Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I take lots of pictures when I prep my new flavors to use later in the week, to entice people into stopping by, and honestly, I hate that part of the job. I could live happily ever after if all I had to do was bake. I learned long ago that just having something available isn’t enough to get someone to buy it. They need to see it several times. They want to hear people talking about it. They want suggestions and recommendations. It’s why I ask nearly every customer who places a custom order if I can tag them in the town group, thanking them for their purchase. Most agree, and more often than not, they comment, raving about how wonderful their treats were. Word of mouth is so very important for a small business, and I’m grateful for everyone that suggests Fondante’s Inferno over a bigger bakery in the city.
I make custom cakes as well, but the clientele around here are pretty old-school. Some of the younger couples are quick to agree to an order when given a price quote, but a lot kind of scrunch up their noses and either ask for just cupcakes or say they can make it for less by buying boxed mixes from the local grocery store. I’m changing people’s mindsets, making sure they value my time, but it’s a very slow endeavor.
Madison volunteered me to make her wedding and groom’s cakes, and I told her I’d be offended if she picked someone else. I grin thinking about my friend as I package her orange creamsicle cupcakes. She’s one of the ones who sends me a text and puts in an order before operating hours to ensure she doesn’t miss out.
After setting her order to the side, I head to the back, figuring I have half an hour before the store opens. That’s enough time to get the batch of strawberry cream cheese icing started that I need for a new recipe I found online.
I relish the cool temps in the walk-in cooler for a moment because the back kitchen is already getting warm from the cupcakes in the oven. The ventilation in this old building isn’t that great. I only had so much money to get the store up and running, and my customers’ comfort came first.
I startle as I step out of the cooler and see someone standing there, nearly dropping the butter I grabbed from there.
“Cash?”
His eyes dart up the length of me, and I feel his attention like feathers brushing my skin. Goosebumps travel down my arms and legs, and I fight the urge to straighten my dress.
He doesn’t speak as he walks closer.
Feral.
It’s the only way to describe the look in his eyes as he pulls the packs of butter from my hands and places them on the table beside us.
I clench my hands in fists at my side as his eyes continue to run down my body.
“What’s going—”
I whimper when he reaches up and grips a handful of my hair.
He isn’t hurting me, but it surprises me.
I’m trembling by the time he leans in and whispers in my ear.
“I know you have rules.”
His breath is warm on my neck, and I fight every instinct that’s telling me to lean into it.
“I don’t fucking like rules.”
The cuss word does something right in the center of me, making it nearly impossible to keep my knees from buckling. He normally would hedge that kind of talk, so I know his use of it now is intentional.
“This mouth,” he says, pulling my hair until my head is leaned back.
He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip.
“Is mine to do with as I please.”
I don’t bother trying to close my mouth after that.
“Now get on your knees and open that pretty fucking mouth of yours.”
I slow blink at him, my brain taking a minute to figure out what is going on.
I don’t know this man. This man is abrasive and uncouth.
My body begs me to get to know him better.
His grip on my hair loosens but doesn’t fully release me when I start to lower myself to my knees.
He looks surprised that I’m obeying, and that’s the kind of power I love. He issued the command, unsure if I was going to argue with him or actually do it.
He uses his free hand to pull open his belt, unbutton his uniform slacks, and lower his zipper.
I keep my eyes angled up at him. I was all out of sorts the other night so I couldn’t even look at him. I knew if I did, I’d break my own rules. I knew if I looked at his mouth, I’d have to kiss him. If I didn’t grip the towel I placed on the bed for easy cleanup, I’d dig my nails into his flesh. I’d break every one of the rules I put in place.