Our Star-Crossed Kiss (The Rooftop Crew Book 4)

by Piper Rayne

  I refrain from admitting that I know he’s speaking the truth. Mr. Andrews sprays some kind of magic on them, I swear. I’ve tried to mimic it so many times, and each time, the result was worse.

  “But your cream cheese was the best. The only one we would entertain spotlighting. I’m urging you not to make a bad business decision due to personal problems.”

  “But—”

  Nick holds up his hand. “This is your shot.” He glances at Renee and back at me. “Can you excuse us for a moment, Renee?”

  She nods and stands, leaving the manila folder on the small table between us.

  Once the door is shut, Nick moves to the seat across from me instead of beside me. “I can tell that this isn’t your dream.”

  “What?” I pull my head back as though he’s slapped me. Why doesn’t he think I came out of the womb wanting to bake bagels and be elbow deep in cheese every day? He holds my gaze, and I crumble. My shoulders fall and I shake my head. “Yeah.”

  “This is your shot. You’ve got a great product. A product that could potentially be bought for mass production.”

  “Oh, you don’t know my dad—”

  “If your dad is a smart businessman, he’ll see the possibilities.”

  “Even if I agree, there’s still the Andrews. They hate us just as much.”

  “I noticed in the notes that it says two people originally came in for them.” He grabs the folder and fingers through it. “Shit, I need my reading glasses.” He shoves me a piece of paper. “Who are the names on there?”

  I silently look at the paperwork and read that Seth is listed as a legal part-owner of his family’s business. When did that happen? Irritation fills me that after all the time and effort I’ve put into my family’s business, I’m still not an official owner, but Seth, who’s just jumping in to help cover while his brother is away, apparently is. “Seth and his mom, Debbie.”

  “Maybe since the blood is bad with the older generations, you can go to Seth. Are selling bagels his dream?”

  I shake my head. “He’s a photographer.” I take a sip of my drink and the alcohol no longer burns going down.

  “There’s your opening then. Sell it to him, Evan.”

  My eyes widen and I sputter for a second. “Me?” I point at myself as though he might not know who I mean.

  “We’ve had some push back from a few companies, but mostly people see this as a win-win. I think you might have better luck with him than me or anyone in production. You going to him shows that you’re willing to work with him and let bygones be bygones.”

  I chew on my lip, still unsure.

  “You want to be on television? You want us to showcase you, right?”

  I nod.

  “Then convince Seth that this is a good idea. The show will make people come out here just to try your stuff. You never know what the future holds.”

  I bite my lip. I have no idea if Seth will agree, but I think I need him more than he needs me at this point. A bagel can stand on its own or be paired with coffee, but cream cheese?

  “I’ll try,” I say.

  He leans back in his chair and pulls out his wallet and removes a business card. Grabbing a pen Renee left behind, he scribbles down his phone number. “Call me if you think he’s a no? We’ll brainstorm ways to convince him.”

  My shoulders fall. I have nothing to say but so many questions I want to ask.

  Nick tilts his head. “What?”

  “Why do you care so much?” He’s a successful chef. Why does he care that this isn’t my dream?

  He chuckles and stands. “Let’s just say I didn’t want to own a hardware store.”

  I walk out of Bruce Floyd’s study to find Brock pacing in the hall.

  “What the hell?” His gaze falls over me, eyes narrowing.

  I stop in my tracks. “What?”

  “Just seeing if anything is amiss. Why would you be in there alone with him?”

  I shake my head. “We were just talking out the whole Taste of Small Towns thing. It was business.”

  “Business,” Brock huffs.

  “Yes, business. What’s your problem?” My heart rate picks up.

  Where is the guy who was sweet and endearing and waited for me every day while I closed the store? Ever since the gala, it’s like he’s morphing into someone else. Or are you just seeing him in a different light?

  “Maybe it’s that I keep finding you alone with men.”

  I cross my arms. “Men?”

  “First Andrews and now Klein. Who else am I competing with?” Brock spreads his arms and circles as if I should bow at his feet.

  I let my arms drop to my sides. “I think I should go home now.”

  “Oh, babe, I’m only kidding,” he says, his voice more jovial, but I’m not sure I buy it.

  “I still think I should go home.” I walk past him to leave, but he grabs my upper arm and whips me back around. And he’s not gentle about it.

  “Where are you going? You gotta see my point. What if I had a girl in my room? How would you feel?”

  At this point, I wouldn’t care. “If it had to do with business, I’d be fine with it.”

  “Then I guess you don’t feel nearly as strong about me as I do you.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What if it was Andrews and another girl?”

  I throw my hands in the air. “Why on Earth are you bringing Seth into this?”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Why do you think you’re in competition with him?” I can’t hide my exasperation.

  “The hell I’m in competition. He’s a fucking photographer for middle-aged women who have shitty sex lives. I’ll run Floyd Steel one day. I just find it funny.”

  “What exactly is funny?” I’m realizing that I have to ask Brock that an awful lot.

  “That you look at him like his dick is nine inches long and you want to fall to your fucking knees and suck him off.”

  I blink, stunned and silent. Holy shit, we have really spun off course. I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about.

  “You’re crazy and I’m calling an Uber now.” I turn around to walk out.

  Mr. Floyd comes out of a nearby room and stops before I reach the door. “Brock?” he asks with an edge to suggest he heard everything. “I think you should volunteer to drive Evan home now. And after you do that, I’d like to have a word with you.”

  I swallow past the dryness in my throat. At this point, I just want to leave.

  “I can request an Uber. He doesn’t have to go,” I say, avoiding looking at Mr. Floyd.

  “No, Evan, that’s not necessary.”

  “Really. It’s fine.”

  Mr. Floyd pulls out his phone. “At least let it be on me.” He taps his phone. “They’re ten minutes away. Brock will keep you company until it arrives.” Before I can answer, he nods at Brock and walks away. “In my study after Evan leaves, son.”

  Brock blows out an annoyed breath. “Let’s go, high maintenance.”

  He walks ahead of me and yep, time just expired on this relationship.

  We venture outside and the air is a little chilly. It’s growing colder by the day. He sits on the cement stairs while I stand, searching out the headlights of the Uber.

  “Brock, I think this thing between us has reached its end.”

  He blows out a breath and huffs. “Whatever.”

  “I don’t understand. Why are you so mad? I’ve done nothing.”

  “Do you know how embarrassing it is when my girlfriend—”

  I hold up my hand. “I was never your girlfriend. We’ve been dating, but—”

  “You’re Evan Erickson. It’s not like you’re the type to sleep around. I never thought you’d play games either.” He pulls out a vile of white powder and dumps some in the lid before snorting it.

  Holy shit.

  My mouth drops open. I guess there’s no longer any need to pretend he’s something he’s not in front of me anymore. Was I really this stu
pid and naïve?

  “So you and Andrews then?”

  “You’re delusional. I was dating you. Happily until you jumped off the deep end tonight.”

  Thankfully, two headlights rise above the hill and I blow out a relieved breath. I just want to go home, get in my pajamas, and lose myself in some shitty TV, forgetting this night ever happened.

  “Here’s your chariot, ready to take you back to Loserville,” he snips.

  I decide to take the high road by not responding and I walk toward the car that’s driving toward me, but Brock’s footsteps fall behind me.

  “Goddamn it, Evan.” He grips my upper arm so hard, I cry out and crumple to the ground.

  The Uber abruptly stops, and I hear the car door open.

  “Motherfucker, get your hands off of her.”

  The driver punches Brock and he falls into the perfectly manicured hedge, but the guy jumps on him, pummeling fist after fist into Brock’s face.

  “Get in the car,” the driver yells, and a flicker of light catches the most stunning pair of blue eyes. The eyes of the first boy to ever earn my trust.

  What the hell is Seth doing here?

  Seth throws another punch at Brock, but I grab his arm to pry him off. “He’s not worth it.”

  “He hurt you.” I can’t see Seth’s face, but it’s clear from his voice that he’s seething.

  “Come on.” I tug enough that he stops.

  Brock stumbles to his feet, but his equilibrium is off and he wobbles. “So you are fucking him.”

  I step in front of Seth and give Brock a punch of my own. He might not fall into the hedge like from Seth’s punch, but blood spurts from his nose onto the concrete and that’s enough satisfaction for me.

  Seth sees me to the car and climbs in, flipping Brock off as we head down his driveway past the cement lion statues and the manicured F in the front yard. I swear I don’t breathe until we’re off Society Hill.

  “You okay?” Seth places his hand on my knee.

  I nod frantically, shaken by what just happened. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to warn Brock to stay away from my brother once he’s back from rehab. Good thing I showed up when I did.”

  Our eyes catch in the light from the streetlights—then a rush of nausea hits me as the adrenaline leaves my system and the alcohol I drank with Nick swirls in my stomach. Bile rushes up my throat and I have no time to open the door, so I lean forward and throw up all over the floorboard.

  “I guess it’s true what they say,” Seth says with a sigh.

  “What?” I groan, still leaning down over my seat.

  “No good deed goes unpunished.”

  Chapter Ten

  Seth

  Evan continues apologizing as I drive us to the car wash to clean up my car. I park and dig through my center console for quarters.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says.

  “It’s okay. Brock Floyd makes me want to puke too. I just would’ve preferred you’d done it on him.” I climb out and help her out of the car.

  “I got this, Seth. Honestly, you just sit there.”

  I chuckle. “I’m not letting your drunk ass clean my car.” Thankfully, most of it is on the floor mat, so I carry it over to the trash can and gag as it drips in.

  “I’m not drunk. I’m just not used to sipping hard liquor, then everything went down with Brock… I don’t know.”

  “How were you getting home?” I ask.

  “Oh shit.” Her hand flies to her mouth. “His dad called me an Uber.”

  I shrug. “Serves him right to explain why you left before it arrived.”

  “True enough.” Evan heads to the vending area and buys some cleaning cloths with her array of quarters.

  “Did you rob a grandma or something?” I yell because it’s only us here. No one else is washing their car at nine o’clock at night.

  “Funny. Maybe I just come prepared.”

  “Or you have your store deposit in that purse of yours.”

  She doesn’t respond and I shake my hand, feeling the throbbing in my knuckles setting in now that the adrenaline is leaving my system. I clench and unclench my hand a few times, my knuckles red and angry.

  “Shit, Seth, you need to get some ice on that.” Evan’s standing over me at the side of the car, her long dark hair like a veil so I can’t see her face.

  “I could say the same thing to you.” I raise an eyebrow at her and she rolls her eyes. “It would’ve been easier if you would’ve believed me when I said he was a douchebag from the get-go.”

  She sighs. “He was sweet at first, but something changed. He changed. Tonight was just the last straw.”

  “What was with the ‘you fucking me’ comment?”

  I had to bite my lip to keep from smirking when he mentioned Evan fucking me. Does Brock not pay attention to the gossip in this town? Evan hates me and I hate her. Kind of. Not really. But no one needs to know that. I’m happy he thought I was fucking his girlfriend. I’d say it’s nothing compared to what he did to Trevor. He ruined him.

  She steps away from me and over to the other side of the car. “He said I eye-fuck you.” She bends over, tucking her hair behind her ears, and uses a rag to puddle up the vomit as she chokes back more from erupting out of her mouth.

  I take another rag she purchased and lean across to help clean up the mess. “Take a load off.”

  “No. I did this. I’ll clean it.”

  I meet her gaze. “Use your one free pass.”

  She huffs but steps back, so I go over to the passenger side and throw out my soiled cloth. I grab a clean one and crouch down while she stands behind me.

  For a moment, I debate asking her more questions. The whys and hows of how she came to be running The Bagel Place. But sadly, I understand family responsibility. It’s the reason I’m now on the owner paperwork for Andrews Bagel Company. My parents have to protect themselves from their own son. How fucking sad is that?

  “Let’s get back to why it looked like Brock was about to hit you when I pulled up.”

  Brock is a safer subject than our families.

  “I thought we could discuss why you were there,” she says coyly.

  “You first.”

  “I confronted him about getting all jealous. Nick Klein was at their house tonight and he asked to speak to me privately about the show.”

  Jealousy pricks my veins, and not because the host of the show is giving her special treatment. I want to make sure he’s not trying to persuade her to spend some time on the casting couch. “And?”

  “Brock accused me of liking other guys. You in particular. What’s the deal with you two?”

  Jeez, nothing that I can think of. I mean, Trevor and Brock were competitive their whole friendship, but I was just Trev’s younger brother. “I don’t like him for obvious reasons. No idea what his issue is with me.”

  “Well, he definitely sees you as some sort of competition.”

  I stand and throw out another cloth. “I am better-looking than him. Maybe that’s it.”

  She smiles. It shouldn’t make me happy as shit that I pulled a smile out of her, but it does.

  “It’s okay to agree,” I say.

  This time I’m rewarded with a giggle and an even bigger smile.

  Fuck. What is happening? I’m in so much trouble.

  “Should we go to the store and get some cleaning supplies?” She changes the subject, for which I’m thankful.

  “Nah, I’ll drop you off and do it in the morning.”

  “Um… no. We’re going.” Then she climbs into the car, putting her feet on either side of the mat so she doesn’t step in the wet spot that smells like puke.

  We ride to the store with the windows down and our heads as far out as possible, as though we’re two dogs on a joy ride. She makes me stop at a drug store so she can buy a toothbrush and toothpaste and brush her teeth in the bathroom. When we finally walk into the big box store, she grabs a cart.

  “We�
��re not buying cleaning supplies in bulk,” I say.

  She ignores me and detours down the chip aisle. “I didn’t eat much dinner. They had Cornish hens and—”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t say foie gras.” I toss a bag of cheese balls into the cart.

  “Thank God no. I’m not sure what I would’ve done.”

  “I would’ve raised my hand and asked for a cheeseburger.”

  She laughs and puts a bag of pretzels in the cart. I swipe a bag of white cheddar popcorn. At this rate, we’ll be throwing up again from overeating.

  “Knowing you, I don’t doubt it,” she says.

  “Is that a knock on me? I’ve been awfully polite tonight, even after I saved your ass—again.”

  “Again?” She cops an attitude and stops the cart.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Do you want me to name all the times?” I chuckle and pretend my bag of beef jerky is a basketball. When it drops in the cart, I put up two fingers. “Two points.”

  “First of all, I saved you plenty too, and second of all, why are men so annoying and act like everything is a basketball and a net?”

  “It makes life a lot more fun. You should try it.” I pick up a random item and toss it in just for fun. “Two more points.”

  She blows out a breath.

  I can’t believe I’m walking the aisles of a store with Evan Erickson, and our hands aren’t around each other’s throats.

  “So tell me what Nick Klein is offering you,” I ask because it’s clear that although we’re being cool with one another, she’s holding something back. I’ve caught her staring at me as if she wanted to ask me something a few times, but then she doesn’t.

  “They’re changing the format of the show.”

  My footsteps halt on the concrete floor and I stop her from walking by gripping the end of the shopping cart. “What does that mean? Changing the format?”

  She sighs. “They want us to work together.” Her voice is soft like she can’t believe she said that.

  “Together? Us?”

  “Well, The Bagel Place and Andrews Bagel Company, yeah.”