Chapter Forty-Six
The next day in the afternoon, for the first time in, well, ever, I called Micah. I wanted to end the charade, explain that the ladies had decided not to sell, and slam the door shut once and for all on a partnership between NOI and Mags’ Desserts. Handling that mess would leave the Harlan problem sitting out there like a blaring alarm, but I wasn’t ready to tackle him or his ego yet.
Micah’s assistant said he was out of the office today and tomorrow on something business-related. His trip provided a small reprieve and time for planning my next move. When he got back, I hoped to talk him into letting me work from here for another week. That would give me a few more days and nights with Jackson.
I’d tell Micah I needed the extra time to ferret out what other food deals might be possible in the area. Winston-Salem already gave the world yummy doughnuts. There were many other decidedly Southern food delicacies around here I could pitch as a possible investment.
Jackson was at work. Gram and Celia were engaged in baking prep. We’d talked and thought about poison enough for the past few days—for a lifetime, really—so I could concentrate on something much more important. Cupcakes. The delivery schedule had referenced a bridal shower and a children’s charity event. Both required cupcakes, which meant there would be unused batter waiting for me in the baking annex.
I walked in expecting to find the room humming with activity. The ladies baking. Maybe an assistant or two flitting around. None of that was happening. Gram and Celia sat at the table drinking tea. Celia was willingly sharing Gram’s pitcher of sweet tea, which meant Celia was either trying to calm Gram down or trying to convince Gram of something.
Either way? Not great.
“What’s going on? I was looking for a tub of unused batter and a spoon.”
Neither of them answered me. Celia pointed to a bowl on the counter and the spatula balancing on its edge that had something that looked delicious on it.
Tempting, but the sugar fix would need to wait until I waded through whatever this was.
I sat down, dreading the incoming conversation. “What happened and how bad is it?”
Gram poured herself another glass of tea. “Harlan is on his way over.”
“Oh, come on.”
He did not give up. Some people might praise his tenacity. Not me. “Good grief, why? What now?”
His not-so-gentle suggestion that I leave or the business could lose clients repeated nonstop in my head. He hadn’t directly issued an ultimatum but came damn close. I hadn’t filled in Gram and Celia. With all the conversations and information bouncing around, I’d left them out of this one. Harlan clearly planned to drag them in.
“He’s bringing a man he wants us to meet.”
Celia’s voice sounded rougher than usual, as if she’d been arguing with Gram for quite a while before I walked in. “A man who has a business proposition for us.”
Oh, no . . .
Gram snorted. “It’s the beady-eyed rat.”
The perfect description of Brock. “Okay, I still have the same question. Why, as in why agree to a visit? You are not selling. End of story.”
“True, but Harlan wasn’t going to stop pushing, so we offered to hear him out,”
Celia said.
She sounded so calm. So unemotional. That shook me more than the idea of Harlan strutting in here, throwing his weight around, and unleashing hell.
“We’ll listen for as long as we can tolerate this nonsense, then we can say no and throw Harlan and his sidekick out.”
Gram made her famous pfft sound. “At least this time Harlan remembered his manners and asked first before dropping in.”
Good job, Harlan. He finally got something right.
“A showdown of sorts was inevitable.”
Celia took a sip of tea then put the glass to the side. She’d probably had enough sugar in that one mouthful to last a week. “Harlan is relentless. Always looking for new angles. He thinks he can pummel us into submission with his charm.”
Gram made a grumbling noise that was tough to describe. “He’d have to go find some charm first.”
“He’ll lose this round, then eventually come crawling back again, with a different proposal and new players, and try again,”
Celia said.
“So, why bother to entertain him now?”
I knew the answer. They’d agreed for me and for Jackson. Gram and Celia spent their lives trying to make things better for us, trying to protect Jackson from Harlan’s pressure and interference.
We were all so busy helping each other and being secretive about it that Harlan had slinked in when our defensive shields were down. When this was over, and it had to end soon or my thumping headache might become permanent, I needed to sit down with Gram and Celia and explain that it was time they put themselves first. They’d given enough.
“We’ll keep doing this until Harlan tires himself out or he finds a more lucrative business opportunity,”
Celia said.
They knew him but did they know he viewed himself as their pastry savior and wanted to take over? “That’s a lot of attention from a guy who thinks your business is a hobby.”
“If he says anything like that today I’m going to make him a funeral pie. Neither one of you can talk me out of it.”
Gram sounded serious.
“Let’s stay positive.”
Celia had to be kidding. She also had to know giving Harlan any opening was a mistake. I might not be a lawyer, but I knew that. “I think we shouldn’t—”
One sharp knock then the annex door opened. Harlan and Brock stepped inside. They both wore dark suits and sunglasses. They held folders no one sitting at the table wanted to see. They shared a smarmy vibe. They marched in sync.
Matching jackasses.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us here today.”
Harlan watched Gram during his greeting.
Her noncommittal response wasn’t a surprise. “Hmmm.”
“Brock Deavers, this is Magnolia Nottingham and Celia Windsor.”
The wattage of Harlan’s smile didn’t flicker when he looked in my direction. “You know Kasey.”
I was about to see Harlan in his finest lobbying form.
“Of course. She’s been doing advance work for me on this proposal.”
Brock’s do not blow this expression dared me to disagree. “Assistant work.”
Calling him a jackass had been too nice.
“Magnolia, it’s a pleasure.”
Brock extended his hand to Gram.
She took it but delivered a shot as well. “Call me Ms. Nottingham.”
Score one for Gram.
“Please sit.”
Celia gestured toward the other side of the table. Doing so meant she avoided a formal greeting from Brock. Good choice.
They all sat down. I pulled over a chair and joined them.
“Kasey, I can handle the details and overview. You don’t need to wade through the finer points with us.”
Brock opened a binder and pulled out what looked like a report. Apparently he’d been busy in between his rounds of golf. “Why don’t you—”
“My granddaughter stays.”
Second point to Gram.
Brock wore a tight smile. “Of course.”
“We’re happy to have Kasey here,”
Harlan said but couldn’t possibly mean. “We’re talking about a proposal that benefits the entire family.”
“Uh-huh.”
Gram wasn’t giving an inch.
“Right. Well, you know why we asked to see you today.”
Harlan relaxed into his chair, coming off very much at home in the annex, where he wasn’t actually welcome.
Gram looked Harlan up and down, letting him know she was not impressed. “Not really since we’ve made it clear the business is not for sale.”
Gram reached for her glass of tea. She didn’t offer anyone else a drink. That had to be killing her. Southern hospitality and a certain level of graciousness were ingrained in her DNA. She’d been the perfect hostess for most of her life. Not greeting her guests with a smile, not putting out a spread of fresh pastries and suitable drinks, went against everything she believed in. They might not know it, but her actions telegraphed how little she thought of her unwanted guests.
“I know you’ve said your position is firm, Mags.”
Harlan passed glossy-covered folders around the table. “I think once you’ve heard the offer you might change your mind.”
“Doubt it.”
Honestly, Gram didn’t need me for this. She could hold her own with almost anyone. People mistook her cute, tiny grandmother persona for weakness. The dumbasses. She had a backbone of steel and a deep dislike of Harlan, so this could devolve quickly.
“Kasey knows this is a good deal. One you should consider.”
Brock stared at me. Put his whole you’re-about-to-be-fired hmpf behind it. “Correct?”
Since I expected to lose my job within the next few days, possibly minutes, what did I have to lose by going against him? Hell, I was shocked I still had the job, so whatever punishment he thought he could levy didn’t really pack a punch.
My real concern and the reason I refused to move from my chair was Harlan and his whims. I didn’t trust him as far as I could drop-kick him . . . and I really wanted to drop-kick him.
What was stopping him from running me out of town and out of Jackson’s life and still waging a campaign of destruction against Mags’ Desserts? In Harlan’s mind, absolutely nothing. He wanted the business and was willing to destroy his relationships with everyone around him to get it.
“Are we interrupting?”
I spun around at the sound of Jackson’s voice. He walked in with . . . Micah.
I did not see that shocker coming but now I knew exactly why Jackson asked me to trust him. The man had a plan.
Let the fireworks fly.