56. Alexandra
fifty-six
The company car drops me off at Red Barn Baking and smoothly pulls off the curb to drive Sarah straight to our Brooklyn apartment. The perk of owning the company, like Sarah said.
My best friend is way more excited than I am by this whole turn of events in my life.
The offices at Red Barn Baking are just as sterile as I remember them. No smell, controlled temperature, hushed sounds of computer clicks and voices behind doors.
I go straight to Barbara’s office, only to find it occupied by a new face.
Right.
Barbara was let go.
For now.
But I know she’s here, because she said so herself.
I make for the conference room two doors down—because where else would the meeting take place—and am greeted by familiar faces.
On the longer side of the table, facing the windows, the same man and woman from the law firm who handled Rita’s will. They’re wearing light-colored suits this time around. It’s summer. Neat piles of documents in front of them like six months ago, except thicker, with colored little stickers poking out for signatures. The man is nervously flicking his pen. The woman shoots glances at me, like I’m about to do something as outrageous as take a pee break in the middle of a meeting again.
Barbara is sitting across from them, with equally neat files in front of her. The top one is labeled RBB 2.0.
Nice.
She winks at me. I smile back. We’ll hug later. No point rubbing anything in.
The spot at one end of the table—under the poster of a red barn in a picturesque Vermont landscape complete with hot baker in plaid flannel shirt holding a big, wholesome bread that is definitely not on the menu of any Red Barn Bakery anywhere in the country—is occupied by Robert’s usual accessories: A fat, black fountain pen with a stylized snowflake on the cap—I’ve been told it’s expensive; A notebook in leather binding; A bottle of Perrier, and a crystal glass with our logo etched on it.
The logo is killer.
We’re totally keeping the logo.
Everything else is up for discussion.
Except maybe the poster. My eyes keep returning to the baker in the painting. Something about the way his hair falls over his left eye. Something about his shy grin.
I take my seat at the opposite end of the table.
My eyes fall back on Barbara. “We’re missing a few people,” I tell her.
Robert strolls in, checks his watch, loudly pulls out his chair and slumps into it. Avoids making eye contact with me.
“I thought we could bring them in for the second part of the meeting,” Barbara says, glancing at Robert, then at the lawyers.
“Right.” We didn’t have time to iron out all the details, so glances and insinuations will have to do. Not having my phone isn’t helping the strategizing of all this. “Let’s get this over and done with,” I tell the lawyers.
“Before we go any further,” Robert interrupts me. “I’d like to present that the board’s offer still holds.”
He’s kidding, right?
I glance at the lawyers, and they look near panicked. This was not planned. At least there’s that. I’m not the only one thinking he’s lost it.
“It looks like Mr. Norwood is confused as to the purpose of this meeting,” I say. That sounded in control, right? I don’t want to be bitchy, but enough already.
The woman clears her throat and jumps in. “We’re here to formally confirm the transfer of shares of the late Ms. Douglas, representing the controlling majority of Red Barn Baking.” She looks at no one, only focusing on the paperwork the man next to her hands her, one document at a time. She does all sorts of lawyerly things to them, stamping, signing, all the while explaining what she’s doing and what each document represents. A recap of the conditions in the will. A formal acknowledgment of my successful completion of the apprenticeship. More stuff about the exam. A formal transfer of shares. A thorough scrutiny of all the above.
As she completes each pile, the man brings them to me to sign.
Robert is getting very pale.
We’re almost there.
“There, all done,” the woman says, visibly relieved. “Would you like to continue without us?” she asks.
They were not only Rita’s lawyers, they’re also Red Barn Baking counsels, so having them around for the next part might prove useful. I’m about to fire Robert. “Why don’t you stay.”
I’ve never fired anyone in my life. It’s the fucking scariest thing. I have to fire a guy who’s had so much power over me, and who used to scare me, you’d think I’d take some level of sadistic pleasure in it? I don’t.
He looks at me. Stands from his chair, grabs his expensive shit, and says, “If you think I’m gonna be working for you, think again. Consider this my resignation. You got witnesses, save us some paperwork. Good luck running this fucking place.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
Well, that was easy.
Must be beginner’s luck. In the moments that follow, the room fills with the top people in the Finance, Marketing, Product, and Assets departments. The heads of departments take seats. Their seconds stand behind them.
I don’t like that one bit.
“Greetings, everyone,” I say. “Thanks for being here. First things first, let’s make this a little more workable.” I grab the edge of the table. “Everyone standing, go grab a chair. Everyone sitting, please stand and help me move this mammoth out of the way.”
There’s a bit of hesitation, and then one by one everyone starts moving. After much pushing and shoving, we have the conference table nudged sideways, against the far wall, right below the projection screen. Within ten minutes, a group of people with sleeves rolled up are talking to each other, pushing, pulling, then sitting in chairs arranged in a large circle where everyone fits.
“That wasn’t working,” I say once the voices quiet down. I take a seat within the circle, my back to the door. At any time now, the consultants will get here, and I want to be able to greet them personally. “With everyone’s help, we turned a stifling room into a convivial gathering. This is what I want to do with Red Barn Baking.”
I go on to explain the broad lines of my vision, and as I’m doing so, Barbara leans into my ear, and says, “The consultant just arrived in the building.” I nod and continue rolling out my plan. There’s an absolutely mouthwatering smell invading the room, and for a beat, I wonder if I’m manifesting the smell of bread as I’m talking about the soul-deep connections we make around bread.
“I’m counting on each one of you to give your honest opinion of the feasibility of all this, but I do need you to be fully on board if you’re going to stay with RBB. There will be no hard feelings if you decide this is not for you, and you’d rather pursue your career somewhere else.” I pause for effect. “That being said, I’m told our consultant is in the building, and—oh my god.” There’re baskets of bread being handed around, making their way to the table in the back, which is quickly set up like a buffet. People are standing up, attracted to the smell. “Whoever dreamed this up, you have a promotion already,” I say giggling.
Then I turn around to greet the consultant and my giggle dies in my throat while my knees buckle and the room spins.
Christopher is leaning against the door jamb, holding a dark suit jacket over his shoulder. “I like your vision, Ms. Pierce,” he says in a low, rumbling voice. “I’d be honored to help you bring it to life, if you’ll allow me to help.”
I steady myself on the back of a chair while our eyes lock.
He came. He came here.
All the way here.
To help me.
His gaze all but eats me up, top to bottom and back up again. His eyes are circled with fatigue, and he’s lost weight. But his gaze is full of love, so intense I can feel it. He came for so much more than to help with Red Barn.
Our eyes are locked for what seems like an eternity, saying all that we cannot yet tell each other. Sorrow. Love. Forgiveness. I’m so overwhelmed by the force of it, that I shut my eyes momentarily. When I look up again, Christopher is walking past me, into the room, and as he does so, his fingers lightly touch mine, the burn radiating to my core.
Turning around to face the room, I open and close my mouth twice, without any effect.
Barbara jumps in, closes the door behind Christopher, and introduces him as the consultant for Red Barn’s Makeover—as we are now calling it—and also as the baker who made all the breads and confections everyone’s started sampling.
I plop back in my seat. People follow suit, and I let Christopher take over the meeting. He wraps his jacket on the back of a chair, then chooses to stand in the middle of the circle. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt are rolled up to his elbows, and his aviator sunglasses hang from the top button of his shirt, reflecting the light.
The moment he starts talking, he owns the room.
No one seems to notice my reaction to his presence. People are too busy staring at him, drinking in his words. Everyone is mesmerized by his charisma, his passion, his ideas. He makes this conference room look small.
I should probably be interjecting, commenting, proposing, but my mind is racing in all sorts of directions. Did I read him right? Is he really here because of me?
His voice rumbles softly across the room. He’s standing in the middle of the circle, slowly walking around.
My heartbeat is so loud the people sitting next to me must hear it.
“… being in tune with the communities that each bakery serves,” he’s saying. “Let’s be mindful of established traditions while adjusting to newcomers.”
Or is he here only because Barbara begged him to?She would be one to guilt-trip him.
For all his groveling over video, part of it might have been out of guilt and worry and part of it due to alcohol.
Until we’ve talked this through, I don’t know what the future holds for us.
I can’t know how he really feels about me.
If he wants anything other than a consulting gig.
He’s turned one-eighty now, and I lift my eyes to him.
His gaze rakes over me. I uncross and recross my bare legs.
I need to keep it together.
Maybe he’s just here as a consultant. He did call me Ms. Pierce, after all.
God, I can’t wait for his presentation to be over.
“Happy Fourth of July! Enjoy the long weekend if I don’t see you tomorrow,” I tell everyone as they file out of the room with wide smiles. “We have a long road ahead, but we have a solid road map.”
I have a good feeling about Red Barn Baking now.
But as Barbara exits the room and closes the door behind me, leaving me alone with Christopher, I don’t know where to even begin the conversation with him.
It’s so strange, seeing him right here. You’d think he would seem out of place, but he doesn’t. Not at all.
He props himself against the table in the back, his gaze hungrily devouring me.
I take a tentative step toward him, then another, through the maze of chairs strewn across the room.
He doesn’t say anything, so I stop.
He extends his hand and pushes himself from the table.
In an instant, my hand reaches his, our fingers twine, and we both freeze.
“Is it true what you said, on the videos?”
He pulls me closer to him. “You saw them?” he asks, his voice betraying his surprise, his lips curling up.
“This morning, on my way here,” I explain. I can barely find my voice, I want him to hold me so bad. “Is it true, what you said?”
“Said what?”
“That you wanted me back.”
He pushes a stray hair behind my ear. His hand warms my neck, and goosebumps trail down my body. His gaze caresses me softly, until his eyes darken. “I never let you go, beautiful.”
My heart thumps, my legs weaken, and I lean into his touch.
His other hand softly cups my hip and trails around my waist, pulling me closer to him. “I was stupidly angry. Dealing with my own shit. Never should have let it get in the way of this,” he says, his head dipping.
Our lips clash and our mouths meld to each other, our tongues reclaiming their familiar territory without missing a beat. There’s no hesitation, no question.
We belong together.
Within seconds, I’m coiled around him, one leg wrapped against his hip, his hands kneading my ass, my hands fisting his hair.
A knock on the door startles him, and I feel him pull away. I pull him deeper into me.
I own this freaking place. There’s got to be some perks, right?
“I like the new leadership style,” Barbara says behind me.
We keep kissing.
“Whenever you’re ready, the new lawyers are here. Last item on the agenda before the weekend.”
She closes the door softly, and we continue our makeout session.
“I like your leadership style too, Pierce,” Christopher says as we come up for air.
“Yeah?” I brush his nose with mine, nibble on his lower lip, and say against his mouth, “I apprenticed with this awesome baker. Got it from him.”