Chapter 11 #3
I did it all while keeping track of her career. And now, she’s here. In my kitchen.
She takes another step back, and something primal rears up in my chest. Panic. Raw and unfamiliar. My instincts fire, telling me that she's going to run. That I’m going to lose her again.
Not this time.
She came to interview for a junior role but I’m giving her the role of Sous Chef. I’m being impulsive, but for once, I don’t care. I’ve been given a second chance. I’m not going to waste it
Besides, she’s good. She’ll learn. She can fill the gap in the line, right now, and that’s what matters.
Outwardly, I stay relaxed.
“If you don’t want it, there are many who’d give anything to trial as my Sous Chef.”
To find out what happens next read The Unwilling Bride, James and Harper’s story here
To find out what happens next read The Unwilling Bride by L. Steele, James and Harper’s story.
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Here’s an excerpt from The Unwanted Wife by L. Steele, Skylar they are popular amongst my customers."
He turns those searing eyes on me, and it feels like I’m looking into the depths of a frozen lake.
The surface seems able to bear my weight, but one wrong step, and I’m going to fall right through and find myself trapped.
I try to breathe, but all of the oxygen in the room has been sucked out by his presence.
My pulse crashes in my ears, and my nerve endings are so tightly stretched, I fear they’ll snap any second.
And when he shoves a hand in his pocket, pulling the fabric of his pants taut over that bulge between his legs, a slow thud flares to life between mine.
I cannot find him attractive. Cannot risk acknowledging this chemistry that thickens the air between us.
Not when I need his help to save my business.
Not when I know who he is, and he’s definitely out-of-bounds.
Forbidden. Sirens go off in my mind. Back away.
It’s not worth taking on the humungous backlog of complications that are going to come with having anything to do with him.
Then a look of boredom crosses his face. He yawns, and my pulse rate shoots up.
Strike out everything I felt earlier. It’s definitely worth taking on every challenge that comes with getting him to cough up money, because by God, he needs to realize the world doesn’t revolve around him. How can anyone be this full of himself? This insensitive?
Anger squeezes my chest. Adrenaline laces my blood. And how dare he turn the most important meeting of my life into… into… something that doesn’t merit even a few seconds of his attention?
"I’ve seen everything I need to see. Goodbye." He turns to leave.
What the—? He’s leaving? Does that mean he’s decided against investing in the bakery? Think! You need to say something to stop him. You cannot afford to piss off the one guy who might be able to help save your bakery.
"Wait, don’t you want to taste my wares?" I burst out.
He freezes mid-step. His shoulders seem to swell.
The planes of his back rise and fall, and the jacket pulls even tighter.
Is he going to burst out of his skin and go all Hulk on me?
I swallow. And when he turns slowly and makes a growling sound at the back of his throat, I have to stop the yelp that almost spills from my mouth.
Every single cell in my body has woken up and is doing the hula.
Stop that. You can’t feel this drawn to this…
To this arrogant beast who rejected you.
But I also need his help. I have to save my business from going bust. And if that means swallowing my pride, then so be it. I tip up my chin and straighten my back. "I… I mean, maybe you want to taste my Honey Pot?" Ugh. Didn’t mean it to come out like that.
His left eyelid, the one covering his blue eye, twitches, and he seems one step closer to either having a breakdown or walking away. Neither of which is desirable.
"Oh, Fraggle Rock. What I meant to say is, you’ll definitely like the Purple Patches." I point to the range of cupcakes showcased under the counter.
"Did you use Fraggle Rock as a swear word?" He stares.
"I did. It’s because my mother hated me swearing—being a girl, and all that." I roll my eyes. That condition had not applied to my brother. "So instead, I began to use names of TV series as swear words. Also, you could try the C!itasaurus?" I look at him hopefully.
"The whatasaurus?" He tilts his head. His gaze is, once again, fixed on my mouth. My thighs clench, and moisture laces the flesh between my legs. I push away the burst of awareness which seems to have stuck its claws into my skin. No way am I going to succumb to his magnetism, which has multiplied in the years since I last saw him. Especially not when his jerkhole factor hasn’t reduced, either.
It's always been a mystery to me why I found his arrogance such a turn on. Now, I’m also reminded of how he always managed to get on my nerves.
Not that it stopped me from throwing myself at him.
A mistake I’m not going to make again. When I named that cupcake, it seemed like a stroke of genius.
Having to pronounce it aloud in front of the Hulk, however, negates any laughs I’ve had about it so far.
"Uh, you know what I mean?" The color of my cheeks deepens and spreads to my chest. My entire body seems like it’s on fire.
"No, I don’t," he says in a low, hard voice.
I shiver. "You know that…that…pink pastry between the blue cakes that looks like…
" I glance around, then slide open the glass door to the under-counter area.
I pull on a pair of disposable gloves, reach in and, instead of the C!
itasaurus, slide one of the fig-shaped desserts onto a plate.
I place it on the counter. "Actually, I think you should eat my Moist Goodness, and everything will be clear to you, and—"
I hear a gnashing sound, and when I dare to peek at Mr. Grouchy Face, I see the muscles of his jaw ripple. Oh no, at this rate, he’s going to crack a molar. Or two.
I blink rapidly. “Maybe we should start afresh?”
“Start afresh?” he asks in a tone that implies he’d rather have never met me.
Yeah, me, too. Unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury. “You know, pretend we don’t know each other. Pretend the last few minutes never happened?” Pretend that kiss is not seared into my brain, and into other parts of my body I’m not going to think about.
I pull off my gloves and hold out my hand. “Skylar Potter.” Then, because I hate my life and because, apparently, the connection between my brain and my mouth has been lost under the force of his glower, I smile. "No relation to Harry, as you’re aware."
"Harry?" He looks at my slim, pink-tipped fingers, then back at my face, and makes no move to shake my hand.
I set my jaw. Oh, my god, he’s so rude, I should slap one of the pies baking in my oven into his face.
Only, they’re too good to waste. Also, I can’t risk messing up a pie when I need every sale I can get.
Every part of me wants to turn and run out of here.
But I can’t. I owe it to myself, to my dream, to give this one last shot.
I will not give up easily. I will not. I will stay polite, even if it kills me.
I manage to bare my teeth in the resemblance of a smile.
"You know, Harry Potter? Boy wizard? Evanesco.
" I pretend to flick my wand in his direction.
His jaw hardens further.
Ooh, he looks pissed. The tips of his ears have turned white. Also, the end of his nose. Also, the vanishing spell on him didn’t work. His Royal Dickness is still here, larger than life and glowering at me.
"I’m sooo immersed in the Potterverse. Oh, and Taylor Swift. I love Taylor Swift.” I beam at him.
His frown deepens.
“I’m guessing you’re not a Swiftie?” I nod.
“What’s that?” he asks in a contemptuous tone.
“Those of us who love Taylor Swift call ourselves Swifties.”
“Sounds contagious,” he sneers.
I ignore his cantankerous attitude because I need to charm him. And because I desperately need him to fork over the money I need. “I love her songs, don’t you?" I chirrup.
His fingers curl into fists at his sides. Which is not a good sign. Then, because I love to go from the sublime to the surreal, I smile even wider. "Guess which Hogwarts’ house Taylor Swift belongs to?" I toss my hair over my shoulder.
“Hogwhat?" He seems like he’s about to have a cardiac event. Or like he went to sleep and woke up in an alternate reality. This is bad. So bad.
And I have to go and put my foot in it by prompting him, "Hogwarts."
"Hogwhat?" he snaps again.
This time, the light goes on in my brain. "Oh, you haven’t heard of Hogwarts?" I titter. "That’s okay. I wasn’t alive when Titanic hit the cinemas, either…" Don’t say it, don’t say it. "Unlike you."
He blinks slowly.
“I meant the movie, not the actual event when the Titanic hit an iceberg and sank.”
His jaw tics.
“Not that you were alive when the Titanic sank.” I cough. “Even I know you’re not that ancient.”
A nerve pops at his temple. That’s not a good sign, is it? Zip your lips. Just shut up already.