Chapter 2 Sienna
Sienna
There is a line outside the bakery door this morning, and I’m wishing Lucy wouldn’t have made her famous banana nut bread today.
Not only is the espresso machine hissing like it’s possessed, but Lucy is also yelling something about running out of oat milk.
I’m halfway through boxing up a dozen cinnamon rolls when the phone rings.
“Can you get that?” Lucy calls over her shoulder as she slides a tray of croissants into the display case.
Don’t have a choice.
Grabbing the phone off the wall, I tuck it between my ear and shoulder while tying the ribbon on the box. “Good morning, Sugar & Spice Bakery. This is Sienna.”
“Sienna,” a deep, smooth voice rumbles through the receiver. “Benedikt Volkov.” I nearly drop the phone.
It takes a second to process because I wasn’t expecting to hear from him again.
Ever.
I blink hard, shaking off the surprise. “Oh. Uh, hi?”
Smooth, Sienna. Really smooth.
“I wanted to tell you the cake was good,” he says. Straight to the point. No unnecessary pleasantries. “Chocolate espresso bourbon, correct?”
“That’s the one.” I switch ears and grab a pastry bag. “I made it myself.”
A brief pause. “You’re talented.”
I blink again, because that almost sounded like a compliment.
“Thanks.” I’m not sure how to respond to that, coming from a man who looked ready to have me escorted out of his office yesterday.
“I want to place another order.” Benedikt’s tone is still a bit clipped. “For my employees.”
“Of course, what are you thinking?”
“Assorted things.”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. “That’s… incredibly vague.”
He exhales like I’m testing his patience. “What do you suggest then, Mrs. Graves?”
“Uh, it’s Miss, and that depends. Do they have any allergies? Preferences?”
“Was I supposed to take a tally of that information?” I can’t tell if he’s being serious or a smartass. “No allergies. They’ll eat what they’re given.”
Should I be calling the work labor board on this man?
He made it sound like he makes his employees work in a sweatshop.
“How about a mix of our bestsellers? Maple pecan scones, double chocolate muffins, jalapeno cheddar bagels—”
“Yes.”
I pause. “Yes to what?”
“All of it.”
I shake my head, scribbling down the order. “You’re easy to please.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
I don’t know why that makes my stomach flip, but it does. “Alright, I can have everything ready for tomorrow morning.”
“Good. I’ll see you at—”
“Oh, it won’t be me,” I interrupt quickly because I can’t go through the embarrassment of being an idiot again. “I’m… I have plans.”
“Plans,” he says as if rolling the word around in his head and dissecting it. “You don’t work tomorrow?”
“I do, but—”
“Then, since you know where you’re going, you won’t be late.”
My brows clash together. “I’m unavailable. But I can assure you that our deliveries are one of our top priorities.”
“Miss Graves, have you ever had an office full of starving people? They get anxious.”
“Are… they not allowed to eat in the office?”
“No.”
I pluck up my cell phone from the counter and begin searching labor laws. “Um… that’s unfortunate.”
“It would be if someone got lost and didn’t bring them their pastries. I’d have a riot on my hands.”
“I’m surprised that hasn’t happened yet.”
“What was that?”
Shit.
“I apologize. A customer was trying to talk to me.”
“You sound distracted.”
“It’s a busy morning.”
“You sound as though you’re typing something.”
My head shoots up and I scan the space, expecting to find him—I don’t know—somewhere in front of me.
“What makes you say that?” I ask cautiously.
“A hunch.”
“Sounds like paranoia.”
“Sounds like guilt,” he counters smoothly.
I scoff, flipping my phone face down. “I don’t even know what I’d be guilty of.”
“Neither do I. Yet.”
A violent shiver runs down my spine.
There’s something about the way he says it, calmly and confidently, like he’s waiting for me to slip up.
Which is ridiculous because I haven’t done anything wrong, except not want to deliver his order.
I clear my throat, forcing a lightness into my tone. “Well, if you figure it out, let me know. In the meantime, I’ll have your order ready first thing tomorrow morning.”
There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to make me shift uncomfortably. Then, finally, he says, “See that you do.”
And just like that, the call ends.
I exhale loudly, pressing my palm against my forehead.
What the hell was that?
A simple order, and yet I feel like I just walked out of an interrogation room.
The man is intense. And way too good-looking.
A dangerous combination.
“Sienna?”
I glance up to find Lucy watching me from across the counter, arms crossed, one perfectly arched brow lifted in amusement.
With her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun and her bright green eyes glowing with mischief, she looks how she always does—like she knows something I don’t.
Which, unfortunately, is usually true.
“What?”
Her smirk deepens. “You look flushed.”
I roll my eyes and busy myself with wiping down the counter. “It’s hot in here.”
“Uh-huh.” She leans in, her petite frame barely reaching over the counter even on her toes. “Or maybe it’s that very intimidating Russian who just called you to place an order.”
“How do you know?” She points at my order pad, her gold-painted nails tapping against the paper, and I groan. “I hate you.”
She laughs. “No, you don’t. Now spill. What did he say?”
Lucy’s grin widens as she rounds the counter and bumps her hip against mine like she’s trying to shake the answer out of me.
“Come on, Sienna. You’re blushing. What did he say?”
“Nothing. He just… placed an order.”
“For what?”
“Pastries.”
She gasps dramatically. “Pastries? From a bakery? Shocking. Groundbreaking.”
I shoot her a look. “Assorted pastries. And muffins. And bagels.”
“Ooh, fancy. Did he let you pick?”
I huff, crossing my arms because she’s being ridiculous. “Yes, and he was just… I don’t know. All business. No personality. Just very serious and demanding.”
Lucy wiggles her brows. “Hot, right?”
“I don’t want to talk about this. You should take the delivery tomorrow.”
That shuts her up.
“You don’t want to see him again?”
I glance up with a shrug. “No. Why should I? I do enough deliveries. It’s your turn.”
“Since when do we take turns?”
“Since right now.” I slap my hands on the counter. “Come on, Lucy. I did some yesterday. Pick up your slack.”
Her brows knit, appearing concerned. “Was he mean to you?”
“No.”
“Did he say something inappropriate?”
“No, but that sounds like something that might turn you on, so you should just take your cute ass over there and deliver.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “Are you nervous?”
“About?”
“I dunno. You came back flustered yesterday.”
“I walked too fast.”
She pushes out her lips nonchalantly. “Well, you took the order, you deliver them.”
“That’s not a rule.”
“It is now.” She blows a kiss at me, and I swat it out of the air.
She’s so not my best friend anymore.