Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Luck, as it turned out, was not on Andrea’s side.
She opted to sit with her back to the front counter during the interview, in order to minimize the distraction of customers coming and going, but it wasn’t the bustle of foot traffic that threw her off, instead it was the sound of the patisserie’s phone ringing off the hook.
Every few minutes she found herself twisting around at the sound of the jingling trill, her replies to Cliff’s questions trailing off or derailing completely, as she tried to figure out why so many calls were coming through.
When Cliff finally wrapped up and took his basket of complimentary goodies to go, Andrea made a beeline for Paige’s office and asked what was going on.
At first, Paige tried to play it off like normal business, but with a perked brow and a severe glance, Andrea wheedled out the truth: The calls weren’t new orders, they were cancellations.
“We lost the Bradbury Christmas dinner?!” Andrea snapped as she flipped through the order spreadsheet on the iPad.
Paige winced and tried to wield back control of the tablet, but Andrea twisted her body, using her wider hips to block the woman from gaining access. Her eyes roved over the columns of orders as another cell turned red.
Andrea blinked. “What just happened?”
Paige sighed. “I don’t know. Let me go and find out. But, Andrea, please, can you just—”
Andrea whirled around on her heels. “This is William’s fault!” she seethed through clenched teeth. “A hex would be too good for him at this point.”
A new idea took root as she stalked across the narrow hall to her own office, aiming for the small pedestal table near the door where she kept her purse and keys while she was working.
“Where are you going?” Paige asked, chasing to keep up with Andrea.
“I’m going to take Lainey’s advice—”
Paige gasped. “You’re going to turn him into a toad?!”
“No!” Andrea rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go to his office and give his editor a piece of my mind. Maybe it’ll be a waste of time, but I can at least make one hell of a scene!”
“Andrea, are you sure that’s a good idea? Won’t that just make him angrier?”
“He doesn’t even have a right to be angry at me.
He’s the one who cheated!” Andrea scoffed, tossing her short locks around her face.
“He cheats, gets mad when I won’t put up with it, and now he’s trying to ruin my business.
What did I ever see in him? He is such a worm!
On second thought, no, that’s an insult to worms. They’re actually beneficial to the soil or something like that. ”
Andrea had never been one for gardening.
She had books on the subject. Lots of them, in fact.
Beautiful coffee-table books filled with glossy photos, but when it came to her own yard, she found it easier to hire people who knew what they were doing.
And she never had much time to go out and ask questions or learn for herself.
“Andrea, please, don’t do something you’ll regret,” Paige persisted, still chasing in Andrea’s wake as she stormed out of her office and headed for the side exit of the building.
The kitchen hummed with activity, as if it were just another day.
Under any other circumstances, it would be comforting, but at present, it only spiked Andrea’s anxiety higher.
So many people depended on her. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—lose it all.
“In a day or two this will all blow over,” Paige added.
“The Bradburys won’t be the last clients to cancel,” Andrea said, and even as the words left her lips she felt a swell of exhaustion rise up from somewhere deep inside herself. “Others will follow.”
As if on cue, the phone rang.
Andrea was tempted to answer it herself, but Paige was quicker. She lunged toward the nearest phone and answered with her “customer service voice,” the one an octave and a half higher than her usual tone.
A beat passed as the usual greetings were exchanged. Paige smiled warmly and replied, “Oh! Hello, Ramona, so good to hear from you. What can I—” Her face fell. “Oh, no, no. I can assure you, everything will be absolutely perfect for your Christmas party.”
Paige plastered on a smile but a nervous laugh slipped through her lips.
Andrea’s heart sank as her stomach twisted into knots.
“Ramona, you know how these foodie types are—so fickle!” Paige’s false smile slipped and morphed into a thin line and she nodded twice, listening to the woman on the other end of the call. “Of course. I understand. If you change your mind, please let me know.”
Paige listened for another moment, then hung up and dropped the phone back to its base. She didn’t meet Andrea’s eyes.
“That’s it!” Andrea railed.
“Andi, it’s going to be okay. Even without the corporate clients, we’ll still make it through the season.
Tourists will flood the city starting next week!
They won’t have read the column. We might be able to pull some strings and get a booth at the Winter Market.
At the very least, I can send some staff there to circulate flyers or coupons. ”
Andrea’s eyes widened, horror-stricken. “Coupons? Flyers?” Her mouth hung open as she looked around the room.
Every detail so lovingly planned and executed.
From the tile on the floor to the paint on the walls.
The trim and moldings, doors, chairs and tables, stools and display cases.
The menus, the packaging and logos, the custom-made awning stretched over the front windows.
Her rise to fame had started here, within these walls.
And yes, she’d had some help, an inheritance, to get herself started, but she’d been the one to nurture and grow the seed money.
She opened the bakery, later rebranded as a patisserie, and honed her craft.
When her recipes caught the eye of a TV producer, she landed a spot on a reality baking show, then won the championship and the attached cookbook deal.
The first book released to much fanfare, a national tour, TV and newspaper interviews, and an offer to do a second book. Then came the brand deals and endorsements. The dream house, the international travel, the wealth, and prestige.
Surely, one bad review couldn’t undo all of that work.
“Andrea?” Paige said, her voice timid. “Tell me you’re not plotting a murder over there.”
Andrea knew it was a joke—at least, halfway—but she couldn’t find the strength to attempt a laugh or smile.
The heaviness of her anger dragged on her, as though an anchor had dropped onto her shoulders, pushing her to the floor even as she remained standing. On reflex, she reached out and planted one palm against the nearest wall.
She was just so tired. Of everything.
Paige stretched a tentative hand forward and placed it on Andrea’s upper arm.
“Let me handle things here,” she said, her doe eyes full of pleading.
“You hired me to be the manager, so let me manage. You go home, take the rest of the day to rest or cry or blow up a million pecan tarts. Whatever you need to do.”
“So long as it doesn’t involve murder?” Andrea countered, one eyebrow lifted.
A relieved smile bloomed across Paige’s face.
“Yes. So long as it won’t end with a request for bail money and a legal team, have at it.
I know you’re worried about the cookbook and that all of this is the last thing you need, but try to trust me.
I can handle it. You focus on the book and getting caught up on sleep.
Hell, maybe even watch a Hallmark movie or two. ’Tis the season, after all.”
Andrea snorted a laugh. “Sure.”
She couldn’t picture sitting down to watch a cheesy holiday romance about a love affair between a Christmas tree farmer and a distraught city girl with a blown tire. But maybe taking a beat would clear some of the fog from her head and help her focus on the cookbook.
Maybe…
Before she could decide, one of the front counter employees, a twentysomething named Rachelle, rounded the corner and extended a phone toward Paige. The young witch’s eyes looked panic-stricken. “I’m sorry!” she said in a whisper. “It’s Dottie and she’ll only talk to you.”
Andrea didn’t need to ask for the woman’s last name. Dottie Morrow was another corporate client, the hospitality manager for a local boutique hotel.
Paige licked her lips and took the phone from Rachelle with a firm nod. “Thank you. I’ve got it.” She turned her head, aiming that last bit at Andrea, before turning on her warmest smile and answering the call.
“Hello, Dottie! How are you doing? Can you believe it’s already December?”
Just as before, her face fell, though a quick glance at Andrea had her reaching for her placid customer service smile once more.
“Mmhmm. Yes, I completely understand.” A beat and a nod.
Another. “Yes, absolutely. Tell you what, before I do that, let me bring over a sampler basket this afternoon and you can see for yourself. And if you’re not satisfied, I’ll cancel the order and refund this month’s deposit. ”
Andrea blinked, envisioning a truly eye-watering sum.
Paige smiled. “I’ll see you at two-thirty.”
Rachelle stood to one side, chewing her bottom lip. Paige hung up and handed her the phone. “Rachelle, would you mind putting together a gift-wrapped box for Plum Peacock. Two of everything, and make sure it’s perfect. Not a swirl of frosting or sprig of garnish out of place.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rachelle said, clutching the phone to her chest as she scurried away.
Paige turned and faced Andrea. “Want to make a deal?”
Andrea frowned. “What kind of deal?”
“If I get Dottie back on board for her usual Christmas order, you promise to take two full weeks off. Not one pretty little toe back in this place until at least the sixteenth.”