Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
I stood outside the bakery in the same way that I had forever, only this time, my anxiety nearly forced me to turn around. In the light of day, my rational brain was pretty pissed at the impulsive agreement made by the light of the moon. What the hell was I doing? Why had I let myself be talked into doing this?
Mom had happily given me a leave of absence when I mentioned working with Jared. In her brain, I’m sure it was an opportunity to get in good with these big money, big name restaurant guys, which I had never thought was a priority for her. She had built herself up as the antithesis of big name, flashy, recognizable chains, but maybe that was only from lack of availability.
Either way, here I was, standing in front of this goddamn bakery that had been turning into the bane of my existence rather than the thing with hope and feathers. That’s what Emily Dickinson was talking about right? Regardless, it felt way worse showing up here to work for someone else. The point had been to keep your enemies close and all that, but it felt like I was betraying myself in even pretending to help him.
The door swung open, blasting me with cold air.
“You coming in?” Jared asked as he held the door open and waved his other hand ushering me in. He had a unique way of making me feel like a total idiot every time I did anything. Or maybe that was all my own traitorous brain’s doing.
I walked over the threshold without a word. I wasn’t going to risk sounding more uncertain of myself than I already had. I wanted to maintain some small air of confidence even if it was entirely fake. It seemed like I only had strength to stand up for myself when I was burning with rage. I needed to foster that in any way I could.
“So, what do you want to do first?” he asked as we walked through the mess of the front-end that hadn’t been touched by any clean out.
I folded my arms over my chest. I saw his eyes flick downward briefly with the movement and heat surged through me. I forced myself to focus. There was risk involved there. He was handsome, which had a way of disarming me. I couldn’t decide if it was better to be disarmed or full of heartbreak and rage. Still, I would watch this man suffer if it was the last thing I did.
“I’d like to see the budget and the renovation estimate, the business plan, and the marketing strategy that you’ve put together,” I said .
He laughed, and once again, I felt like a foolish child. I thought those were all reasonable things to want to see, but of course, I didn’t have any experience opening a bakery. I had only been dreaming of it for years. Maybe I sounded naive or something.
“Come on,” he said, not clueing me in to what the hell he was laughing at. “I have to admit, I didn’t get as far as all of that, much to the chagrin of the Wallace empire, as you would call it. But I’ll show you what I have.”
I followed him through the front-end of the bakery into the office. I let my gaze drift briefly to the window.
My beach view window—at least for now, I thought with a smirk.
No matter what he put me through or how he treated me or how many times he laughed, I was here now, and I planned to make the most of it.
We sat together at the table, and he looked from the computer to me more times than necessary before turning the screen in my direction.
“I’ve gotta get a printer,” he said. “Then you can have a copy.”
“Or you could, you know, share the documents digitally,” I said with a lifted eyebrow.
“Right.”
“You have some top-secret shit on your computer that you don’t want me to see?”
“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?” he asked.
I thought about that for a moment. The only thing that I wouldn’t want anyone to see on my computer would be my private messages w ith PotatoBake888. They were both too personal and too embarrassing that I had such a personal relationship with a stranger. It wasn’t the early 2000s, after all. People didn’t have relationships with strangers online—we were supposed to have more common sense than that.
“This is the overall budget.” He pointed to different lines on his spreadsheet as he spoke. Admittedly, it was more money than I had been expecting and my heart thundered in my chest a little bit at the thought of having those kinds of funds at my disposal, at least temporarily. “This is what I allotted for the renovations. Here’s the marketing.”
I nodded along. I did the budgeting for The Lobster Tail, so there wasn’t anything surprising aside from the outsized amounts. It must be nice to go through life with the kind of budget to pay your way to success in every situation.
A sinking feeling dropped through my stomach. I never had a chance at taking this man down from the outside. I would be lucky to do it even from the inside. The world catered to men like this, structured to prevent him from experiencing any hardship. I probably could have poisoned his food with laxatives and written all the nasty reviews my mind could think of, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. He could just throw money at it. That’s what he was doing now. He bought a bakery on a whim and was throwing money at it.
I sighed.
“You don’t approve?”
When I looked up from the screen his eyes rested on me. “What’s not to approve of?” .
“Of course, half will be yours to work with,” he said.
I shrugged.
“You think it’s not enough?”
I laughed. “It’s what I should have expected.”
“Is it a problem?” he asked.
I shrugged again. How could I possibly explain to him the privilege he enjoyed or why it made my blood boil?
“Could you share this with me? I’m going to need it in order to start planning,” I said instead.
“Sure,” he said. “Let me see.” He stared at the computer. “Um.”
“Oh my god,” I laughed. “Let me do it.” I reached for the computer but before my fingers so much as brushed the mouse pad, he jerked it away.
“I’ll figure it out. Just write down your email.”
“So you have big secrets,” I said. “You a serial killer or something? Oh, maybe it’s fraud? Or all the recipes you stole. Maybe all your success is on the backs of unpaid labor!”
“The way you said that, I can’t help but wonder which one would be worse in your book,” he said.
“Hard to say. I guess murder is kind of a red flag, but exploiting workers, that's a dealbreaker. I couldn’t work for a company who does that.”
“At least you have your standards,” he said.
“Yep. Let me know now,” I said.
“I’m not exploiting labor. I don’t have any at the moment, anyway.”
“In your other restaurants?”
“I’m not all that involved in those beyond my last name. ”
“Ah, family drama! Makes sense,” I said, nodding my head. While I was partially joking, it actually did make some sense. The Wallaces were practically a corporate machine. Those types of restaurants didn’t do anything like a small-town bakery. They did everything by focus groups and committees. The email I saw on his computer made a little bit more sense if their family was strained, and he had somehow managed to forge out on his own. “You gonna name this place after yourself?” The question occurred to me as bile rose from my stomach, threatening to climb up my throat.
“Haven’t decided on a name yet. Any thoughts?”
Oh, I had thoughts. Lots and lots of thoughts that I had considered over years and years. But I had no intention of sharing them with him. Not yet, anyway. Why did he want my thoughts? To steal them or because he genuinely valued my opinion? He was strangely personable. I had known from the night we met that he was easy to be around, but I somehow hadn’t expected him to be so—kind. Unless, of course, it was all an act.
Once I’d written down my email address, we walked through the kitchen which also hadn’t been cleared or updated. Without a menu or inventory to start cooking with, I decided to go home to continue planning. I wasn’t going to get anything done with Jared watching over my shoulder.