Chapter 21
“Trading trauma for truth. Classic negotiation strategy.” ~ Jeremy
Jeremy
“Thank you for helping,” Parker says once we’ve finished putting away the groceries in the kitchen.
She’s cute if she thinks I’m leaving without learning what the fuck her parents were talking about.
She opens the door and tries to usher me outside. Totally cute. And not happening.
I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the table. “We can do this here or upstairs in the loft but it’s happening.”
“What’s happening?” She fiddles with the hem of her t-shirt and refuses to meet my gaze.
I pinch her chin and lift her face. “Princess.”
“I thought I was a queen.”
“In the bakery, you’re a queen. When it comes to the two of us, you’re my naughty little princess.”
Her eyes flare, and her mouth drops open. As much as I’d love to explore her mouth before moving on to other parts of her, I’m not letting this subject drop.
“Princess,” I growl. “What the hell happened with your parents?”
She shuts down. The passion disappears from her eyes, and the hint of happiness is gone.
“None of your business. This relationship is only for the season. It doesn’t give you access to all of my secrets.”
“True.” Agreeing this relationship is temporary has my stomach curling but I ignore it. I don’t have more to offer Parker even if I wanted to.
“But while we’re together, I won’t allow anyone to treat you poorly. Not even your parents.”
“I have an easy solution.” If she says she wants to end this arrangement, I’m going to lose my shit. I’m not ready to end this. Not even close.
“What?” I bark.
“You can avoid going out in public with me. Easy peasy.”
She looks extremely proud of herself. She’s in for a wake-up call.
“I am not going to hide you away like you’re my dirty little secret.”
“Why not? This isn’t serious.”
My entire body rebels at the idea of us being some cheap temporary fling. I inhale a deep breath and get myself under control before I speak.
“I guess we’re doing this here,” I mutter.
She opens her mouth to argue with me but I slam a palm up. I’m done listening to her try and push me away.
“I told you I don’t have contact with my parents.” I wait for her to nod before I continue. “I didn’t tell you why.”
She places a hand on my chest. “You don’t have to tell me, Scrooge.”
I grasp her hand. “I’m telling you and then you’re going to tell me everything that happened with your parents and culinary school.”
She tries to yank her hand away but I hold fast. “I already told you everything.”
I bend over until my face is inches from hers. “You did not tell me everything.”
Surprise flashes in her bright blue eyes before she closes them.
“When I made my first million, I paid off my parents’ debt – their house, credit cards, loans, all of it.”
Her eyes fly open and she meets my gaze. “All of it? How much debt did they have?”
I snort. “Tons. Dad grew up rich. My great-grandfather founded an investment firm on Wall Street. There was money to burn. Until there wasn’t.”
Her brow wrinkles. “I don’t understand.”
“Instead of growing the business, dear old dad bled it dry. He wined and dined clients all over the world while not paying one bit of attention to their money. Once clients realized their portfolios were no longer growing, they moved to different investment firms.”
Her nose wrinkles. “That sucks.”
“No. What sucks is how my parents continued to live their lives as if their bank accounts were flush and the investment firm wasn’t bankrupt.”
“And so you paid off all of their debts.”
I nod. “I did.”
“I hear a but coming.”
I blow out a breath. “When I paid off their debts, I warned them to start living within their means.”
“But they didn’t?”
“Nope. And they expect me to foot the bill when they fly off for breakfast in Paris. Or when Mom buys whatever bag is trendy. Or when they ski in Aspen. The list goes on and on.”
Her jaw drops open. “You’re supporting your parents?”
“No, I’m not.”
“But—”
“And when I refused to pay their bills, they sued me.”
“Sued you?”
“Yes, apparently, I owe them because they raised me.”
She groans. “I know how that feels.”
Which is exactly why I’m telling her this story I never tell anyone. Only Eli knows the truth about my parents because he was there. But I’m telling Parker to get her to open up to me.
“What happened with your parents?”
She blows out a breath. “You know the basics. My parents paid for culinary school, thinking I’d end up working in some fancy bakery in New York City or Paris. When I returned home to start this bakery instead, they became furious.”
“Why?”
She scowls. “My parents are all about prestige. Having a child who owns a patisserie in Paris is prestigious. Having a daughter who owns Pirate’s Pastries is not.”
“Bullshit. You own and manage a bakery, Princess. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Except I’m barely scraping by,” she mutters.
I ignore the comment. I have bigger fish to fry. “Why aren’t you working at a patisserie in Paris?”
She glares at me. “You sound like my parents.”
“Who you are obviously lying to.”
She gasps. “I’m not lying to them.”
Lift a brow. “Really? And you didn’t scratch your palm when you told your parents you don’t know why you didn’t get an apprenticeship after you finished culinary school?”
“I didn’t…”
I point to her hand where she’s scratching her palm.
“Neptune’s beard,” she mutters before stuffing her hands in her pockets.
I palm her neck and squeeze. “What happened, Princess?”
“Why do you think anything happened?”
“Because you’re the best baker I’ve ever met and I’ve been to the best patisseries in Paris.”
Her eyes light up. “You have? Was it heaven? What did you eat? Did it melt in your mouth? Was it orgasmic?”
I open my mouth to tell her I’ll fly her to Paris some day for her to experience a patisserie for herself. I manage to bite my tongue before I say those words. I don’t fly women to Paris. It creates expectations.
But I want to fly Parker to Paris. I want to witness the marvel on her face when she walks into a French patisserie for the first time. When she tries a madeleine for the first time.
“I’ll give you a blow by blow of every patisserie I’ve ever visited in Paris if you tell me the truth.”
“You’re mean, Scrooge.”
I brush the hair off her forehead. “I’m negotiating.”
“But I’ve never told anyone what happened.”
“I’ll be your first.”
“Ugh.” She stomps her foot. “I never realized Scrooge was this tenacious.”
“I can be very, very tenacious.” I draw my finger down her face to her neck but stop before I touch her breasts. Her breath hitches.
“You’re not playing fair.”
“I never said I’d play fair, Princess.”
She stares into my eyes for several moments before she nods.
“Okay, I’ll tell you. But if you ever tell anyone else, I will bake you a cake, the most delicious cake you’ve ever eaten, except it will be filled with a poison only Circe would know about.
And you will die a slow, agonizing death while the doctors fail to diagnose you. ”
I shiver at the promise in her eyes. “Agreed.”
“It’s all Halston’s fault.”
“Halston sounds like a prick.”
“Oh, he is.” Her eyes narrow, and a muscle ticks in her jaw. “He’s worse than a prick. He’s a lying, conniving asshole who wouldn’t know what to do with a rolling pin if it came with instructions.”
I squeeze her hands. “What did he do?”
“At culinary school, not much. But when he found out I was graduating at the top of the class and therefore had secured the apprenticeship at a famous Paris patisserie, he lost his mind. He assumed since Daddy was rich, he’d get the spot. And he did.”
“How?”
“He claimed I cheated on the final baking exam. He said I used bought caramel. As if I would ever buy caramel. The head chef didn’t believe him.
No one did. But the owner of the school insisted it was true – probably because Halston’s dad was a billionaire who could buy anyone – and I lost my apprenticeship.
It was too late in the year for me to apply for another one. ”
It all makes sense now. Why she’s not in Paris. Why she hates billionaires. Why she wants nothing to do with my money.
“I could have waited a year for another chance but then I would have had to explain to my parents what happened.” She shakes her head.
“I’m never explaining to them how I thought Halston was a good guy.
How I helped him at our final baking exam.
How I thought he was different and cared for me. How I thought I loved him.”
I growl. My princess did not love some entitled prick who used her.
“What’s Halston’s last name?”
She shakes a finger at me. “Nope. You aren’t getting my revenge for me.”
“I have connections. My revenge would target his parents and the little prick.”
She fists her hands on her hips. “This is my problem to deal with. Not yours.”
“Wrong. You’re—”
My telephone rings to cut me off. Which is a good thing since I was about to say she’s mine. Parker isn’t mine. She’s only mine for the season. On January first, I’ll be gone from Smuggler’s Hideaway and out of her life.