by Sara Whitney
“I got carried away again, didn’t I?” She jammed her straw into her drink. “Sorry. It’s a bad habit.” Two seconds later, she was smiling again, although a little less broadly this time. He hadn’t known mercurial before he’d met this woman.
“I just figured we could, you know, suffer together, with the job hunt and the wedding planning. But if you don’t want to, it’s fine.” She dragged a finger through the moisture rings on the wooden surface in front of her. “So does Chicago’s hottest baker really have no leads on any employment options?”
Unease marched down his spine, pushing away the absurd pleasure he felt at being labeled the hottest anything. She took in his silence and tilted her head in sympathy. “Oof, really? It’s been, what, close to two weeks? I figured somebody’d be dying to get you in their kitchen.”
“Not so much,” he mumbled.
“For real?” The outrage in her voice should’ve encouraged him.
He scrubbed a hand through the whiskers covering his jaw. “Nobody’s looking for anything more than a glorified kitchen runner.” For all her flaws—her many, many flaws—Dora had given him a chance to graduate from kitchen grunt work, and the thought of going back to an underling role after having the run of the ovens was too depressing to contemplate. But he was out of other options, which meant he’d either have to swallow his pride or move back to the farm with nothing to his name but a few months of mild success. And he wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that. Besides, Gina was getting ready to move here. The timing was awful all the way around.
“Hmm.” Josie clicked her tongue in thought. “Have you tried at Lutz? Sweet Mandy B’s? Bang Bang?”
“Yes. All of them.”
She blew out a breath. “Well, that sucks. I guess we’ll just have to build you a website then.”
“Oh, it’s that simple?” His sarcasm hid the interest sparking to life in his belly.
She flicked a hand through the air. “Sure. I do it all the time. Plus you’ll need a social media campaign. You should be on Facebook, of course, but you’d kill on Insta.”
Her eyes traveled down his body again, and he could’ve sworn a soft purr rattled in her throat for a moment. He shifted on the stool, the weight of her eyes like a physical caress across his skin. Then she tucked a red curl behind her ear and continued in an all-business tone.
“We could maybe book you a segment on one of the local news shows if I pulled a few strings. It’ll be great exposure for your up-and-coming business. And I’ll keep my ears open for any events that need dessert catering. Paying gigs.”
She tossed back the dregs of her drink and slammed her empty glass triumphantly onto the bar.
“What just happened?” he asked, bewildered.
“You, my friend, just became my next project.”
Eight
“What are you working on?”
The question pulled Josie out of her Monday-afternoon work trance, but she was too slow to minimize the screen, which allowed her worst coworker to get an eyeful.
“Oh, you’re trying to design a logo! That’s adorable.” Valerie Jones sniffed and leaned closer to the screen as Josie twitched in annoyance.
“Thanks,” she said flatly. And fuck Val very much for slipping in “trying.”
The older woman touched the ostentatious strand of pearls around her neck as she peered at the caricature Josie was tweaking on-screen, as close a re-creation as she could make of the napkin sketch that had disappeared under Erik’s big paw Friday night.
“This isn’t bad, actually. Are you drafting something for a new client?”
The woman’s tiny, grudging compliment scraped along Josie’s nerves like coarse sand. “He’s not officially a client yet, but I’m trying to convince him to use me.”
Use me. Heat flooded her cheeks at her choice of words. Erik had spent his time at Jed’s, watching her with the horrified fascination of someone who’d discovered a snake coiled in his bathtub, yet all she’d been able to think about was how his big would mesh with her small. How he’d be able to use her. And then he’d gone and unleashed all that thick, wavy hair, and she’d almost melted into her stool from the sheer Nordic hotness of him. She squirmed in her seat and thanked her maker that Vile Val was engrossed in the face she’d sketched on the screen.
“Handsome.” The older woman leaned closer to the caricature, which Josie had to admit was as flattering as it was accurate, capturing the strength of Erik’s nose and cheekbones, the swoop of his hair, the jut of his jaw. “It’s so hard to believe you’re not formally trained.”
Aaaaand there it was. With anyone else, Josie’s instinct would be to lash back, but something about Val’s brittle haughtiness shut down her fight instinct and left her meek as an amoeba every time. She hated it, but then again, avoiding open warfare with a coworker might be the only reason she was still employed at Dynamic Marketing.
Lowering the temperature in her voice by a few dozen degrees, she asked, “Did you need something, Val?” She might not be able to snap at the woman, but she could call her by the nickname she hated.
Valerie straightened, her fake friendliness dropping away. “Yes. Just making sure there are no hard feelings that I’m heading up the Streeterville boutique project. Between you and me, I think Gil wanted someone with a college degree to go along with the years of experience. But I am grateful for all your little suggestions.”
Josie rolled her lips inward and said nothing. Her lack of a degree was a sore spot, which Val knew and used to her advantage. “I’m sure you’ll find all my little suggestions extremely helpful,” she finally managed.
Valerie’s lips pinched together. “Anyway, I also wanted to ask you about Fielder Shoe. They’re opening a second location in North Chicago, and they want us to host an open house next Saturday.”
“Next Saturday? Yikes. That’s soon.” She reached for her phone, already plotting event strategies that would fit the family-owned business’s vibe in the high-end comfort-shoe market. “I’ll give them a call right now to set up—”
“No need. They’re already here.”
“What?”
Valerie’s voice turned impatient. “Yes, they’re waiting in the conference room right now, so I want to have a few ideas to present to them.”
Blood pounded in Josie’s temples. “Why am I not part of this meeting?”
“Why would you be?”
She clenched and unclenched her jaw. “Because they’re my account. Remember that promotion I got last year? I have a caseload I manage now, and it’s my job to lead these meetings.” Her temper threatened to spike, so she dug her nails into her palm and held herself in check. Work wasn’t the place to lose her shit, particularly at a woman who’d gladly see her out on her ass with unemployment paperwork stapled to her lapel. But someday she and Val were going to have words, and it was not going to be pretty.
Valerie gave a forced laugh. “Oh, but the Fielders are such good friends of mine. I wanted to put our best team together to meet them. And you’re so busy with… whatever this is.” She glanced pointedly at Erik’s caricature on Josie’s screen.
She surged to her feet and put her body between Val and the computer, silently counting to three before speaking through gritted teeth. “When Gil chose me to handle the Fielder account, he said he wanted me to be involved in these conversations from the beginning.” She hated using the big boss’s name to fight this battle, but she was out of options. Gil hadn’t cared about Josie’s one semester of college when she’d applied for the lowest-level assistant job six years ago, and he’d come to value the creative, high-concept events she put together for their clients, both big and small. Too bad, so sad, Val.
“Give me five minutes to jot down some ideas, and I’ll join you in the conference room.”
She took Valerie’s glare to mean “Yes of course, Josie, I would appreciate that.” As the woman flounced away, Josie’s eyes fell on her nemesis’s sensible pair of flesh-colored comfort shoes, which she�
��d no doubt only worn to suck up to the Fielders. Then she looked down in dismay at the expanse of skin visible above the neckline of her grasshopper-green sheath dress. If she’d known she was meeting with the stuffy shoe people today, she would’ve dressed a tad more conservatively.
With a grumble, she tugged her hem down as close as possible to her knees and tip-tapped down the hallway in her decidedly comfortless shoes to join a meeting she was spectacularly unprepared for.
Four hours later, Josie was thoroughly frazzled. The Fielder meeting could’ve been worse, but she loathed presenting anything less than a polished plan, and she would’ve felt more in command of the situation in one of her power suits. Damn Val forever.
And now she was late to meet Erik at the florist he’d suggested. The shop had seemed like a reasonable distance from her office when they’d agreed on the time via text that morning, but the Fielder assignment had ballooned to fill her afternoon, leaving her to all but sprint down the sidewalk in her heels for fear of making him wait.
Rounding the corner at seven minutes after their agreed five o’clock meeting time, she spotted a black awning over the sidewalk, displaying the words Love in Bloom Flowers in an elegant script. She paused at the entryway to catch her breath just as Erik strolled up the sidewalk. His hair was down again, which really ought to be illegal. Honestly, that messy mix of waves and curls was a public nuisance, tempting women to grab onto it and not let go.
Woof. She fanned herself and hoped he’d chalk her heated cheeks up to the Chicago humidity, then cocked her hip and gave her best impression of a responsible person who was always on time. “Running a little late, huh?”
He joined her at the door, looking unruffled as usual. “Sorry.”
That was it. No flurry of apologetic words, no attempt at an explanation. She could learn a thing or two from his reserved “take me or leave me” demeanor. He held open the door, and when she stepped inside, she was enveloped by an explosion of colors and fragrances courtesy of the cascade of flowers packed into coolers and arranged in vases and baskets and sprays.
“I don’t spend enough time in flower shops.” She inhaled, filling her lungs as full as possible. “Heaven. This is what heaven smells like. Well, this and your cakes.”
She grinned at him, and he offered the flick of a smile in return as a tall, dark-haired woman came around the counter to greet them.
“Erik! I was surprised to hear from you this weekend.”
“Lil.”
Ah, yes, there was her new partner in crime. Embarrassingly effusive in his greetings. This Lil must know him pretty well though, because his abruptness didn’t faze her. She extended her hand to Josie. “I’m Lily Castillo Franklin. What can I do for you today?”
The woman’s strong, callused fingers completely enveloped Josie’s, and she did her best to return the enthusiastic shake.
“Hi, I’m Josie Ryan. We’re here to talk about flowers for a June wedding.”
Lily’s thin, tan face broke into a smile, and she moved to the cooler and plucked a long-stemmed pink rose from a container. “Congratulations! Erik, I had no idea.”
Josie, who’d reached out on autopilot to accept the flower, immediately realized the woman’s mistake and rushed to clarify. “Oh no. No, no, we’re not engaged.” She shot a glance at Erik, afraid she’d find horror painted on his face, but he was as stoic as ever. Still, she pointed between herself and the mountain man. “It’s for friends of mine who are out of town. I offered to get things going for them. Erik suggested I talk to you.”
“Ah, I see.” Lily’s surprised expression cleared, and Josie had to agree. She and Erik were as mismatched as two people could be.
Lily gestured for Josie to keep the rose, which she brought to her nose for a grateful sniff as the woman rounded the counter to snag a battered notebook. “Okay, hit me with the details. When, where, all of it. Let’s see what we can come up with.”
An hour later, thanks to Lily’s no-nonsense approach, Josie had recorded a handful of possible budgets, flower choices, color stories, and arrangements to share with the grooms-to-be, and she’d secured Lily’s promise that the wedding date would work with her schedule. As Josie was jotting down the last of her notes, Lily and Erik’s conversation drifted to industry talk.
“How are things at the Cake Shoppe?”
Erik shifted in his seat. “I’m not there anymore.”
Lily’s mouth dropped, but she recovered quickly, her brown eyes narrowed in thought. “Let me guess. Dora showed you her true colors?”
Josie leaned forward. “Oh, so he was the only clueless one?”
Lily tossed her long brown ponytail over her shoulder and turned her back to Erik for a little girl talk. “Honestly, I wondered how he stayed with her as long as he did. Then again, as little as he actually interacts with people, is it any surprise he had no idea?”
“I’m not an idiot,” Erik interjected, exasperation coloring his voice. “I knew she was bad, just not how bad. And I did quit when I figured it out.”
“A shame.” Lily closed one of the binders of arrangement options. “You do such beautiful wedding cakes.”
Erik inclined his head but said nothing, and Josie rolled her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake. He’s going to open his own bakery.” She turned to him. “You’ve got to get better at this.”
“Really?” Lily clapped her hands. “That’s fantastic! In fact, I’ve got a couple who just hired me but haven’t found their baker yet. Can I give them your card?”
Erik shot Josie a glare. “No, because I’m not opening my own bakery.”
Oh hell no. She wasn’t losing a second opportunity to launch a damn business. Getting him to agree to her plan had been the only bright spot in her weekend after the loss of the boutique account. “We agreed on this! What, you decided you want to be perpetually unemployed? Just hanging around Chicago being sad and broke?”
His jaw worked, but no words escaped his lips.
Josie turned back to Lily, whose interested eyes bounced between the two of them. “I thought I’d convinced him to build a website and social media following while we’re looking for a storefront for him.”
“Smart. And if you need a place to meet prospective clients until then, you can always do it here.” Lily gestured around her colorful, sunny shop. “Oh, let me grab the information for that couple I told you about. Be right back.” She disappeared through a door behind the counter.
“See? People want to help you.” She elbowed Erik’s side, digging into the warm, solid muscle and bone that made up the infuriating man.
“I’m not opening a bakery. It’s ridiculous.” Every part of his body looked carved from stone, but he couldn’t hide a there-and-gone flicker that doused her irritation at his change of mind.
He was scared. She should’ve realized. Of course this quiet, contained man was reluctant to push his name and his face and his work out in front of the public. She’d worked with people in the past who weren’t shameless self-promoters, and it always required extra hand-holding.
Thankfully, she was cool with shameless self-promotion. She swiveled on her stool so her knees brushed his, and once again she was reminded of how much man was sitting next to her. “Well, bad news. I already got you your first job.”
His blue eyes brightened, telling her she was doing the right thing by pushing him a little. “How?”
“I had to suck up to my worst coworker to do it. Think you can rustle up a dessert buffet for 150 of Chicago’s older, wealthier shoe-shopping citizenry by next week?”
She watched his baker brain engage. Was he mentally sifting through possible recipes like he sifted through flour? Measuring his remaining sugar supply in that inscrutable head?
“Sure, I could—”
“Here we go!” Lily was back, brandishing a binder. “I really need to work on my organizational systems. Anyway, their wedding’s August twelfth, and I’m expecting to meet with them this weekend to finalize their choices. Want m
e to pass along your info?”
Josie didn’t rush to answer this time, curious if Erik wanted this as badly as she thought he did. Finally, after an eternity of silence, his massive shoulders lifted in a sigh. “Yes. Thank you.”
“My pleasure! I owe you after you saved my wedding.” Lily shifted to face Josie. “My husband Grant’s grandmother turned out to be allergic to the dahlias in her corsage, and I was too much of a bride to have extra supplies on hand, so Erik let me raid his cake-table decor to make her a new one.”
He brushed it aside. “It was nothing.”
“It was plenty. Grant and I are still grateful.” She turned to Josie again. “Please tell me you’re running all his marketing. This shy-guy routine isn’t going to make him the success he deserves to be.”
Lily’s support of Erik reinforced Josie’s instincts about the whole proposition, and she leaned back on her stool to eye him lazily. “Oh yes. I’ll make sure the world hears all about him.”
He sighed. “So you weren’t joking? You actually want to help me start a bakery?”
“More than anything.” She bit her lip and fluttered her lashes at him. “I’m really good at branding and advertising and social media.”
Lily jumped in. “And we all know that’s the stuff that’ll either bore or confuse you.”
An ally. Excellent. The two women shared a quick, conspiratorial glance as Erik scrubbed a hand along his scruff and then sighed. “Let’s at least come up with a better name than Blondie Bakes.”
Josie didn’t bother to hide her triumphant fist pump. She was damn well going to show Vile Val that she was good enough to will a new business into existence even if it happened during her spare time and on a volunteer basis. Good thing for Erik that he’d gotten on board.
Nine
Erik kept his eyes on Josie’s highly ogle-able ass in that tight green dress as they climbed three flights of stairs to her apartment, letting her chatter flow over his skin like water. By his estimate, she’d said more words to him in the two weeks that he’d known her than he’d exchanged with any other human being over the past year.
