruption, much less introduce myself.

  “What are you doing here, Harlow?” Cormack asks, stepping close enough to me, I can stop shielding my eyes.

  I shrug, acting coy. My laidback approach lasts all of two seconds. “I figured you’d like to get this over with before the weekend, freeing us both to do whatever or whomever we like.”

  It is a low blow, but even a blindman can see Cormack struggles with jealousy, so I use it to my advantage. His evasion the past six days hurt me. I’m merely returning the pain.

  Cormack tightens his jaw, sto
pping the growl I hear rumbling in his chest. “Get what over exactly?”

  “Our break up. That was what your ‘have a nice life’ text was about, wasn’t it?” He didn’t actually say that, but that was the gist of his reply. “So come on, out with it. I’ve got shit to do. Places to be.” Calorie-laced ice-cream to devour while I struggle not to cry.

  I take a step back, physically stunned by Cormack’s vicious snarl when he says, “Men to accuse of assaulting you while you’re passed out?”

  “It was a joke! How many times do I have to say that—?”

  “Shit like that isn’t funny.” He lowers his voice when his roar gains us the attention of numerous pairs of eyes.

  After scrubbing his hand along the stubble his chin doesn’t usually have, he mumbles, “I am not having this conversation here.”

  “Why? Afraid someone will see us talking? Would you prefer we take this down the alleyway so the snobs in this town don’t discover you’ve been slumming it with the less fortunate?”

  I see Cormack’s anger winding up from his stomach to his throat. “Don’t start that shit with me, Harlow. I don’t give a fuck who sees us together.”

  His rare use of profanity should shock me, but all it does is excite me, which in turn, pisses me off even more. “If you don’t care, then do it! Say what you were too cowardly to convey in a text. Break up with me.”

  “No!” He strengthens his short reply with a brisk shake of his head. “I’m not breaking up with you. So if that’s why you came here, spin on your heels and go home, because you’re shit out of luck.”

  A mixture of shock and euphoria weaves through my veins at the same time. I did come here for confirmation on the end of our relationship. I never expected to discover he is holding the same shred of hope I’ve been clutching the past week.

  “Talk to me, Cormack. Tell me what is going on.”

 

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