Sweet Dreams on Center Street (16 page)

“Daddy, I'm hungry,” Serena said.

“Right. We're off to Herman's,” he told Cecily. “Would you like
to join us?”

Herman's Hamburgers was one of the most popular spots in town,
famous for its Herman the German hamburgers, which were almost more than any
human mouth could get around.

It would be interesting to see little Serena try, but Cecily
didn't want to give Luke the wrong idea. “Actually, I've got to get back to the
house,” she said.

His smile looked a little less jovial now.

“But thanks for the offer,” she added, trying to soften the
blow to his ego.

“Sure, no problem.”

“Let's go, Daddy,” Serena urged.

He shook off his disappointment like a big dog shedding water.
“Right. Come on, girls. We're gonna go take on Herman the German and some garlic
fries.”

“Lovely to see you again,” Bernadette said as they left the
shop. “Come by for coffee sometime.”

“I'll do that,” Cecily lied.

“What a nice guy,” Heidi said as the door closed after Luke and
his family.

“He is,” Cecily agreed. There had to be some perfect woman out
there for him.

You're out of the matchmaking
business,
she reminded herself. Luke would just have to get along
without her.

Chapter Fourteen

No business is immune to a certain amount of unpleasantness.

—Muriel Sterling,
Mixing Business with
Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Business and Love

N
othing tops off a day of public
humiliation like a little family insanity, thought Samantha as she tried to rein
in an overly enthusiastic Bailey via Skype.

Once more the Sterling women were gathered for a brainstorming
session, and much of it had been productive. They'd gone with Mom's suggestion
of “Moonlight and Magic” as the theme for the masked ball and the problem of
music had been settled economically. It would've been nice to have an orchestra
or local band, but a DJ from a radio station in Wenatchee was going to spin
tunes for them for half the price. To play on the theme, he'd be tucked away
behind a decorative screen and the speakers would be concealed by floral
arrangements from Lupine Floral so the source of the music would be hidden. The
owners of the Mad Hatter had agreed to stock some exotic masks, so attendees
could pretend to be mysterious until the unmasking at midnight. Bailey had
reported that plans were well under way both for the high tea and the chocolate
dinner. And that was all well and good and should have been enough to keep her
busy, but now she had a new idea, one she'd gotten from reading a historical
romance.

“I think a kissing booth would be great,” she insisted. “People
used to do stuff like that all the time.”

“That was before people got so sexually active,” Samantha said.
“Nobody's going to be interested in a kissing booth.” At least nobody she'd want
her baby sister kissing.

“People probably said that about bikini baristas,” Bailey
countered, “and now you see them all over the place.”

“But nobody's kissing anybody in those. Anyway, I don't even
think that would be legal. It's like soliciting for sex.”

“We'd only be selling kisses,” Bailey objected.

“It does seem a little tacky,” Mom said.

Just like the Mr. Dreamy contest. “We're already pushing the
envelope with some of the other things we're doing,” Samantha said, making
Cecily frown.

“You could make a fortune,” Bailey began. “You—”

“You could also get cold sores,” Samantha broke in.

Bailey made a face. “Eew.”

“Yeah, eew,” Samantha said. “No kissing booth.”

At the rate they were going, maybe there wouldn't be any booths
at all, she worried later as she let herself into her condo. She'd called Ed's
wine shop to see if he'd any luck at city hall and learned that he was home with
the flu. That meant the chances he'd been able to do any lobbying for moving
those permits forward were slim to none.

From down the hall she heard the soft thump of sneaky cat paws
hitting the floor, which told her that Nibs had been up on the kitchen counter
again where he knew he wasn't supposed to be. Not that such unimportant details
ever stopped a cat.

Now he came trotting up to her, all innocence. “You are a
naughty boy,” she said, and picked him up.

Naughty boy. Her mind did a word-association free fall to Bill
Will's racy serenade in the coffee shop. Maybe the pictures Nia took wouldn't
turn out. Maybe there wouldn't be room to put any of them in the paper. That was
a strong possibility…in a parallel universe.

Samantha set down the cat and went in search of aspirin.

She found herself reaching for more aspirin the next day when
she got to the office and Elena gave her a copy of the morning paper. There was
the picture Nia had taken right on page one, capturing all the action from the
day before. She'd caught Samantha trying not to look at Bill Will's crotch,
except that the camera angle gave the illusion that Jockstrap Land was exactly
where her gaze was directed. The caption read Competition for Mr. Dreamy Heats
Up.

Just shoot me now and kill me dead.
Wasn't it enough that she had to deal with saving her company? How was she
supposed to go out in public after this?

“I know what you're thinking but it's not that bad,” Elena
said.

“According to whom?”

“It will be fine,
amiga
. You'll
see.
A veces, todo el mundo tiene un dia de pelo
revuelto.
”

Samantha crumpled the paper and tossed it in the garbage.
“Okay, what does that mean?”

Elena shrugged. “It means that sometimes everyone has a bad
hair day.”

“I would welcome a bad hair day. I'd trade a lifetime of bad
hair days for this.”

Elena shrugged. “It will blow over. And meanwhile, you will get
lots of free publicity.”

“I don't need this kind of publicity,” Samantha grumbled.

Elena fished the paper out of the garbage and handed it to her.
“Read the whole article,” she advised.

Samantha shut herself in her office and read. Nia had done a
first-rate job of promoting the festival, naming the various events and even
going so far as to suggest contestants get over to Sweet Dreams and buy some of
their chocolates. “For surely any man representing our favorite hometown
chocolate company had better know what his favorite chocolate is.”

Okay. She had to hand it to Nia. She'd managed to convey the
excitement that Samantha and the other Chamber of Commerce members were feeling
in such a way that readers couldn't help but get excited, too, and want to
participate. And that was a good thing.

“This is great free publicity,” Cecily said when she called
twenty minutes later.

“It is,” Samantha agreed. “Except that picture, ugh. I'm going
to have to put a bag over my head when I go out.”

Cecily chuckled. Then sneezed.

“You're not getting sick, are you?” Samantha asked.

“Me? You know I never get sick.”

“Well, take it easy today,” Samantha said. None of them could
afford to be sick until after the festival.

“Don't worry about me,” Cecily said. “And don't take any bribes
from Mr. Dreamy wannabes. We don't want to be accused of rigging the
contest.”

“Ha, ha.” Samantha hung up.

Cecily wasn't the only one she heard from. Emails poured in
from other members of the committee commending her on the exposure she'd gotten
them, and in each reply she made sure her sister got the credit. As the morning
wore on, some of her embarrassment wore off. It helped that she'd stuffed the
newspaper in a drawer where she didn't have to look at it.

By midmorning she'd put the whole embarrassing incident behind
her. At least that was what she told herself.

Ed was still down for the count, so she called city hall and
got put through to Pissy. Of course.

“Nice picture in the paper,” Pissy said snidely.

“You sound jealous,” Samantha retorted. Oh, way to win friends
and influence people. Not that Pissy would ever be her friend and even offering
the woman a lifetime supply of chocolate probably wouldn't influence her.

“I'm not going to dignify that with a response,” Pissy said in
her snootiest voice. “What do you want, Samantha?”

A million dollars.
“Just calling to
see how things are coming with the permits.”

“I'll have to get back to you on that,” Pissy said.

Great. “And when do you think you might be able to do that?”
Samantha asked, keeping a tight rein on her patience.

“As soon as I know something. Now, quit hounding me,” Pissy
snapped, and hung up.

Samantha slammed the phone down and growled, “Bee-atch.” If
only she had a magic lamp. She'd use it to strand Pissy on a desert island with
no chocolate.

She sat drumming her fingers on her desktop. Something or
someone was holding up those permits. Samantha didn't believe Pissy had that
kind of power, even though she liked to think she did. So why was this taking so
long?

Obviously, she wasn't going to get to the bottom of the problem
over the phone. She'd have to go over there. She'd catch Del before lunch and
talk to him, see if he'd pull some strings to get things moving.

* * *

She almost had Center Street to herself as she walked
down it. She did encounter one couple who were strolling along and
window-shopping and couldn't help overhearing their conversation as she
approached.

“It's a cute town,” the woman commented.

“I guess,” the man said. “But there's no snow.”

That wasn't true. There was some, enough to ski on…if you were
a rabbit.

“This was a waste of vacation days,” Mr. Good Sport said.

It took every ounce of willpower for Samantha to press her lips
firmly together, but she was sure she had enough steam coming out of her ears to
melt what little snow there was right off the highest peak. A waste of vacation
days? Ha! She'd show him.

She was still steaming when she got to city hall, and
encountering Pissy on her way out didn't improve matters, especially when
Samantha saw that she was on her way out with Blake. “We're going to lunch so I
can't help you.” Pissy smirked.

Blake was taking Pissy out to lunch? Well, how perfect, two
stone-cold hearts beating as one over bratwurst. “I wouldn't dream of keeping
you from your lunch.”

“Good, because I know Blake is a busy man,” Pissy said, linking
her arm through his.

Gack. Even though these two deserved each other, even though
Samantha couldn't care less whom he took to lunch, she couldn't resist stealing
a glance to see if Blake had swallowed this wad of flattery. His cheeks had
taken on a ruddy tinge and he didn't look Samantha in the eye.

He cleared his throat. “Well, we'd better get going.”

“We have reservations at Schwangau,” Pissy said.

La-di-da.
The two of them were
probably off to conspire on how to keep those permits tied up. She hoped they
choked on their schnitzel.

“Oh, and if you want Mayor Stone, you're too late. He's gone to
lunch,” Pissy called over her shoulder.

Samantha glared at Pissy's departing back. Wouldn't it be nice
if looks could kill?

* * *

Blake was not having a good day. In fact, the day before
hadn't been so good, either. First Samantha Sterling had left him smarting from
that disgusted look she'd given him on the steps of city hall, as if it was a
crime to take someone to lunch. Of course, he'd like to have told her he was
taking Priscilla Castro to lunch in order to sweet-talk her into making sure
those permits made the rounds and got signed in a timely manner, but that wasn't
something he could explain with Priscilla standing right there. And when he'd
finished buttering up Priscilla like she was corn on the cob, he'd tracked down
Del Stone and given him a friendly nudge, too.

After accomplishing his mission, he'd thought of stopping by
Samantha's office to let her know what he'd been up to. He'd envisioned her
hugging him gratefully and saying, “I had no idea. That was so sweet of you.”
That happy vision had put a smile on his face and he'd still been smiling when
he answered his phone.

Darren Short had quickly wiped it off. “I'm coming your way
tomorrow and I'll have Trevor Brown from Madame C with me. I want to show him
the Sweet Dreams facility.”

“You—you what?” Blake had stammered.

“I want to show him the facility.”

“We don't own that business yet,” Blake reminded him.

“We hold the note. We're within our rights to inspect our
investment.”

“You're not coming up to inspect it.”

“I am in a sense. This is all totally legal,” Darren assured
him.

But not even remotely ethical. “There's no need to rush. Let's
hold off until March.”

“Trevor wants to scope out the place, see what kind of
condition it's in. There's no harm in looking.”

Yeah, tell that to the Sterlings,
Blake thought. “I'm not going along with this.”

A moment of deathly quiet hung between them. “Am I suddenly
working for you?” Darren finally asked.

“No,” Blake said, “but why have you got me up here if you don't
trust me to do the bank's business?”

“Come on now, Blake, there's no need to get stiff-necked about
this. I'm looking out for the bank's interests—just like you are.”

The implication was plain. Blake's loyalty was suspect and if
he didn't cooperate he'd show his true turncoat colors. He
didn't
want to go along with it. But he didn't want to get fired,
either. Then he'd be in no position at all to help any of his customers,
especially the Sterlings.

Like you're being such a big help to them
now?

That question had nibbled away at his peace of mind the night
before and all morning long. Now, as he saw Darren walk into the bank beside a
thin gray-haired man with jowls, dressed in slacks and a sweater, it went from
nibbling to gobbling.

“Blake, meet Trevor Brown,” Darren said jovially.

“Nice to meet you,” Brown said, and held out a greedy paw.

Shake hands with the devil.
Blake
clasped the man's hand and nodded curtly. “Trevor.”

“I'm anxious to see this place,” Brown said, not wasting any
time.

“I think you'll find it well worth the trip,” Darren told him.
“Don't you, Blake?”

“You do understand, of course, that this is a family business
and the family is doing everything in its power to keep it,” Blake said, making
Darren scowl.

“Of course.” Brown nodded genially. “But frankly, they don't
stand a snowball's chance. We all know that.”