Nordic Heroes: In the Market and a Wholesale Arrangement

by Day Leclaire

  “Tell that to my sweet tooth.”

  Fortunately Rainer took pity on her and helped set a tray, then carried it through to the living room. Jordan sat next to her uncle and poured the older man a cup of coffee.

  Cletus shot her a sharp look. “What took you?” he asked in a querulous tone, his former affability gone.

  “We were discussing the hazards of too much sugar in the diet,” Jordan prevaricated brazenly.

  “You mean the benefits,” Rainer murmured.

  Before she could argue, her uncle said, “I presume you came for a reason, Thorsen. Why don’t we get down to it? You still trying to wrestle Cornucopia away from us, or have you realized the futility of the notion?”

  Rainer’s eyebrows shot up. “Futile is it?” He turned to Jordan. “Is that what you’ve decided after all this time?”

  She couldn’t prevent a smile. “Once I saw the Thorsen markets, yes.” She knew her sudden confidence surprised him, and she used that surprise to hammer home her point.

  “You can’t take the north end, Rainer. Your brand of store won’t fly here. The customers want something different, something only we can provide.”

  She leaned forward, eager to impress him with her views. “Cornucopia isn’t a recipe you can duplicate. It’s unique. It’s one of a kind. And it’s as different from Thorsen’s as night from day.”

  “That’s quite a speech.” He relaxed back in his chair, lost in thought. “Okay,” he said after several minutes of tense silence. “You’ve convinced me.”

  Jordan stared at him in amazement. “Really?”

  “Really.” He stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re saying Thorsen’s needs to change in order to successfully enter the north end market. I accept that.” He nodded. “I do. So, I adapt. I learn what’s necessary in order to succeed.”

  This was not going the way she’d intended. She didn’t want him to adapt, she wanted him to quit. “And who’s going to teach you?” she scoffed.

  “Exactly. Who?” Cletus echoed.

  His eyes gleamed with mischief. “You can.”

  Jordan stared at him, stunned. What had he said?

  “You can,” he repeated, as though she’d spoken aloud. “You have the knowledge I need. So, teach me. Take me on for a week. Show me the ropes.” He grinned at her, as though he’d offered the perfect solution.

  “Ha! Not in a month of Sundays,” she said, amused despite herself. “Not in a million years. Not even for a million bucks.”

  “Well, I can’t go as high as a million, but how about two hundred and fifty dollars?” Rainer offered.

  “Ha and double ha!”

  “Five hundred,” he wheedled.

  “I laugh in your face.”

  “Seven fifty.”

  “Forget—”

  “One thousand and you’ve got a deal,” Cletus said out of the blue.

  Jordan and Rainer spun and stared at him.

  “Done!” Thorsen cried triumphantly. “I work for you for one week and—”

  “And you pay us a thousand dollars,” Jordan said in a dry voice. “I wish all our employees were so reasonable.”

  He looked at her as though just realizing what he’d done. His reluctant smile held a hint of irony. “Okay, so you got me. But I’ll have you in the end.” He crossed to Cletus and held out a hand. “I’ll report for work first thing Monday morning.”

  “This is ridiculous—” she began.

  Rainer cut her off. “On the contrary. It’s perfect. We’ll work together and by the end of the week, I’m sure we’ll have this whole problem resolved.” He held up his hands, silencing any further protests. “Argue while you walk me out to my car.”

  “Fine.” She turned and glared at her uncle. “I’ll speak to you when I finish with him.” With that, she strode from the room.

  Rainer caught her by the front door. “Don’t be too hard on your uncle. It’s obvious he wants to work out a reasonable deal with us.”

  She didn’t reply, preferring to discuss things far from curious ears. She yanked open the door and stepped outside, tripping over Scratch. She nudged the huge marmalade cat to one side. “Well, don’t count on Uncle Cletus being reasonable any time in the near future. He’s up to something, and I can guarantee it’s not a deal with you Thorsens.”

  He cocked his head. “This is difficult for you. I understand that.” His voice hardened a touch. “But I’m not paying to work for you because I seriously believe there’s anything special about the north end.”

  Jordan blinked in surprise. “But—”

  “I’m paying to work with you in the hopes of reaching an equitable solution.”

  She sighed. “This is absurd. It won’t settle anything, so why don’t we scrap the whole crazy idea?”

  He didn’t respond, merely folded his arms across his chest in silent refusal.

  She tried again. “We settled our disagreement over the bananas. I’m sure we can work something out this time.” Her words held a desperate edge. “Let’s flip another coin. If I win, we forget about you working here. I’ll tell Uncle Cletus you’ve changed your mind.”

  He shook his head. “I already have what I want. I don’t need to flip a coin for it.”

  “Yes, you do,” she insisted. “Uncle Cletus doesn’t run the store. I do. If you force this on me, I’ll make sure you regret it. You won’t learn one damn thing about the north end or Cornucopia or anything else. The only thing you’ll see all week is the inside of the trash Dumpster, because that’s where I’ll have you working.”

  He considered his options. “What do I get if I win the toss?”

  “What do you want?”

  “You mean what do I want in addition to working at Cornucopia?” His grin came slow and suggestive, and told her all too clearly what else he wanted.

  She swallowed. “Yes.” The word escaped her all by itself.

  He lowered his voice to a whisper, the sound dark and rich and enticing. “Yes, I can have what I want? Or yes, what is it I want?”

  “Yes—” She had to get a grip! “Yes, the second one.”

  Rainer chuckled. “Coward. Okay. If I win the toss I want cooperation.”

  “That’s it?” Relief filled her. “I can cooperate. I’m sure I can. If I have to.”

  His eyes narrowed. “With me by your side, count on it.”

  Time to get down to business. She smiled. Time to win. “Heads or tails?”

  “I’ll take tails again.” She reached into her right pocket and he grabbed her hand. “Only this time we’ll use my coin.” He offered a bland smile.

  She tried her innocent look. “Please. Allow me.”

  “No way, sweetheart. The jig is up. Nick let me in on your little scam. No double-headed nickels. This time we’ll have an honest toss.”

  Guilt made her squirm. “Or no toss at all?” she suggested with as much confidence as she could manage.

  He shrugged. “You’re the one who wants me out of Cornucopia. At least this way you have a fifty-fifty chance. It’s better than my chances were with the bananas.”

  Jordan had the grace to look ashamed. She was lucky he’d let her banana scam slip by with so little . . . discussion. She should be grateful. Besides, what choice did she have? “Okay. Flip it.”

  He did so, sending a quarter spinning high in the air. He caught the coin with ease and slapped it on the back of his hand. “Tails,” he announced. With a quick flick of his wrist, he palmed the quarter and stuck it in his pocket.

  “Hey! What’s the big idea? I didn’t see which side came up.” She stared at him in resentment. “That’s unfair.”

  “So sue me.” He tucked a hand around the base of her neck and drew her closer. “And consider us square over the bananas.”

  “Consider me ticked off.” She flattened her hands against his chest and pushed. Not that it helped. H
e held her with ease. “Those were my bananas to begin with. I consider any method to get them legit. And if you think I’m going to cooperate—”

  He lowered his head. “Cooperate with this.” And he sealed his words with a kiss.

  S neaky devil, Jordan thought some time later. She touched her lips as she headed for the house, feeling the warmth lingering there. Two could play at that game. She drew herself up short. So, they were back to playing games. If she didn’t watch it, she’d find herself benched for the duration. When would she realize the Thorsens were serious, that this wasn’t a game at all?

  “Uncle Cletus?” she called, determined to have it out with him.

  “In the kitchen,” he answered. “You hungry?”

  Definitely, though for something far different from food. Not that she could admit as much to her uncle. He’d never understand her defection to the enemy camp, which is how he’d look at her hormonal interest in Rainer.

  She opened the silverware drawer, collected utensils, and crossed to set the table. “Are you going to explain, or do I have to dig it out of you?”

  “What’s to explain?” Uncle Cletus asked a tad too casually.

  She spun to face him. “How could you let him trick you like that? If he comes to work for us, he’ll learn all our secrets and put us out of business. Our plans will go right down the tubes.”

  “Nonsense,” he scoffed. “He won’t learn a thing.”

  That gave her pause. “How can you be so sure?”

  Her uncle smiled a tiny, triumphant smile. “Because he doesn’t want to learn how we do things. He wants to change how we do things.”

  She considered his opinion. “Do you think so?”

  “I do. Besides, this way we can keep an eye on him, and rake in a thousand bucks to boot.” He waved a wooden spoon in her direction. “Just you remember, it’s not the train you see that runs you over. It’s the train you don’t see.”

  She struggled to hide her exasperation. “That’s just great, Uncle Cletus. But when you’re tied to the railroad tracks, you’re going to get squashed whether you see the train coming or not.”

  R ainer showed up Monday morning at Constantine’s Wholesale Market and strode across the loading area to where Jordan and Terry stood talking. “Reporting for work,” he announced in a voice loud enough to carry the full length of the dock.

  The salesmen glanced from one to the other with obvious interest.

  “Take a hike,” she said out of the corner of her mouth, refusing to look at Rainer.

  “How can I help?” he asked, offering them both a friendly grin.

  “By leaving.” She didn’t bother with subtlety this time. “Go away. Don’t bother me. Vamoose. Arrivederci and adiós.”

  “You’re trying to tell me something, right?” His brows drew together. “You don’t want my help?”

  She faced him directly, her hands on her hips. “I’ve been doing this for a lot of years without any help from you. I intend to continue doing this for a lot more years, again without your help. Our agreement is for you to work at Cornucopia, not here.”

  “Wrong.” He folded his arms across his chest in a now familiar gesture. “Our agreement is for me to work with you. You’re here, therefore I’m here.”

  “As my employee, I, your employer, instruct you to not be here.”

  His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Dare I mention the word cooperation?”

  “No, you dare not.”

  “Cooperation.”

  “So sue me!” she said, throwing his own words back in his face. She glared at Terry. “What are you laughing at? You want to sell me some lettuce, or does Nick have to stock up on rabbits?”

  Terry wiped away his smile. “Lettuce. Coming right up.” He led the way to the refrigerated “wet room,” Jordan and Rainer in close pursuit. He pointed to the floor-to-ceiling pallet, loaded with iced-down lettuce, green onions, and radishes. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “Iceberg, bib, red, green and—” She glanced down at her clipboard and checked her list “I also need butter lettuce. Oh, and throw in a crate of radishes.”

  “You got it.” Terry pushed his hand truck through the puddles of water to the end of the room and loaded it with the requested crates.

  Jordan looked at Rainer and sighed. “It isn’t necessary for you to follow me around like this. It won’t teach you anything new about Cornucopia.”

  “On the contrary,” he countered. “There’s plenty it will teach me. Since the north end is so unique in your opinion, the choices you make will give me insight into your customers. I can also judge potential sales by the size of your order.”

  Terry walked past, his cart fully loaded. He whistled tunelessly, acting as though he were blind and deaf to their little skirmish.

  She waited until he’d pushed through the heavy plastic strips that served as an insulated door before resuming their discussion. “It’s embarrassing to have you trail along behind me. People will talk.”

  She could see her concern didn’t have the least effect. “Tough. I’m here. I’m staying. And you’re cooperating. Understand?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “None.”

  Jordan lifted her chin. “Then I understand.” She stalked to the door and shoved her way through the plastic strips, silently fuming.

  The nerve of the man. No way could she get through a full week with his watching her every move. And no way could she get through a full week of all the stares and not-so-subtle comments flying back and forth along the dock. It wouldn’t take long before someone tackled her about them. She wondered who would come first.

  She didn’t have long to wait. Andrea cornered her near a pallet of green bananas. “When are you gassing these greenies?” Jordan asked, hoping to delay the inevitable. “I need some yellows.”

  “Tomorrow, and stalling won’t work. What is going on?” Andrea demanded in an undertone. “You can’t believe the rumors I’ve been hearing.”

  “Sure I can.” Jordan ticked off the items on her fingers. “One. Rainer’s after Cornucopia, which you already knew. Two. He’s spying on us, which you also knew. Three. He thinks he can get the store through me.” She grinned. “I hope you know better than that.”

  “Four. They say you’re sleeping with him. I hope you know better than that.” At Jordan’s shocked expression, Andrea hastened to add, “No, I don’t believe the rumor’s true. No, don’t waste your breath denying it. And no, I wouldn’t take it lightly, if I were you.”

  Jordan closed her eyes. “Damn.”

  “Don’t worry.” Andrea smiled with satisfaction. “I nipped possibility number four right in the bud.”

  “Is the guilty party still walking?”

  “Just. And what walking he does is with a limp.” She eyed Jordan keenly. “So what’s going on? If you haven’t been fool enough to fall for the Thorsen charm like I did, what are you doing here with Rainer?”

  “I don’t have a choice,” Jordan admitted, then explained the situation with Uncle Cletus in a few terse sentences. “My back is up against the wall.”

  Andrea groaned. “It’s suicide, pure and simple. You might as well hand him the market, lock, stock, and banana peels. He’s too powerful. Fighting Rainer, or any of the Thorsens for that matter, is like trying to hold back the tide.”

  She was right, Jordan acknowledged. He exuded power. And like the tide, he swept away all her good intentions. Despite herself, she remembered the potency of his kisses, the strength of his touch, and the intensity of the passion he could so easily arouse. She chewed her lip. But what options were available to her?

  Rainer’s appeared beside her, his silent approach unnerving. “Are you through buying?” He glanced at Andrea, his eyes alert and assessing. “I’m not interrupting something, am I?”

  “Not at all,” Andrea said, and t
urned away.

  Jordan grimaced, realizing despite her friend’s intense dislike for the Thorsens, she couldn’t afford to offend them. Not without angering her father. Looked like she and Andrea were both caught, each in her own particular trap.

  “I want to check out Nick’s specialty room before we leave,” Jordan said to Rainer. “Where’s Terry?”

  “Writing up your order and loading the truck. I told him I’d cart out anything else you need. You want to settle up with the cashier in the meantime?”

  She shot him an angry glance. High-handed Viking! Did he think after ten years in the business, she couldn’t take care of her own needs? “There’s nothing to settle,” she informed him tightly. “We have a line of credit.”

  His eyebrows shot up and his expression turned bland. “Lucky you.”

  Without a word she walked away. This would have to stop, she decided. He knew entirely too much about their business. As soon as they returned to Cornucopia, a few ground rules would be laid down—laid down like a steamroller over pavement.

  J ordan pulled into the driveway of Cornucopia and drove around to the side, carefully backing the truck to the loading dock. She’d been acutely aware of the sporty red convertible following her the entire way to the store. By the time she exited the truck, her temper flashed past the boiling point.

  “Not here,” he said, accurately reading her expression. He grabbed her arm, hustling her around the back of the store toward the house.

  “Take your hands off me!” she demanded, fighting against his hold.

  He stopped in his tracks. “Your choice. Inside and private, or out here and public.”

  “In.”

  “Key.”

  She shoved her hand into her pocket and yanked out the house key, slapping it into his palm. Lord, he looked intimidating. Not that it mattered. She refused to allow him to intimidate her. No way. Not intimidated in the least.

  “This isn’t going to work,” she announced the second they were through the door.