Читать книгу Mocha Pleasures - Pamela Yaye - Страница 10

Chapter 2

“You did what?” Doug Nicholas roared.

He cursed, yelling so loud it caused the window inside his elegantly decorated office at Sweetness Bakery to shake. The room was filled with vibrant area rugs, cozy chairs and potted plants, but Grace would rather be at the dentist than stuck in her father’s office, listening to him rant and rave about how irresponsible she was. She was a twenty-six-year-old woman with a strong head on her shoulders, but he made her feel like a screwup.

“What were you thinking? Have you lost your mind?”

Of average height, with thinning grey hair and eyeglasses perched on his nose, he had a grumpy disposition and spoke in a low, clipped tone. He was rough around the edges, gruff at times, but Grace loved him with all her heart. “Dad, calm down—”

“What possessed you to go to Lillian’s?” he said, speaking through clenched teeth. “What if a reporter was on hand and snapped a picture of you stuffing your face at our competitor’s shop? Do you know how embarrassing that would be?”

Grace bit her tongue, didn’t dare answer because it wasn’t a rhetorical question, and she didn’t want to make the situation worse. Swallowing a yawn, she snuck a glance at her wristwatch. It was eight o’clock and the bakery was closed for the day, but her father was making such a fuss she feared the cleaning crew would come running. Grace managed Sweetness, had since her mother’s untimely death, but her father was always on hand to help. It had been a banner year for the bakery, but Doug wasn’t satisfied, never was. They had an exceptional team that loved Sweetness Bakery, just as Rosemary had, and she knew her mother was smiling down on them. Thinking about her mom made her heart ache. Grace would do anything to see her again, to hug her, to hear her voice just one more time. “Dad, relax, it wasn’t that serious.”

“Don’t tell me to relax,” he snapped. “You could have humiliated the shop, and caused irreversible damage! Your behavior was dumb and reckless.”

His words stung, bruised her feelings, but Grace straightened in her chair and projected confidence, not fear. She’d made the right decision. She’d had no choice but to march into the splashy new bakery after reading the food blogs during her commute to work. According to bloggers, Lillian’s was the best thing to ever happen to Seattle. Their cupcakes were divine, the ambiance darling, the staff personable and attentive, the location a winner. Unfortunately, Grace had to agree. She couldn’t deny the truth. Her visit had been memorable—and not just because she’d met the hunky owner, Jackson Drayson—and she was curious if all of their pastries were to-die-for, or just the pistachio cupcakes. “Dad, I was merely checking out the competition and I’m glad I did. Now that we know what we’re up against we can formulate a plan.”

A pensive expression on his face, he stroked his pointy jaw. “What did you find out?”

That the picture in the Seattle Times of Jackson Drayson at Lillian’s grand opening in April didn’t do the baker justice! Grace felt a nervous flutter inside her belly. He’s even sexier in person, and his voice is so seductive I shivered when he spoke to me. Add to that, his cologne, like his smile, was intoxicating.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Doug admonished. “Spill it.”

Grace chose her words carefully, didn’t reveal everything at once. She told her dad about her visit that morning, but didn’t mention her run-in with Jackson. It wasn’t important. He wasn’t important, and she didn’t want to waste time talking about him. She’d sized him up in five seconds flat. He was a lady-killer, a man who took great pleasure in seducing women—not her type in the least. Jackson Drayson was the personification of the term deadly sexy, and when she’d entered the bakery she noticed every female in the room was staring at the dreamy baker with lust in her eyes. The man was an attention seeker who wasn’t happy unless women were fawning all over him, and Grace planned to stay far away from Mr. Smug.

“Tell me more.” Doug leaned forward in his leather chair. “Was the bakery packed? What is the mood and feel of the shop? Did you enjoy the cupcake?”

Grace answered her dad’s questions the best she could. The more she spoke the more stress lines wrinkled her father’s forehead. She’d never seen him like this—fidgeting with his hands, shifting around on his chair, grumbling under his breath—and feared he was having a nervous breakdown.

“I owe you an apology. You were right. Checking out Lillian’s was a smart move.”

“Thanks, Dad, and now I think it’s the perfect time to implement some of the changes we spoke about last month,” she said, feeling a rush of excitement. “Seattle has the best indie artists in the country, and I think we should showcase their talents at Sweetness. We can extend our weekend hours and offer two-for-one specials, as well. Poetry Fridays and Talent Night Saturdays will definitely attract new customers.”

“This is a bakery, Grace. Not America’s Got Talent.”

“Dad, at least consider it—”

“There’s nothing to consider. It’s a stupid idea and we’re not doing it. Case closed.”

Flinching, as if slapped across the face, she dropped her gaze to her lap and blinked back the tears in her eyes. It was moments like this Grace wished she had siblings. Someone else she could vent to about the bakery, her promotional ideas, her dreams of moving to New York. After graduating from the Seattle Culinary Academy, she’d planned to relocate to the Big Apple to take the culinary world by storm. But it wasn’t to be. Her mother’s death had changed everything. She’d put her plans on ice and devoted her time and energy to growing the family business. To better aid her dad, she’d enrolled in graduate school and acquired a master’s degree in accounting and financial management. It was tough, working at the bakery during the day and attending school at night, but she’d pulled through and graduated at the top of her class.

Her gaze fell across the framed photographs hanging on the ivory walls. Images of her mother—cutting the ribbon at the bakery’s opening in the early eighties, rolling cookie dough, laughing with customers, manning the till—brought a sad smile to her lips. Her dad could be stubborn and narrow-minded at times, but he was the only family she had left. Since she’d never do anything to disrespect him, she held her tongue.

“Now is not the time to shake things up. We could alienate customers.” Grunting, he scooped up the papers on his desk and shook his hands in the air. “Lillian’s of Seattle opened a couple months ago, but they’re already cutting into our profits. Sales are down nine percent since April, and those jerks are the reason why. We have to stop them before it’s too late.”

“Dad, what are you saying?”

A devilish gleam darkened his face. Her father had a reputation for playing dirty, for outwitting his business rivals with skillful maneuvers, but Grace wanted no part of his schemes. It wasn’t her. Wasn’t in her DNA to be sneaky and underhanded, and she didn’t want to do anything she’d live to regret. Her mother’s words came back to her, playing in her ears loud and clear. Be a woman of integrity, she’d admonished one afternoon while they were baking pastries for a two-hundred-guest baby shower. And don’t let anyone change who you are.

“Your mother built Sweetness through blood, sweat and tears, and it’s more than just a bakery. It’s her legacy, and I’d never forgive myself if I lost this place.”

“Dad, you won’t. Sweetness has been the leading bakery in Seattle for decades and that will never change. Our customers are loyal and they won’t desert us.”

“I won’t lose to a bunch of rich kids who’ve had everything in life handed to them, who’ve never had to work for anything. It’s not going to happen because I won’t let it.”

Grace wanted to correct him, to tell her dad that based on what she’d read and seen about Jackson Drayson his assumption couldn’t be further from the truth. But she knew it was a bad idea to defend the enemy. Her mind returned to their conversation that morning. She vividly remembered his scent, the sound of his voice, how his eyes twinkled with mischief when he’d asked her out. Reflecting on their exchange, Grace wished she hadn’t been so mean to him. She heard the talk around the bakery, and in her upscale Bellevue neighborhood. She knew what men said about her. They called her the Ice Queen, a man hater, and complained she was more difficult than a pop star.

Painful memories flooded her heart, piercing her soul like a dagger. Before Phillip Davies, she’d always thought the best of people, but after their bitter breakup she’d lost faith in not only men, but also her ability to choose the right one. Love was overrated. For women who believed in fairy tales. A waste of time, and she’d vowed never to put herself out there again. Why bother? Love didn’t last, didn’t work, and Grace wanted no part of it.

Seeing Jackson’s image in her mind’s eye, despite her futile attempts to block it out, Grace wondered if he had a girlfriend. She snorted, snickering inwardly. Of course he had a girlfriend. Probably several. One for every day of the week, and in every state, no doubt. Not that she cared. Everything about the overconfident baker screamed player—his swagger, his bad-boy grin, the tattoo on his left bicep that said “Live each day as if it’s your last.” And since he wasn’t her type, Grace shook off her thoughts and stood. It had been another ten-hour day and she was beat. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and fall asleep. “Dad, I’m tired. If it’s okay with you, I’ll prepare the profit-and-loss statements in the morning.”

“On your way in tomorrow, stop in at Lillian’s and sample something else.” Doug snapped his fingers. “I know. Buy one of those dragnet things they’re advertising all over the place. I want to see what all the fuss is about. The food critic for the Seattle Times said ‘It’s heaven in your mouth’ but I think she’s exaggerating. You know how women are.”

“Dad, I don’t think returning to Lillian’s is a good idea.”

His eyes dimmed, and a frown pinched his thin lips. “Why not?”

Because I’m attracted to Jackson Drayson’s light brown eyes, full lips shaped by a trimmed goatee and muscled biceps. I’m liable to trip and fall flat on my face the next time he smiles at me!

Knowing she couldn’t tell the truth, she said the first thing that came to mind. “If I go back it might raise suspicions.”

“Nonsense. They have no idea who you are.” Doug waved off her concerns with a flick of his hands. “It’s crucial you find out more about Lillian’s. If we’re going to crush them—and we will—we need to gather more intel, so return to the bakery and uncover their secrets.”

Her shoulders sagged and panic ballooned inside her chest. It was official. Her dad had lost it. Gone off the deep end. And now, more than ever, she missed her mom. Rosemary had died fourteen months ago and not a day went by that Grace didn’t think about her. Losing her mom had been a devastating blow, and if not for her father she never would have survived Rosemary’s death. He’d been her anchor, her rock, and although she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was making a mistake, she asked, “Dad, what do you want me to do?”

For the first time since she’d entered his office an hour earlier, her dad’s face brightened and he grinned like a five-year-old who’d been given a new bike. “Maybe you can fake food poisoning or a nasty spill as you leave the shop. Bad publicity will drive customers away from Lillian’s and straight through our doors.”

Too shocked to speak, Grace dropped back down in her chair, her mind reeling. Her dad mistook her silence as acquiescence and offered one nefarious idea after another. Grace struggled to make sense of what he was saying and couldn’t believe this was the same man who’d raised her to be an honest, trustworthy person. He loved money, would do anything to make more, and hated that Lillian’s was cutting into his profits. For that reason he was willing to break the rules. Speaking in an animated voice, he encouraged her to return to the bakery, admonished her to befriend the baristas, and even the owners.

“Grace, are you in?”

Feeling trapped, her lips too numb to move, she slowly nodded.

“That’s my girl!”

Chuckling, he rose from his chair and came around the desk.

Standing on wobbly legs, Grace dug her sandals into the carpet to steady herself.

“We got so caught up talking about Lillian’s, I forgot why I asked you to come to my office in the first place,” he said, shaking his head as if annoyed with himself. “I’m having Mr. and Mrs. Ventura over for brunch next Sunday, and I want you there.”

Grace thought hard, but couldn’t recall ever meeting the couple. “Who?”

“Mr. Ventura is an anesthesiologist, his wife is a pharmacist, and they own a slew of pharmacies on the west coast. They’re a wealthy, well-connected couple with friends in high places, and I’m dying to join their social circle. Hence, the dinner party.”

“Dad, I can’t. I have roller derby practice at noon. ”

He snorted. “I wish you’d quit that stupid team.”

“And I wish you wouldn’t work 24/7.”

“If I host a dinner party on the twentieth, will you come?”

Grace had a game that afternoon, but she didn’t tell her dad. Didn’t want to upset him. “Sure, Dad,” she said with a forced smile. “I’ll bring the wine.”

“Wear something nice,” he advised. “They’re bringing their son and he’s single.”

“That’s nice, but I’m not interested.”

“You should be. Ainsworth Ventura owns a profitable management company and was recently named entrepreneur of the year. Do you know what dating him could do for us?”

Grace didn’t know, didn’t care and had zero desire to meet the Seattle businessman.

“Like you, he’s ready to settle down and start a family.”

“Settling down is the furthest thing from my mind—”

“You’ll change your mind once you meet Ainsworth. He’s a ridiculously wealthy young man with everything going for him. Google him. You’ll see that I’m right.”

Yawning, she reached into her pocket for her cell phone, curious if her girlfriend Bronwyn Johansson had answered the text she’d sent that morning. They hadn’t seen each other in a week, and Grace was looking forward to catching up with her bestie.

“Think you can make some of your apple beignets and toffee cookie bars for dessert?”

Grace shifted her weight from one foot to the next, fidgeting with her fingers. She hadn’t set foot in the kitchen since her mother’s death and didn’t plan to. She used to love baking, would spend hours experimenting in the kitchen, but without Rosemary at her side, cooking held no appeal. These days she worked in the back office, managing the bakery the best she could. “No. I can’t,” she said, unable to shake her melancholy feelings.

“The regulars keep asking when you’ll be back in the kitchen and I want to know, too.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel up to it right now.”

“Grace, it’s been fourteen months. You have to move on.”

Her stomach churned and pain stabbed her heart. Was there a time limit on grief? A predetermined mourning period her therapist had failed to mention to her? Grace wanted to turn the tables on her dad, wanted to ask him when he was going to quit hiding out in his office and start living again, but knew better than to question him. “Dad, I’m beat. I’m going home.”

“All right. Good night, pumpkin. Text me when you get home.”

Living at home wasn’t ideal, especially when Grace wanted to entertain, but whenever she broached the subject of finding her own place, her dad got upset, said he couldn’t stand to live in the house alone, and she’d bury the idea. He still missed her mom, continued to grieve her death over a year later, and balked whenever Grace encouraged him to join a social club, or try online dating. “Don’t worry, Dad. I will. I always do.”

“I know. You’re such a good girl. The best daughter a father could ever ask for.”

He wasn’t one to show affection; Grace was shocked when her dad hugged her and kissed her cheek. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d held her, and she was comforted by his touch. Hearing her cell phone, she took it out of the pocket of her blazer and glanced discreetly at the screen. Grace groaned inwardly. What did Phillip want now? He was as annoying as a pesky mosquito, buzzing around in the dead of night, and she was sick of him blowing up her phone. Why was he calling her? Couldn’t he take a hint? It was the third time he’d phoned her that afternoon, but since Grace had nothing to say to him she let the call go to voice mail.

“We need to work together to save your mother’s shop,” her father said quietly, sorrow flickering across his strong facial features. “I’m counting on you to come through for me.”

“Dad, I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Sweetness on top. I promise.” But as the impassioned declaration left her mouth, Grace knew it was a lie.