Chapter Three
Xander
November and December were some of the busiest times in the office. We were watching numbers more closely than usual, and I was on top of everything. That was why I usually didn’t get home until well into the evening. But unlike my brother Julian, I enjoyed spending all my time at work. Everything was calm and orderly. Julian said being cooped up in the office drove him mad, which was why he went into his flagship bar in the French Quarter a few times a week.
But even though I had a million things to do, I left the office at three o’clock the next Wednesday. I’d promised my grandmothers that I’d see the confectionery, and I intended to keep that promise. Besides, I hadn’t been joking. I really did want to get a feel for it before I pitched it to a potential buyer. Or closed its doors.
Lydia jerked her head back when she saw me with my coat. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I’m heading to the confectionery. There’s nothing else on my schedule, right?” She looked so shocked that I wondered if I’d forgotten about something.
“No, no. As I told you, the team from Dallas couldn’t come because they all have the flu.”
“Unfortunate, but perfect. Call me if anything urgent comes up.”
“Sure.” She still sounded perplexed. I didn’t blame her. Even when meetings were canceled, I rarely left the office unless my niece or my family needed me for some reason. Otherwise, I was behind my desk until at least six or seven o’clock.
I put the confectionery’s address in the GPS and groaned. Why the fuck was it so far away? Then again, that was why the building they were in had been so cheap. It would be a good asset to sell to anyone interested. I was already making up a pitch in my mind. I knew the numbers by heart, which was both a blessing and a curse for me—once I saw numbers, I couldn’t forget them.
Even though it was a very small operation, it could be a good add-on for someone already in the chocolate industry. Any buyer worth his salt would see that.
The drive didn’t take as long as I initially thought it would. The redbrick building looked solid enough. I immediately viewed it from a buyer’s perspective, and no immediate investments were needed. My grandmothers called this place “charming,” but all I could see was a waste of money. I was all about honoring legacy, but the Orleans Conglomerate needed to be brought into the modern era.
I stepped through the front gate into a huge yard and blinked. Are those twinkle lights? I was pretty sure that’s what Bella called them—and they were everywhere. There was also a huge willow tree in the center and about a million ferns scattered throughout the area.
I stepped forward, looking for the entrance, and immediately found it. It was cracked open, and Christmas carols were filtering out. It was the first time I’d heard them this season, and in my opinion, it was far too early.
“Hello? Anyone here?” I asked, knocking at the front door.
“Who is it? It’s just me, Bailey, here. Everyone else has left for the day.”
That’s how she announces herself? Is she inviting people to rob her?
“It’s Xander LeBlanc.”
“Oh.” Her reaction told me that my grandmothers had already informed her of everything. “Come in.”
The place smelled like oranges and a lot of other things I couldn’t pinpoint. I’d never had a very discerning nose, as Isabeau would say.
I followed the sound of pans and whatnot until I came to what was obviously a kitchen. I immediately took stock of the six stoves. Only two were currently working.
“I’ll be finished with this right away,” Bailey said.
My eyes widened when I caught sight of her, surprised at how gorgeous she was. Her dark brown hair was in a lopsided ponytail. I couldn’t see the color of her eyes from here, but the shape of her mouth was exquisite.
Fuck! What has gotten into me? I didn’t normally notice things like that when I was inspecting a business.
“Okay, now it’s done.” She put the bowl down and straightened up. Her eyes were impossibly green. Is she wearing colored contacts? “I’m Bailey LeCarre. Your grandmothers said you were going to stop by but didn’t mention when.”
“I decided on a whim to come today.”
“As I said, it’s just me right now. Everyone else already left for the day.”
“At four o’clock?” I asked incredulously.
She narrowed her eyes. “They had errands to run. They didn’t just go home to rest.”
I’d clearly come on too strong. I didn’t want to antagonize her, but something about her was throwing me off my game.
She pointed to the bowl. “If you give me a few minutes, I’ll put this in the oven. Then we can talk and I can show you around.”
“Sounds good.”
“Do you want anything to drink? We prepare snacks for your grandmothers when they come by, but since I didn’t know...”
That was thoughtful. Isabeau and Celine loved snacks.
“I’m good. I’ll just wait for you to finish.”
I was having trouble keeping my eyes on hers instead of her mouth and... other parts of her body. She moved around efficiently, and only five minutes later, she shoved a trayful of pralines into the oven.
She turned around, giving a small smile. “I’m all yours.”
Fuck me! I could imagine her saying that sentence while lying in my bed—
What the hell? I had no idea what had gotten into me. Instant lust or attraction wasn’t part of my vocabulary. I was far too logical for that.
“What exactly did my grandmothers tell you?” I asked.
Her smile fell, and she held her arms out at her sides. “That you plan to sell this off.”
“This operation isn’t making a profit. You have to know that, right?”
“Yes, of course. But your grandmothers always insisted that this place wasn’t made to be profitable. I mean, we’re not selling our products to anyone. It’s only used internally for business, or charity. How do you even measure profits in this case?”
It was a genuine question.
“Well, since there’s no income, I simply look at the costs and—”
“It would be cheaper if you just bought the pralines from somewhere else,” she finished for me.
“Exactly.”
“I see. Well, let me show you around and tell you a bit about the business. I don’t know how much you know.”
“Not a lot,” I admitted. “I just follow what the numbers say.”
Her smile fell again. “The numbers? Xander, this place is...” She shook her head. “Never mind.” She turned to the side so I could see past her. “Well, this is the kitchen. My sister and I are the chefs, but it’s really just the two of us, so we have no one to preside over. It gets a bit tricky around Christmas when we’ve got a lot of orders, but that’s when the errand guys we have also pitch in. The ovens are state of the art. We bought them a few years ago.”
“Were they really necessary?” I couldn’t help myself. That had been on my mind ever since I’d seen the purchase in our records.
Her eyes turned steely. I was somehow managing to make this Christmas carol lover/candy maker mad at me. “They’re far more efficient as far as electricity goes. And the other ones were old as dirt. They weren’t even baking evenly anymore, which is very important when you’re making pralines.”
“Fair enough. It’s not my area of expertise.”
She gave me a smile that obviously meant “Clearly,” then walked toward a small door. “Through here is our pantry.” She opened it, and I could see a vast space filled from floor to ceiling with jars. “The next room is what I call our assembly room, but it’s basically just a room with boxes where we pack the pralines before delivering them.”
“And that delivery couldn’t be outsourced?”
She replied in a rather brusque tone, “As I said before, they also double as kitchen helpers during rush season. All the boxes you see here are for Christmas. Throughout the year we use others. It depends on what kind of charity we’re taking the pralines to, or if any of your restaurants and bars have a celebration. My favorites are the boxes we donate to the children’s hospital. The kids are always so happy to get our pralines.”
I could tell she really cared about this place. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Seven years.”
“And both you and your sister went to culinary school?”
“Pastry school,” she said.
“Right. So, this isn’t really a good use of your skills, is it?”
She bristled. “We make the best pralines in town. I’d say it’s an excellent use of our degrees.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” I assured her. “If I end up selling this off and the next owner wants to bring in his own team, you’d be free to work in a bigger establishment. Surely the aspiration of any chef would be to work in a bigger kitchen, right?”
“I happen to be quite happy with how things are, Xander. I love life at the confectionery. But clearly you and I have different ideas about—” She gave me a sad smile. “—everything. But we do at least have this Christmas season, right? That’s what your grandmothers said.”
“Yes, of course. I know this is the busiest season. I wouldn’t close down operations now. I’ll keep an eye on things and make a decision after.”
Her eyes suddenly turned warm. “So, it’s not definitive yet?”
“I promised my grandmothers that I’ll think this through thoroughly, so that’s what I’ll do.”
I was surprised she was so passionate about this. I’d figured it was just a job. But I was even more surprised by my reaction to her.
“All right, then. Well, it’s best if you give me a heads-up if you plan to drop by again or whatever ‘keeping an eye on’ involves. That way I can make sure you can meet the rest of the team as well.”
“Will do. Can you give me your phone number?”
“Sure.”
I gave her my phone, and she immediately typed it in. Her hands looked so damn soft. I was tempted to find an excuse to touch them and see if they were as exquisite as they look.
Stop, damn it! Until the next time I saw her, I had to get myself together. I always acted professionally. Always .
Now I was in danger of doing the exact opposite. And that wouldn’t do.