Sweet Seduction (8 page)

“Wow,” Daisy said before hazarding still another sip. “That's great. Really great.”

She asked her mother a few more questions about the project, and something strange happened. Her mother came alive in a way Daisy had never seen before, talking animatedly, using her hands, pacing, laughing. Making fun of herself.

Who was this woman? She was the polar opposite of the self-important, reserved person Daisy had grown up with.

“Daisy?” Alex said, gathering the papers together and placing them carefully back into the folder. “Have a seat.”

Shit. She did not like the sound of his voice. Her stomach heaved, threatening to expel the horrid green drink as she slowly made her way to the table.

Once seated, Alex reached over and took her hand. “You should have come to us sooner.”

Shit, shit, shit.

Swallowing was suddenly impossible.

“You don't have a lot of choices. Your grandmother left the bakery to you, but the law is clear. Property gained while married becomes part of the estate, and Alan is entitled to half of the estate.” He tapped the file. “In fact, because he worked there for a number of years, you owe him a portion of the profit. You should have been paying him, but you haven't. Why?”

“There's no money. It's all gone to lawyers, bills and repairs. I had to redo the plumbing. We've been having problems with the electrical. I had to buy new stoves because there was a power surge a while back. At the end of the month, after I pay bills, there's nothing left.”

Alex nodded. “These are important factors, but it's not documented anywhere. That's what you need a lawyer for.” He pulled out the court order. “But the fact is it's too late. The building and bakery have been valued. It's worth three million—he's only asking for half of the worth of the building.”

“Only?” Daisy interrupted, the word barely making it out of her constricted throat.

“Seven hundred fifty thousand. You need to come up with that amount in twenty-eight days.”

“And if I can't?”

“The court will seize the assets and sell it.” He shrugged. “It'll be a short sale and will probably go for a fraction of what it's worth.”

With elbows on the table, Daisy covered her face. This could not be happening. “I can't sell.” She couldn't look up. “Nana left it to me.”

“I know,” Alex said softly. He paused before continuing, “God, I wish I could help, Daisy, but I don't have that much liquid at the moment.”

It had always been a long shot. She glanced up.

“In six months, maybe, we might be able to do something, but—” he tapped the document again. “You don't have that much time.”

A tornado whipped up inside Daisy's head, causing her pulse to crash between her ears. “I don't know what to do,” she whispered. “It would kill Nana if I sold the bakery.”

“Nana's already gone,” her mother said quietly. “Maybe it's time you let her go.”

Daisy looked up, the hopelessness of the situation mixed with the green goop her mother had fed her, making her stomach swirl. Combine that with the storm in her head punctuated by years of being ignored by her mother, years of feeling like a nuisance, and it all became too much to bear.

“You're jealous,” Daisy said through clenched teeth. “You've always been jealous of my relationship with Nana.”

“No.”

“And you're angry that she left the bakery to me, not you.”

“That's not true. I never wanted it.”

“But you wanted the money.” Daisy stood, a hand squeezing her windpipe, making her see spots. “That's all that's ever been important to you.” She shook her head. “And here I thought you might actually be changing.”

“Daisy,” her mother said, standing.

“But you haven't changed. You're just as self-centered as always.” Daisy pointed a finger at her mother's face. “You don't care that my life is falling apart and that the thing I love most is about to be taken away from me.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Do you want me to be as miserable as you? Is that what this is about?”

Cynthia didn't answer. Her face crumpled as she tried to speak. When no words came out, she shook her head and hurried from the room.

The sight of her mom scurrying down the hall didn't make Daisy feel better. It made her feel worse. A part of her—a big part—wanted to run right after her. But how many times had she done that as a child—pined after her mother, begging for attention? How many times had her mother walked away from her, in anger, annoyance or disinterest?

Too many times for Daisy to count.

“Your mother loves you, you know.”

Daisy turned to Alex. “That's where you're wrong.” She swept the documents from the table, wiped off the teardrops staining the top pages and placed the papers haphazardly in the folder. “She doesn't love me. She never has.”

8

J
AMIE
SAT
AT
a small round table in the corner of the bakery, drinking coffee and eating a cinnamon-almond Danish that was rivaled only by Nana Sin's cinnamon buns and Daisy's chocolate croissants as the most delicious baked good he'd ever tasted. Using the free Wi-Fi in Nana Sin's, he had his laptop open and was working—the third day in a row he'd spent his afternoon there. Daisy hadn't given him any choice. She wouldn't return his calls and wasn't responding to texts or emails.

After Monday's meeting—God, what a shit show—Jamie had spent the evening going through the file. Was it a conflict of interest? Absolutely-fucking-yes. But Jamie didn't care. He wasn't about to pass this off, not even to his other partner, Lyle Burgess, because any other lawyer would screw Daisy over. It would be so easy, particularly because Daisy was being unreasonable. Despite the fact that Jamie wanted to punch Alan in the face—only because the man had had the privilege of going to bed with Daisy and waking up to her every day for four years—he had to admit that Alan had been patient while waiting for Daisy to settle.

That's why he was there. He had to talk to her. Had to make her understand and see reason. Because if she didn't...

Breathing in the wonderful scent of fresh bread, Jamie glanced around the bakery, at the small counter, the crowded shelves of goods that would be empty by closing time, the line of people that snaked out the door. Such a successful business, one Daisy was about to lose, and that would be a tragedy. It was the only reason he was there.

Obviously their wonderful—albeit, short-lived—affair had to end. That went without saying. Which was probably a good thing. Daisy was an amazing woman, but she was the kind of woman who wanted more than what a guy like him had to offer. So it was all for the best. It really was. For Daisy, for the law firm, and for him.

Yep, all for the best.

He took a bite of the Danish he'd just ordered, and though it was delicious, Jamie had difficulty swallowing it. Taking a swig of coffee to wash it down, he noticed a bedraggled man who had just come in the door and was standing in the corner of the bakery, face lifted, eyes closed, breathing the air. Moments later, Daisy's assistant came out and passed the man a Nana Sin's bag. “Here you go, Johnny,” she said.

He took the bag with a huge smile but craned his head toward the front of the shop. “Where's Daisy?”

“She's busy in the back.” The woman glanced Jamie's way before returning her attention to the man. “She said to say hi and she'll see you next week.”

“Tell her how much I appreciate it. As always.”

“I will.”

Jamie dropped his gaze, pretending as though he hadn't overheard the whole thing. So that was Johnny, the man Daisy made special buns for. Interesting.

“This isn't a library. You can't just hang out here all day.” Daisy's assistant stood beside the table, hands on her hips, her lips pressed together. “Lots of people want to sit down—you can't just take up a table for as long as you want.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

The woman chewed her lip.

“I've got a suggestion. Send Daisy out to talk to me and then I'll leave.”

“She won't come. I've already asked.”

“Fine.” Jamie stood. “Then I'll go back and talk to her.”

She stepped in front of him. “I can't let you do that.”

“Why not?”

A peculiar look came over her face. She glanced over her shoulder at the door leading to the back rooms. “There are a lot of knives. She's militant about keeping them sharp.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Not from me.” She shook her head. “But Daisy? She's...unpredictable at the moment. And, to be honest, if there's blood around the food, it'll be a health and safety nightmare.”

Jamie sat back down. “Fine. I'll wait here, then.”

“But—”

“Oh, and I'll have another Danish, please.”

* * *

D
AISY
REACHED
INTO
the bowl, tore off another bit of dough and rolled it into a ball between her hands. There was a knock on her door but she didn't bother answering. She'd closed the door to her office to keep people out so she could think. The dough in her lap was not for baking, it was to give her something to do to help her think. Besides, it was only Lizzie, and knowing Lizzie, she'd come in whether Daisy gave her permission to or not. So why bother? Why bother with anything anymore?

The door opened, followed by Lizzie saying, “He's still here and he says he's not leaving until you talk to him.”

Daisy didn't answer. She just kept rolling the soft dough until it was perfect.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yep.”

She didn't bother turning her head when she heard Lizzie's footsteps approaching.

“Boss? Whatcha doing?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?”

Lizzie was now in her line of sight, wearing a perplexed expression as she blinked down at where Daisy was lying on her desk. Lizzie slowly raised her gaze to the ceiling. “Well, it kind of looks like you're losing your shit.”

“Very astute.”

She made a strange sound in her throat. “Um, where's your phone?”

“I don't know.”

Daisy kept rolling the dough, keeping it nice and warm, nice and soft, absently watching Lizzie out of the corner of her eye. Why was she still there? “You can go now.”

“In a sec.” Lizzie pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped in a number. From somewhere beneath her, Daisy's ringtone went off.

“Scooch over.”

Daisy shifted and Lizzie pulled the phone from beneath her. Weird, she hadn't even felt it, lodged there under her butt.

“What's your passcode?”

“I'm not telling you.”

“Never mind. Got it.”

Daisy grunted because, frankly, she didn't care, not even when Lizzie made a phone call using her phone.

“Gloria? No, it's not Daisy, it's Lizzie. Yeah, I'm good, but the boss? Well, she's not so good...”

Daisy located the spot she wanted and aimed.

“For starters, she's lying on her desk and throwing dough at the ceiling, if that gives you any indication.”

She let fly. The dough made the most wonderful
splog
sound, and Daisy found that the more perfect the ball, the more perfect the circle of dough it created on the ceiling. The first few were irregular-shaped; the last six were lovely and round. A doughy, polka-dotted ceiling.

“Yep. Just a second.” Her phone was shoved in front of her face. “Gloria wants to talk to you.”

“No, thanks,” Daisy said, batting the phone away.

“Daisy?” Gloria's voice came through, sounding far away. “If you don't talk to me, I'm coming over.”

“I'm busy,” Daisy shouted in the general direction of the phone. “Call back later.” She took the phone from Lizzie and turned it off before tucking it under her again.

“Are you going to tell me what's going on?” Lizzie asked.

“No.”

“Are you going to tell me why Colin Forsythe's lookalike has been camped out front for three days?”

“His name's Jamie and he's here because he's a jerk.” She pulled another piece of dough from the bowl sitting on her stomach and began to roll it between her palms.

Lizzie sighed. “I'm worried about you.”

“Don't worry about me.” She stopped what she was doing to loll her head in Lizzie's direction. “Though you might want to think about looking for another job.”

* * *

T
WENTY
-
THREE
MORE
DAYS
. The countdown was on. Daisy finished up the afternoon mixing and started pulling dough from the warmers. Yesterday had been rough, but she felt different today. It was just like the time she'd been dumped by her first real boyfriend in her sophomore year of high school.

There's nothing wrong with a good pity party, as long as it ends in a reasonable amount of time and you come back stronger than ever.

That's what her grandmother had said then and this morning, Daisy had woken up at 4:00 a.m. with Nana's voice in her head, saying the same thing. With renewed strength in her heart, she'd jumped out of bed and gone to work, even though Bruce was on the early shift this morning. If he was surprised by her presence, he didn't say anything.

Lizzie was another story.

“You might need drugs,” she said when she saw Daisy working away in the kitchen. “It's nothing to be ashamed of—most of us need a little pharmaceutical intervention every now and then.”

“I'm fine,” Daisy insisted.

“No, you're not.”

Taking Lizzie's hands, Daisy said, “Honestly. I'm fine.” She forced a smile.

Lizzie narrowed her gaze. “Okay, if you're so fine, why don't you go deal with stalker dude?”

“Jamie's back?”

“He said he's not leaving until you talk to him.”

Squaring her shoulders, Daisy said, “Fine. I'll talk to him.”

She took two steps toward the door when Lizzie called, “Wait. Hairnet.”

Daisy put a hand to her head. Her instinct to pull the net off, but she stopped herself. What did she care whether Jamie saw her in the horribly unattractive hairnet? It didn't matter. She didn't care what he thought. Except that there were other people out there, too, and Daisy did care about them, so she pulled the hairnet from her head at the last second and tucked it into her pocket.

The fact that her stomach somersaulted the moment she caught sight of Jamie was probably more a product of her stomach being empty than anything. It was an eighty per cent probability.

Okay, maybe sixty.

Forty-three.

She marched right up to the table where he was sitting and huffed what she hoped was a sound of exasperation.

Jamie responded with a cool, appraising gaze. His voice was deep and annoyingly calm. “Hey, Daisy. Why don't you join me?”

If only the man was a soft piece of dough that she could chuck at the ceiling. Or better yet, if only she had balls of dough to use as missiles. “You need to leave or I will call the police.” There. That should do it. She tapped her foot.

Unfortunately, his lips curved up—not completely, but enough so that Daisy knew he was suppressing a smile.

“Call the police? What have I done?”

“You're loitering.”

He shook his head, pointing at the numerous empty plates on his table. “I'm a paying customer. Today alone, I've sampled your cherry strudel, a cinnamon twist and three cheese buns. I'm not loitering.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Daisy countered, “You're harassing the staff.”

“Harassing the staff?” Jamie leaned back in his chair, looking as if he was enjoying himself. Immensely.

Bastard!

“You mean the staff member who threatened me yesterday?”

“What? Who?”

“That one.” He pointed at Lizzie. “She threatened to stab me.” Jamie rubbed his chin in mock thoughtfulness. “Or maybe she was implying that you wanted to stab me. Either way, I was threatened.”

Daisy groaned. “I don't want to stab you. Stabbing is too messy. We don't need Health and Safety all over us.”

He might be able to keep his smile in check, but something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle rattled around in that stupidly big chest of his. “That's what she said. Sounds like collusion to commit violence to me.”

Daisy growled, her hands fisting at her sides. “God. I wish you were a bowl of dough.”

“Why's that?”

“Because I'd like to punch you.”

Jamie pushed his chair back and stood.

Stupid man. He did that on purpose so that she'd be forced to look up at him. Why was he so tall? It wasn't normal.

He spread his arms wide and said, “You want to have a go at me, go right ahead.”

What was he trying to prove? “Is this entrapment?”

“No.”

He patted his stomach, the washboard-like part of him that Daisy was all-too intimately familiar with.

“C'mon.”

Daisy glanced around the busy bakery. “If you're trying to get me in trouble, I've already got enough of that.”

“I'm not trying to get you in trouble.”

“Then what is this?”

He took a step closer, so close that his appealing and unique scent wafted over her. Before she knew what she was doing, her eyes closed so she could focus on breathing him in, slowly and deeply.

She felt him bend down to her level, followed by the tickle of her hair against her ear as he whispered, “Beating the shit out of someone can be very cathartic. However, it should be mutually agreed upon and done in a safe setting. Otherwise it's called assault and that's a felony.” He paused, and Daisy heard him breathe in deeply, too. What was he doing? Smelling her?

Her stomach did a pole vault.

“Come back to my gym—no one will be there—and you can hit me as hard as you like. I give you permission to beat the crap out of me.”