Chapter 8
Quinn
I ’m deep in my Lorraine Forever playlist, ridiculously dance-mopping the floor of the bakery to Gino Vannelli’s “Black Cars” like a woman who thinks she’s completely alone, when I realize that I am not.
Because the front door is open, and a dark figure is standing in it. Staring at me.
I shriek.
The music is so loud, I didn’t even hear the electronic jingle that signals the front door opening. Or notice the man in black who opened it to watch me dance-mop. Like a freaking stalker.
It’s Harlan Vance.
He frowns at me, and my stomach twists into a hungry little knot.
I slap at my phone, which is sitting on the counter, to shut the music off. It’s Thursday afternoon, the bakery just closed, and I’m the only one still in. How did he even know I was here?
I haven’t seen him or heard from him since dinner at his place on Saturday night. I really never expected to see him again. But maybe some small part of me knew—or at least hoped—that I would.
As he lets the door shut behind himself, he scowls at the Sorry We’re Half-Baked, Please Come Again sign.
“Cute sign,” he says, like the sign is not cute at all.
Justin thinks it’s cute. I told him it sounds like we’re getting stoned in the back room. I can see Harlan agrees.
“My boss picked it out,” I say, heart thudding, as I move to lock the door behind him. I thought I already locked it.
Our eyes connect.
We’re now standing way too close for a super hot boss and an employee he blackmailed and then kissed who are suddenly alone together in a room. Yet neither of us backs away.
“You mean your other boss,” he growls, in a low, displeased voice.
“I mean the man I’m seeing.”
Unfortunately, that’s still present tense. Technically. Though to my girlfriends’ delight, it’s about to become past tense, officially. They all know about Justin’s cheating by now. He still hasn’t said a word to me about chocolate girl, or made any attempt to repair the broken state of our relationship. In fact, he seems grossly oblivious to it. So, I’ve decided to put my big girl panties on and tell him that it’s over. Tonight.
He’s swinging by to pick me up soon. He thinks we’re going on a date—a date that I insisted we go on, to a decent restaurant. Which means he probably thinks he’s getting laid afterwards. It was the only way I could ensure he’d show up, the man has been so tuned out lately.
None of which is Harlan Vance’s business.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him warily. “I have dinner plans.”
He wanders around the bakery, and even looks into the back room, like he owns the place.
While I stare, unfairly fascinated with his every move—wolfish, predatory, commanding—in that black suit.
“Yes… I see life is good.” His eyes drag over the mop handle that’s still in my hand, with what I think is resentment.
“What, this?” I tip my chin up. “It’s called making lemonade.” I tuck the mop away, embarrassed, but clinging to my dignity, and trying to appear unfazed that he caught me dancing with it.
I have every right to try to make lemonade out of the lemons I’ve been dealt lately. I don’t have to justify it to him.
The truth is, it’s been a sucky month, the highlight of which was dinner at his place. I have to admit that I kind of liked what happened that night with his family, when we pretended to be lovers.
It was a nice fantasy for a few hours.
So, yeah.
Sucky.
“Are you here alone?” he asks me, frowning as he completes his nosy lap of the place.
“Yes. Why?”
“You should turn the volume down when you’re working alone.”
“Good idea. I wouldn’t want any overstepping employers creeping up on me.”
His frown deepens. But what can I say? Ever since he kissed me at dinner, then ignored me through dessert, then rushed me the hell out of his house—after I did everything he told me to do, against my better morals—I’m feeling pretty over his whole just-do-whatever-I-say-because-I’m-your-employer thing.
Or maybe I just didn’t like it that he told me—repeatedly—that we’d never see each other again.
I don’t like this feeling, either, that I don’t want to never see him again. I know I’m in danger of wanting too much, things I can’t have, with this man. I feel drawn to him, and I don’t know what to do about it—except never see him again.
“We need to talk,” he informs me.
“Yeah. We probably do.” I take a breath. “I feel like we should clarify things.”
His eyes narrow. “What things?”
“I appreciate what you did, promising me that I can keep my job at Velvet. But we can’t see each other.”
“I realize that.” He adjusts his collar, like it’s too tight, but it’s already unbuttoned. “I told you that.”
“I just wanted to be clear. Because it felt like there was something left unfinished between us…”
“Like what?”
Just say it. “Well… it felt like you wanted to kiss me.”
His eyes darken hotly. “Yes. And you kissed me back.”
“You pressed me up against a wall!”
“You used your tongue.” His heated gaze drops to my lips, and stays there.
I clamp my mouth shut.
Okay… I did not expect him to bring that up.
And who can remember whose tongue did what? It was hot and wet and fucking good , and how was I supposed to keep track of such things?
I turn away, trying to gather myself, then turn back. “Do you have any idea how freaked out I was to find out that I’m not allowed to be involved with you? You knew that, and you still introduced me to your family as your lover. You could’ve warned me.”
“Yes. And you could’ve read your employment package, and the contract you signed.”
“Yeah. I guess I could’ve.”
I mean, I did. Mostly. That contract was thick .
I guess I can see why now. Life lesson learned.
“And that is why you need to quit,” he says.
“Uh… pardon me?”
“Let’s sit down.” He pulls down one of the chairs that are turned up on the tables, then another, and waits for me to sit. I slide into a chair nervously.
What is this new flex? He’s here to tell me that kiss meant nothing to him? That it was just some kind of test, which I failed… and now I’ve lost my job, because I broke the rules?
I try to bite my tongue as he sits down, but I can’t. “Couldn’t you have just fired me in the first place, if that was where this was always headed, and saved me the trouble of lying to your family?”
His jaw clenches. I suppose he doesn’t appreciate my tone. “That wasn’t where this was headed. But my family isn’t comfortable with our relationship, even though I told them it’s over now. Which is why I got you a new job.”
“What new job?” I ask skeptically.
“A better job. At an exclusive private club that I do not own.”
“That is not what we agreed on.”
“I know. But we both know this is what’s best. You and I…” His gaze snags on my lips again. “We can’t be a thing.”
My heart thumps wildly. He feels it too, is that what he’s saying?
This dark, sweet, sticky pull between us…
Nope. I am not getting side-tracked here. I don’t care how hot he is.
Or how delicious he tastes.
Stand your ground.
“So now I’m being punished, because I broke the rules and slept with you? You’re the one in the position of power. And it’s not even true! And you kissed me .”
“It’s a better job,” he repeats.
“You said you’d protect me!”
“And this is me, protecting you,” he says calmly.
“How can I trust you? You already made me a promise, that I could keep the job at Velvet.”
“You want this job,” he says simply. “It means a pay raise.”
Okay, I’d love to tell him where to go right now. But, shit. I’m curious.
“What private club is it?”
“I can’t tell you until you’re officially hired and you sign the NDA. That private.”
I don’t want to be intrigued. I am not intrigued.
So he’s connected to other business owners in town. Who are probably just like him. Bossy. Manipulating. Endowed with big-dick energy and out-of-control god complexes. Thinking they can just walk into your life and tell you what to do…
“You know, you can’t just control other people’s lives like some puppet master.”
“Can’t I?” he says flatly.
“No. You can’t. And just because you’re handsome doesn’t mean you can demand whatever you want from a woman, and expect to get it.”
He stares at me, and I stare right back, unflinching, even as my cheeks heat.
“So you don’t want the job. Would you rather find your own new job?”
Ugh. I am not daunted by the prospect of job searching right now.
Yes, yes I am. And by his tone of voice, he knows it.
“That’s not what I said.”
“Good. You seem like a smart girl. Which means you understand that this is the best job offer you’re going to get.”
“Woman. You mean, I’m a smart woman.”
“Did I mention that you can set your own wage? Within reason.”
I’m not intrigued, I’m stunned. “How does that work? Who owns this club?”
“My brother Damian owns it. Just him,” he clarifies. “No one else in my family, including me.”
Okay, so I’m intrigued, just a bit. “And it pays even better than Velvet?”
“Yes.”
“So what’s the catch?”
“There is none. The job is already yours. But you do have to quit working for Vance Industries. To protect us both. Then we’ll just pretend that this”—his gaze rakes over me, like he’s trying not to look, but can’t help it—“never happened.”
I don’t know what to do with that look.
He’s pushing me away. But maybe he doesn’t want to?
I wonder if he thinks he needs to.
“Are you getting rid of me because you made me lie to your family, and you think I might tell them? Like, if I you piss me off enough?”
He glowers at me.
“For the record, I would never hold it over you like that,” I tell him honestly. “That’s called blackmail. And it’s not a nice thing to do.”
We stare at each other in silence. For way too long.
I can’t quite tell if he wants to strangle me or kiss me.
Then he abruptly breaks the spell. “My office will be in touch, to connect you with your new employers.” He starts to rise.
“I’m just wondering…”
He stops. He doesn’t ask what I’m wondering. He looks annoyed. But he settles back into his seat. “Yes?”
“If I don’t work for you anymore,” I say, “then it wouldn’t matter if we’re in a relationship.”
“We’re not.”
“Right. Because I’m not Darla.”
His jaw does that clenching thing. “I’m not with Darla. I told you, that’s over.”
“So, you’re single.”
He stares at me, but he doesn’t answer.
Justin is going to be here soon. I have a relationship to end, and a busy day tomorrow that involves working for my ex. I really don’t have any time or energy for Harlan Vance and all his red flags, which only seem to multiply every time I see him.
I don’t know why I don’t just tell him to leave.
Instead, I say, “My coworker Alessandra is deeply into you.”
“I’m not sure what you expect me to say to that.”
“Why don’t you like her?”
“I don’t know who that is. Nor do I care to.”
“How did you meet Darla?”
“My private life is just that. Private. ”
“And yet you let me into it.”
“No. I did not.”
“Really? How many people know the truth about Darla?”
His frown deepens. “I suppose… just you.”
“And why is that, again?”
He considers me for a moment. “You want to know why I chose you.”
“Yes. I really do.”
“You won’t like the truth.”
I sigh, fucking tired. I was up at four this morning, worked overtime, and I still have a floor to finish mopping, a boss to break up with, groceries to pick up, and laundry to do. “I’m a grown-ass woman, Harlan Vance. I can take it.”
“Okay. I chose you because you needed it. Because you’re taking care of a loved one who’s unwell.”
His words hit me like a punch in the gut.
“And I chose you because you have an impeccable work ethic. But your other ethics are… questionable,” he finishes.
“Wow. You don’t pull punches, do you?”
I get up, turn my back to him, and walk over to one of the display cases. I press my hands to the cool glass surface, trying to stabilize myself, as anger and something like humiliation flood my veins, hot and kind of nauseating.
It feels like he just opened me up and looked inside.
The fact that he used my need to care for Mom… to manipulate me…
I turn to him as he gets up and walks slowly toward me. “But… how did you know anything about me?”
“I had my staff search our employee database,” he says calmly, “to find an employee who met the specific criteria I gave them.”
I seriously can’t believe what I’m hearing.
Who does that?
Oh, right. A man with a serious god complex.
“You told them to find you a fake lover to accompany you to a family dinner?”
“No. I told them to find someone who needed to keep her job, badly, so I have leverage. And someone who would be able to do what I needed her to do. Your situation at home, your secret relationship with your boss, and the fact that you already go by different names made you an ideal candidate.”
“And how did you know,” I say quietly, “that I was in a relationship with my boss? Or that my mom is sick?”
“Surveillance.”
I almost choke on my next words, I’m so shocked. “And is that how you find all your dates? You just go shopping in the employee database? Then stalk them? What a disgusting abuse of power.”
He tilts his head, regarding me for a moment. “You find me disgusting. Is that it?”
“Is that… what?”
His eyes burn as they hold mine. “The reason you don’t want to see me again.”
And I just say it. Because at this point, what does it matter? I can’t lose my job anymore. He’s not my boss anymore if he’s already forced me out. “I didn’t say I don’t want to see you again.” It’s barely a whisper.
“I didn’t say that either,” he growls, and a shiver runs down my spine.
Jesus Christ. This man has me spinning in circles. He wants me? But he can’t have me. Is that what it comes down to?
And he still chose me to pretend to be his fake lover.
And put my job in jeopardy.
After running surveillance on me.
“That’s why you came into Velvet while I was working. You knew who I was. You were watching me. Stalking me. Deciding if I was the ideal candidate.”
“Yes,” he says. Not a trace of shame.
“And was I?”
He frowns. “No, as it turns out.”
I laugh humorlessly. “You would’ve preferred someone who doesn’t talk back so much?” I guess.
“I would’ve preferred someone who doesn’t interest me so much.”
Oh… no .
This is so fucked up.
He stares at me like he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with me.
The feeling is mutual.
He made it clear we can’t be together. But he just came in here to personally offer me an even better job than the one I have at Velvet, and if I’m totally honest with myself, I’m getting this gooey, dangerous feeling that maybe he actually cares. Like maybe he’s not just here to cover his own ass.
Maybe he’s really looking out for me, too. Protecting me, like he said he would.
Maybe he even likes me a little.
And if he does… what do I do with that?
Maybe I’m just desperate to know what it feels like to have a man look out for me because it’s never happened before. But I definitely don’t hate it.
Just standing here talking to him about how I interest him, yet we’re not going to have a relationship, is more exciting than the last six months I’ve spent dating Justin. Having sex with Justin. Waking up next to Justin…
I barely even know this man, but it strikes me as the electricity crackles between us that I don’t really know Justin, either. He never really let me know him.
That man is married to his work, and he has no room for a woman in his life.
He’s so much like me. Too much like me.
Why didn’t I see it until now?
I seriously have the worst man picker.
For example, the man standing in front of me. Nothing but a bad idea, right? And yet I can’t stop thinking it.
What if I really never see him again?
“So… when do I quit Velvet?”
“Right now.”
I can see he’s not kidding.
“Well, when do I start at the new place?”
“Whenever you want to. Day shifts, evenings, whatever you like.”
“I can’t work days. I work here at the bakery six days a week.”
“Not anymore.”
Dread seeps into my gut. “What do you mean?”
“I told you, you can’t work for Vance Industries anymore. Which means you need to quit Velvet, and quit Crave, too.”
“But your family doesn’t own this bakery. Justin does.”
Harlan makes a disgusted sound. “I don’t know what he’s been telling you, Quinn, but clearly he hasn’t told you the news. As of three days ago, your lover boy sold this bakery. To me.”