Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
And if anyone was likely to complain, it would be you, I want to add.
“Not a single objection.” He gives me another one of those intimidating pinned-on smiles.
“Okay, well…” I gesture widely at the empty store. “You have my full attention.”
Disconcertingly, he looks up from his coffee and stares at me. This is probably the closest we’ve ever been.
I regret not leaving more space between us. I’m pretty sure his cheekbones could cut glass.
And damn, have I mentioned his eyes?
Up close, they’re even more spectacular, which is way more annoying.
Eyes so beautiful shouldn’t belong to a jerk like him.
They definitely shouldn’t remind me of the way the sun glints on the open sea.
“Did you know I’m local?” he asks.
That is a surprise.
“You mean you’re from here?” I frown, sipping my coffee to hide my confusion.
Not that I should be shocked. We wouldn’t exactly have moved in the same circles and it’s a big city.
“Kansas City, born and raised,” he tells me. There’s a touch of pride in his voice. “I formed a company with my brothers a few years ago—Higher Ends International. It’s a fast-growing start-up delivering five-star rental experiences to folks from all over the country.”
“Oh, you’re one of those.” It’s out before I can clamp my mouth shut.
“Those?”
My face heats.
“I mean… aren’t a lot of investors buying up properties the reason why nobody my age can get a house? Sorry if I’m confused.” I might as well be honest, voicing what feels like my wildest dream.
Plus, the fact that he’s one of many reasons it’s never coming true.
“Miss Winkley, you are confused. Higher Ends isn’t some fly-by-night crew of jackoffs sweeping up as many duplexes as they can get on credit, all so they can brag about smoke and mirrors success on TikTok,” he says with a dismissive snort. “We’re incredibly selective. We only acquire properties that offer a truly rich, immersive experience true to the area for a high-end clientele that pays dearly. When I said fast-growing, I meant in the unique niche we’ve carved out.”
Right. It’s so fast-growing I haven’t heard of it and I’m also from here.
I stare at him.
And even if he isn’t one of the cutthroats creating a housing shortage, I’m not sure I feel much better when I picture the sort of clients he’s looking for. Rich people with money to burn who don’t work in a bakery, fighting to make ends meet.
“You’re skeptical,” he grumbles.
“I prefer careful.”
He snorts again.
My eyes narrow as I sip my coffee, fighting the urge to spray it in his smug face.
“There’s no danger to you, only an upside. My offer is simple,” he says. “I’m inviting you aboard for an experiment. The Sugar Bowl is perfectly suited to take part in our new pilot program. It’s designed to supply fresh pastries and whatever else our guests might want for a few of our properties.”
Ugh.
Regular business.
Why does he have to make this so hard?
“Also,” he says with a little more warmth, “if that pilot goes well, we’re considering making larger items available—things like custom cakes for special occasions. Our guests just order and you deliver to our star properties. Not complicated.”
My gut clenches.
Something about the way he says star properties makes me uneasy. It’s gone straight from tempting to too good to be true.
Also, there’s something horribly distracting about his flickering blue eyes tonight. I kind of miss the scowl and constant growling.
At least then I could forget how attractive he is when he’s being nice.
“I’ll admit it sounds interesting,” I say slowly, pulling at my cupcake and leaving crumbs on my plate. Bad habit, but I can’t help my nerves, especially when it feels like this is playing with a house of cards and one wrong move will send everything crashing down.
“But?” he urges.
“But why the sudden interest?”
His face closes off again, the warmth retreating behind a stoic mask.
“And, um, what do you want in return? I know how these things work. There has to be a catch in there somewhere.” There’s no sense in pulling any punches.
“Well.” He clears his throat. “There is something else.”
Of course.
“I knew it.”
He inhales slowly, glancing around like he’s trying to keep his lungs working.
Fair enough. I’m having trouble breathing, too.
Because here it comes.
The whole reason why you don’t make deals with atrociously hot men who tip like they should be institutionalized.
And judging by his face, it’s a really flipping big reason.
I take another gulp of my cooling coffee. I reckon I’ll need the caffeine hit to get me through this. Or maybe I should just give up and fetch the whiskey stashed away in the back right now that I only break out for real emergencies.
“Before I start, let me promise you this is only temporary.” He places both hands on the table, palms down. “It’s a very stupid condition and it’s entirely my fault. The man who was with me the other day, he’s very difficult to win over. When I did, I gave him the wrong impression and it made things a tad complicated for our arrangement going forward.”