Honey Buns: An Opposites Attract Romance

by Cat Johnson

  HONEY BUNS

  An Opposites Attract Romance

  NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

  CAT JOHNSON

  Never have a romantic dinner with a charming stranger. It won’t work out well. Trust me. I know.

  One dinner and now mister handsome hottie’s two new Main Street enterprises are about to drive my bake shop out of business.

  Apparently, I was just a pawn in his little game of Mudville Monopoly. Fine. He’d better hold on to his hotels, because I’m about to show Mister Moneybags exactly what it means to mess with a girl who spent some time on the wrong side of the B.&O. Railroad tracks.

  That would be easier if he weren’t so devastatingly distracting. And if my only option for survival wasn’t for him to become my new boss.

  Honey Buns features a single billionaire workaholic, a feisty small-town baker with a sewer grate-sized chip on her shoulder, some hundred-year old love letters guaranteed to make you cry, addictive diner fries, a dumpster diving stray cat and all of the small town crazy you’ve come to expect from Mudville.

  Have you caught up with the other standalone Mudville novels?

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  ONE

  Brandon

  “Good morning, Brandon.”

  I glanced up at my assistant Mina and scratched the day-old stubble on my chin, pulling myself out of the spreadsheet I’d been engrossed in on my computer screen.

  “Good morning.” My voice sounded gruff as I realized she was the first person I’d spoken to this morning.

  “Exciting day today. The results are here.” She beamed with more than her usual morning cheer.

  The enthusiasm with which she delivered that news pulled me out of the daze I’d fallen into after staring at numbers in the silent office for—I glanced at the time—three hours.

  I scrubbed both hands over my face, trying to rally a modicum of the energy my young assistant possessed naturally, while she drank only herbal tea. I should probably find out what she ate to give her that glowing skin and unending energy.

  Even then I knew I’d never have her inherent perkiness. It must be a mid-west thing. At least I believed that’s where she was from.

  “And which results are those?” I frowned, still trying to pinpoint what she might find especially exciting and worthy of a special mention. Then I remembered. “Oh, is it last night’s debate numbers?”

  That I could get excited over too. I had twenty-four/seven access to our social media ad analytics, but I was waiting on the results of multiple voter polls.

  It was an election year and I co-owned a company responsible for analyzing data. That data was then used to direct some of the leading candidates’ social media targeting for their campaign advertising.

  It was a job that kept me tied to my desk sometimes twenty hours a day. There was a reason I had a nice long sofa in my office. Too often it served as my bed.

  I lived and breathed statistics, but it was a surprise and a novelty to see Mina so very excited about it too. Maybe I’d rubbed off on the twenty-two-year old.

  In fact, perhaps I could be her mentor. She’d be my protégé. I could guide her through the fascinating world of demographic analytics.

  She let out a giggle. “No. It’s the Family Tree Heritage results.”

  “Oh. That.” My flat reply sounded about as enthusiastic as I felt about this whole Family Tree thing that had been forced upon me.

  The company-wide DNA test had been my partner Josh’s idea. He’d thought it would be a good corporate team building exercise. That we could see how alike we were in our differences.

  He was the Kumbaya half of our partnership. The earthy-crunchy feel good part, as opposed to me. I was the just the facts half. I left all the people-y stuff to him.

  But since my involvement in this heritage test thing had been limited to the couple of seconds it took me to swab inside my cheek and hand off the apparatus to Mina, I’d agreed and hadn’t thought about it again.

  Three weeks later, it seemed that heritage pigeon had come home to roost. In my very own family tree, apparently.

  “Don’t sound so excited about it.” She shook her head and smiled as she set down a large envelope as well as the mug of coffee she’d been holding hostage until now.

  Reaching between the stacks of papers on my desk to snag the mug, I eyed the envelope.

  I was more interested in the design of the tree logo artfully splayed across the front, its branches framing the address label, than what was inside making it so damn thick.

  Stifling a groan, I sighed. “I suppose Josh expects me to review that.”

  I wrinkled my nose at the prospect. My partner had talked about planning a meeting where we’d all compare our findings.

  Mina’s tinkling laugh brought my gaze up.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You. You’re the hardest working man I know, but only when it’s something you’re interested in. Otherwise you’ll procrastinate forever.”

  I snorted at the accuracy of her assessment.

  She took a step closer. “Want me to review your results and give you the highlights?”

  My eyes widened at the offer. “Would you?”

  She rolled her eyes at my obvious and overwhelming relief. “Yes. I’d be happy to. I find this stuff interesting. My results were fascinating. Apparently, I’m descended from Scottish royalty.”

  “Well, good for you. Here. Have at it.” I picked up the hefty envelope and handed to her. “If I need to take over the throne for any dearly departed relations overseas, give me a heads up.”

  “Will do.” She smiled.

  I tended to lose myself in work. Hours could have passed for all I knew—it felt like just minutes to me—but all too soon a message from Josh popped up on my computer.

  Yes, I know, every efficiency expert on record says to turn off notifications. And I do for everything, including our internal interoffice messaging system, except for messages from Josh.

  I trusted him to not bother me unless it’s something that couldn’t wait . . . I might have to reevaluate that assumption.

  JOSH: Did you get your DNA results?

  Sighing, I decided I would be very happy when he got this DNA crap out of his system. Until then, I guess I was stuck.

  I typed in a reply.

  BRANDON: Yes.

  That was all he was getting on this matter. Partially because I had nothing else to say. Mostly because I was annoyed at the interruption.

  Although since he’d already broken my concentration, now might be a good time to stand up, stretch, and get a fresh cup of coffee.

  I glanced at the clock and it told me what the sun high in the sky already had—it had been hours since I’d even glanced up from the screen.

  The ping from my computer, which I heard from across the room where my personal one-cup coffee maker was currently spewing out fresh hot brew into my mug, told me Josh wasn’t done with the conversation yet.

  I waited for the final drip, grabbed the mug and took my steaming black coffee back to my desk. His message sat in the corner of the screen, blinking at me annoyingly.

  JOSH: What did you think? I’m going to call an all-hands meeting for this afternoon to discuss.

  I knew it. Just getting the results weren’t going to be the end of this little project of his. I drew in a sip and then set the mug down to reply.

  BRANDON: Fin
e.

  JOSH: What’s with the one-word answers?

  I shook my head and couldn’t help a laugh. No wonder I didn’t miss having a serious relationship since launching this venture two years ago. Josh was needier than any girlfriend I’d ever had.

  BRANDON: Just busy.

  I was going to leave it at that but decided if I didn’t placate him, this conversation would go on forever and I’d never get my work done. I added See you at the meeting and hit to send the message.

  But then I realized something. Josh was all about full participation at the all-hands meetings. Every employee was invited, from the head office to the guy who delivered the mail and made sure we didn’t run out of coffee pods, and everyone got a chance to speak.

  That meant I’d have to comment on my results. The results I hadn’t even laid eyes on.

  I reached for the intercom and pushed the button. “Mina? Can you come in here?”

  She appeared in the doorway, still chewing. “Yes?” she asked after swallowing.

  I realized what a dick I was. Not only was my assistant eating lunch at her desk, no doubt while working, but I’d just interrupted her meal.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were having lunch.”

  She shook her head and waved away my concern. “No worries. What’s up?”

  I made a mental note to get her a little token of my appreciation. A pedicure or a massage or something, then I realized that I’d have to figure out how to do any of those things since she was the one who always handled gifts from me to others.

  Maybe Josh’s assistant would do it for me.

  Or maybe I needed to start doing some things for myself. If Mina ever quit, I’d be screwed.

  “Um, so Josh is talking about calling an all-hands to discuss this DNA thing.”

  I still felt silly using the term all-hands. Josh had heard that’s what Jeff Bezos called his corporate-wide meetings and decided we would too. I didn’t think us borrowing Bezos’s lexicon would help us grow as big as Amazon, but it made my partner happy.

  Meanwhile, Mina’s eyes had widened and she held up one finger. “Hang on. I have your results.”

  I was going to tell her it could wait until after she’d finished eating, but she’d already skidded out through the doorway.

  She was back in seconds, the thick sheaf of papers in her hand decorated with multicolor sticky notes.

  I lifted my brows. “I see you had time to review it.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s really fascinating. I know you weren’t enthused but I think you’re going to be excited about the results.”

  Doubtful. I kept my rude assumption to myself out of respect for all her hard work.

  She stood in front of me like a schoolgirl about to deliver an oral report.

  Happy I didn’t have to research and write that report myself, I grabbed my mug, leaned back, and waited for her to begin.

  “So, apparently you’re one of the last members of your family to take this test because both your parents, and two of your grandparents are already listed in the database.”

  I nodded, remembering a couple of years ago when my mother had been on a DNA kick and given everyone the tests for Christmas. I’d never gotten around to taking mine then.

  Mina continued, “No surprise, you’re mostly European. But this was fun . . . You’re also six percent Native American.”

  “Really? Hmm.”

  Okay, maybe this was a little bit interesting. Still not worthy of all the hype Josh was throwing at it.

  “Now, here’s the most fun part. When I was mailing your Christmas cards, didn’t you say you have no cousins?”

  I pocketed more guilt that this woman had handled my personal family Christmas cards along with the corporate ones and answered. “Pretty much, yeah.”

  As an only-child born to two only-children, I had no first cousins. Family holidays had been pretty small—and boring affairs growing up.

  “Well, there are two people, just about your age, who are showing as close DNA matches. I’m thinking they’re cousins of yours.”

  “Really? What are their names?” I asked, curious in spite of myself.

  I supposed there had to be some very distant cousins from my great-grandparents' and my grandparents’ generation but I didn’t remember ever meeting them.

  Perhaps these two people were from that line of the family.

  “Amanda and Christopher Van de Berg. Born to Michael and Rita Van de Berg in 1988 and 1990, respectively.”

  “Can I see?” I extended my hand for the papers.

  “Sure.” Mina’s smile spoke volumes as she handed them to me.

  “Stop looking so smug,” I said, staring down at the papers but still feeling her glow of satisfaction, all because I was showing interest in this bullshit.

  She chuckled as I fought my own smile.

  “Go finish your lunch,” I said. “And tomorrow, go out for lunch, please, on me. Put it on the corporate card. I don’t want you chained to your desk for meals.”

  “I learned from the best but thank you. I will go out tomorrow, on you.” She flounced out of the room but I was already engrossed in this Van de Berg family tree.

  Frank, born 1908. His son Robert, born in 1933. His son Michael, born in 1961. And finally Amanda and Christopher, who were, as Mina had said, close to my own age.

  I’d never heard the Van de Berg name before. Yet my family and theirs shared DNA.

  Of course, it could be a glitch. How accurate were these tests, anyway? I’m sure Josh had an answer to that question. Asking it could be part of my participation in today’s meeting.

  Perfect. Homework assignment complete.

  Since my concentration was good and broken now, I decided to do a quick scan of my email inbox before getting back to work on the project I’d spent all morning on.

  I tossed the papers aside, satisfied I could provide enough during the all-hands to make Josh happy. I’d deliver the fascinating news that I was European and Native American, had possibly two distant cousins I’d never met, then file the report and probably never look at it again.

  That had been the plan until at the top of my inbox was an email to me from Family Tree Heritage and the subject line read, You have a new message from Amanda Van de Berg.

  So much for my plan. Damn you, Josh, and your damn test too.

  This was a rabbit hole I didn’t feel like falling down right now. I still had too much work to do. I was about to click to close my inbox but something had me opening the email instead.

  There it was, a message from my supposed cousin Amanda.

  A long message full of exuberance and what amounted to pages of information about her and her brother, her parents and the history of the Van de Berg family in the town of Mudville, New York.

  Mudville. Where the hell was Mudville?

  Curious, I googled and found it on a map.

  The town was only about a three-hour drive from the city. Surprising, since I’d never heard of it.

  I was still absorbing all the information when Josh knocked on my open door.

  “Shit. Is it time for the all-hands?” I asked, realizing that between this long ass email and the meeting, my afternoon was going to be completely blown by this heritage crap.

  “Not yet. Just stopping in to see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m doing fine. Why?” I frowned. Did I not look like I was fine?

  “When was the last time you went home?” he asked.

  My frown deepened, not only because I couldn’t answer that question without thinking much too hard about it, but because Josh had asked at all.

  I glanced down at myself. I kept clothes at the office. Toiletries too. And the gym I belonged to just down the block had a shower. I was in a fresh shirt.

  I’d even shaven this morning. . . Or no. I ran my hand over my stubble. That had been yesterday morning.

  I shook my head, still confused. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

  His eyes poppe
d wide. “Brandon. You can’t work twenty-four/seven.”

  “I don’t. I slept a full six hours last night.”

  He blew out a loud puff of air and hooked a thumb toward my couch. “On that sofa?”

  “It’s very comfortable.” Long enough for my six-foot frame. Firm. Wide. It was the reason I’d chosen it.

  With the blanket and pillow I kept in the closet, the couch made a great bed in a pinch. And it was so much closer than my apartment in Williamsburg. A walk across the room was better than a subway or a cab ride any day.

  Josh drew in a breath, leveling his eyes on me. “I want you to take some time off.”

  With the waves of his dark hair nearly reaching his shoulders, while mine was dirty blonde and cropped short, my college best friend and I couldn’t have looked more different. But we’d always shared the same drive when it came to this company . . . at least I’d thought we had.

  I shook my head again. “I don’t need to—”

  “Don’t wait until you need a break. Then it’ll be too late. I don’t need a partner in the hospital from a nervous breakdown.”

  “I’m not going to have a nerv—”

  “You will if you keep up this pace.” My formerly laidback friend interrupted me yet again.

  I let out a sigh, not knowing where his unwarranted concern was coming from. “It’s only until the election.”

  “The election isn’t for another seven months,” he pointed out.

  I opened my hands wide, my upraised palms as empty as my brain of ideas for how to stem his tide of ridiculous apprehension. “I don’t know what you want me to say here. There’s work that needs to be done.” And I was happy to do it so I didn’t see the problem.

  “Hire more staff.”

  “But—”

  “Brandon. Stop being a martyr. Stop being a control freak. You are not the only person who can do your job. You're not the one who has to handle all the work around here.” He folded his arms and glared at me.