by Nora Flite
DIRTY ARRANGEMENT
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Nora Flite
Copyright © 2019 Nora Flite
All rights reserved. DIRTY ARRANGEMENT is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Chapter One | ALICE
Chapter Two | ALICE
Chapter Three | ALICE
Chapter Four | ALICE
Chapter Five | ALICE
Chapter Six | ALICE
Chapter Seven | THOMAS
MY SECRET MASTER | - Chapter One -
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~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~
Chapter One
ALICE
NOTHING SMELLS BETTER than fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.
And, not to toot my own horn, but the ones I make are some of the best in the city. It's not an easy task—I wake up before the crack of dawn, do a few jumping-jacks to pump myself up, then stumble into my shower. I also chug a pot of coffee.
It's not easy, but when you run your own bakery, you do whatever it takes to create delicious food.
Wiping my forearm over my cheeks, I look down at the tray of iced-buns I just set in my display case. The sky is turning orange outside. It's pretty, and as tired as I am, I never get sick of that view. It'd be nice to share this with someone, I think, eyeing all the work I need to finish doing before I open Simply Sweet. Not for the first time, I wish for a second set of hands. Maybe someday I can afford an assistant.
I've been running the bakery for two years. The business is small, but I'm proud of every flour coated counter top. I've worked here my whole life. When my mentor passed away, he left Simply Sweet to me. That memory always brings a sharp spike of sadness. This place is special for a lot of reasons, and I'm determined to make sure it succeeds.
After another hour of prep, I slip behind the cash register, bending low to make sure everything in the glass case looks beautiful. The cookies are stacked, the cake balls are bright and pink, and everything has that glossy freshness that makes for a good instagram photo. I snap a few pictures and post them online. I only started the account a week ago, after some prompting from my friend who understands social media way better than me. It's helped me get some extra foot traffic in my door which is exciting.
At this rate, those past due bills will be a breeze...
I flip the sign to 'open' then spot my coffee machine in the corner. What's one more cup? Or two? Or five? Okay, yeah, I have an addiction. At least it's a socially acceptable one.
Smoothing my dark hair behind my ears, I pour coffee into my zombie-unicorn mug until it's steaming. It smells amazing, but it needs something. Humming, I stir in ribbons of thick cream until my drink is pale gold. I don't need sugar, but I can never go without cream.
I lean behind the counter, sipping and enjoying the silence. The cup is empty when my first customer arrives. She's a regular; an older woman who always orders a box of donuts for her office. After her comes a young man, then a pair of teens, then a school mom with a flock of children. I fall into the flow of a normal day, smiling and offering both pleasantries and pastries.
As I finish wrapping a bag of cookies, I spot something I'm not used to seeing. A candy apple red car—the kind of flashy model I'd never imagine being able to afford—is parked in my front lot. I don't think a car as nice as this has ever been parked at my bakery.
Then the driver exits the vehicle, and I... I just gawk.
Wide shoulders fill out a pale gray suit. The shadow he casts as he strolls is long—he's tall, for sure. I can't see his eyes behind his glossy Ray-Bans, but his skin has a touch of bronze glow, like he just returned from a trip to a tropical island.
A handsome, clearly rich stranger, is walking into my bakery.
Am I about to get punked by some television show?
The tiny bell over my door tinkles as he enters. I go stiff, unable to act casual as I realize I'm alone in my bakery with this intimidating stranger. His long fingers nudge his sunglasses up his forehead, revealing vibrant green eyes that scan my bakery up and down, looking at everything except me.
My unease morphs into irritation. His casual way of ignoring me is getting under my skin.
When he bends at the waist, peering into the glass case in front of me, I set down my empty coffee mug on the top of it hard enough that it goes BANG. It's enough to get him to glance upwards. I shiver under the intensity of his fierce gaze.
He stands to his full height, looming over me, considering me like I'm one of the pastries on display. It makes me feel exposed; no one has ever given me a hungry look like this. Not even my past boyfriends. I never thought of myself as the sultry-sexy-type, I'm more of a girl next door. Which is fine with me, my focus has been my career for as long as I can remember. So this... this is new. I like it, and I hate it, too.
“Can I help you?” I ask, cocking my head.
“Well, that depends.” His voice is thick, like freshly stirred caramel. He slips a hand into the pocket of his expensive jacket, sliding some folded papers onto the counter. “I assume you're the owner, correct?”
“Uh, yeah. I'm Alice Brighton.” I eye the papers warily. “And you are?”
“Forgive me. I suppose you should know me by name from here on out. I'm Thomas Volt, though you'll just call me Mr. Volt.”
“Uh, excuse me? I'll call you what?” My veins burn with my rising anger. Who does this guy think he is? The paper crinkles under my fingers. With a sense of foreboding, I unfold it. The words inside are crisp black on stark ivory. It has a professional feel to it, and instantly I realize these are legal papers. Scanning the words, my stomach twists. “What is this?”
“I think it's clear. Read the words again, if you have to.”
My grip begins to tremble, the edges of the form wrinkling with my tension. The letter spells out the situation; I missed my last rental payment for the bakery by one day, and as such, the bank has sold it to someone else. Someone who was rich enough to pay for the entire property outright.
Lifting my eyes, I stare at Thomas in a combination of dull pain and sour disbelief. “You bought my bakery?”
The corner of his mouth lifts; a smirk if I ever saw one. “My bakery, technically.”
“How is this possible?” My heart races. I grip the edge of the display case because I'm seconds away from punching this asshole in his smug face. “I know I was behind on rent, but aren't they supposed to give me some sort of warning?”
“I imagine they did. Perhaps you ignored them? It doesn't really matter, what's done is done.”
A burst of rage crawls up my spine. I crumple the letter into a tight ball, throwing it at the man as hard as I can. It bounces off of his broad chest. He doesn't even flinch, but the way he narrows his eyes chills me. “This is ridiculous!” I shout. “I've worked here since I was a kid! Simply Sweet means everything to me.” My mentor's face flashes through my head, bringing anguish. “It... it's supposed to be mine.”
Thomas dusts off his jacket, watching me like I'm a child throwing a tantrum. His voice smolders like a fire that's on its way to turning everything around it to ash. “These things happen, businesses fail.”
“I wasn't failing,” I hiss, searching his eyes to find an iota of compassion beyond his cool contempt. “If this bakery was failing, why did you b
uy it? What use is a bankrupt business?”
“No use, obviously.” He shrugs, glancing away from me to study the room. “I haven't decided what I'll do with it yet. Maybe I'll just tear it down.”
My stomach contorts painfully. “Tear it down? But... I...”
He turns, approaching the door as casually as when he first entered. “I'll figure it out. You should really worry about what you'll do, Alice.” Pausing, he gives me one last look, his eyes taking me in with a dark sparkle of interest. “Maybe take some baking classes? Perhaps your poor skills are why this place failed.”
My mind buzzes with a million responses; from screaming curses to pleading whines. Words fail me, and Thomas exits before I can speak at all. Through the front window I see his car rumble out of the lot. He's gone as quickly as he arrived, and it seems impossible that he ruined my whole world in just minutes.
My chin drops as I let out a frustrated sob. How did this happen? What am I going to do?
Making fists on the glass, I blink through my furious tears at the pastries below. Pretty, shiny, freshly baked pastries that I made with love this morning.
“He's wrong.” My tone is flat, blood pumping as an idea begins to form. “He's completely fucking wrong. I'll show him how good my food is. Then, maybe...”
I race into my kitchen to get to work.
Chapter Two
ALICE
I'M HESITANT TO GET out of the taxi. From where I sit, I can crane my neck and gawk out the open window at the towering building we're parked in front of. Finding Thomas Volt's company address was easy—a quick Google of his name brought me to the Volt Inc website. It also threw a collection of business articles, gossip columns, and far-too-sexy candid photos from paparazzi in my face.
Thomas was a looker, I knew that. Seeing him shirtless in some scummy snapshot taken on a beach in Hawaii made my mouth water. I'm not proud of my reaction. What can I say? I'm human.
I have a mission, I remind myself, popping the door open. The sidewalk with all its cracks and dirt is a contrast to the pristine building in every way. Golden, sculptured letters spell out VOLT right over the glass entrance. I never imagined myself setting foot in a place like this. Maybe I'm crazy, but crazy is all I have.
My apron has been switched out for an emerald green ankle-length dress. It gives my figure soft curves, the color accenting my hazel eyes. With my hair free from its normal bun, curling loose over my shoulders, and my skin clean of sugar and flour, I strike a professional image. Let this Thomas asshole see how presentable I can get. Part of me feels ridiculous for trying to impress a guy I already hate. Just follow the plan, I remind myself.
I give the pink box in my arms a tiny hug. It's full of confections I'd worked incredibly hard to produce. If he tastes my food, maybe he'll agree to let me keep working at the bakery. I doubt he'll give the place back to me, but being allowed to continue running it is enough. For now, anyway.
My shoes click on the pavement, marching me into the building. There's a huge reception area, the windows pouring bright light into the room, highlighting the burbling fountain with its koi fish statues. I ignore it all and head to the elevator. The plaque next to it says that Thomas's main office is on the 12th floor.
The ride up is too fast, I want more time to think, to plan, but the doors spread to reveal the wide room in front of me. Stepping out onto the glossy marble floor, I gape at the giant space that's been decorated minimally. There's a small waiting area, a curved white table and fancy leather benches. One entire wall is a window, giving a beautiful view of the city below.
My eyes drift to the reception desk. There's a woman there. Like everything else, she 's stunning; tall, blonde as vanilla cake, her tan skin flawless. She could be a movie star. These are the kind of girls a guy like Thomas gets to be around all day. It reminds me I don't fit in here.
Easing forward, I approach the desk, trying to sound confident. “Hello, um, I'm Alice Brighton. I was hoping to get a moment with Thomas Volt?”
The secretary looks me up and down, like I'm garbage someone had abandoned in her lobby. Her tone comes out too sweet. “Mr. Volt is very busy, let me see what I can do.”
I watch closely as the secretary presses a button, mumbling into a speaker. “Mr. Volt? There's an Alice Brighton here that would like to see you.”
We watch each other as we wait for his reply. I see her eyes dart to my hair, my dress, than to her nails. She's bored of me already. Suddenly a deep, familiar voice asks, “Is that so? Send her in, Violet.”
It's impossible not to smirk at the receptionist as she blinks. When she gestures to the door behind her, though, my smugness evaporates. I almost forgot that I'm about to be face to face with the man in charge of my future. “Thanks,” I say, taking a deep breath. You've gone this far. You just have to convince him.
The doors spread apart when I lean on them. Instantly the scent of bitter coffee and oranges hits me. The pleasant smell permeates the circular office as I walk over the pliant, marshmallow-like carpet. The far wall is made entirely of a single, curving window, and it gives a better view of the city skyline than the one in the waiting room. This place is gorgeous, and in any other circumstance, I might appreciate it.
Thomas Volt—my target—stands by a laquered brown desk. His hands are folded behind his back. He's wearing gray trousers and a light blue dress shirt. Just like the first time we met, the intensity of his green eyes makes my heart thud.
“Hello, Alice,” he says, tilting his head. “I see you've come to pay me a visit. Whatever for?”
“Thomas—”
“Mr. Volt,” he interrupts me, one fine eyebrow arching in disapproval. “You'll call me Mr. Volt.”
I stutter, my prepared speech vanishing in my mind at his demand. “Mr. Volt, I came by because...” I search for the words I'd carefully practiced but they don't come. Thomas moves closer, looking me up and down in that way of his. It thrills me, which makes it harder to focus on my speech. What the hell is he thinking? Why is he looking at me like that?
He stands a foot away, looking from my frowning face to the pink box crushed in my arms. “You brought me a gift?”
“Uh, what? Oh!” Shaking my head to find some clarity, I offer the container with a hesitant smile. “Sort of, yes. This is why I'm here.”
“You didn't need to do that. You could have mailed it, though I appreciate the personal touch.”
“No, no. Mr. Volt, you told me that you suspected my baking wasn't very good. I wanted to show you that you're wrong, and that the reason my bakery is...”
“Failing,” he suggests, crossing his arms with a sly smile.
My skin heats up. “The point is, I wanted you to see what I'm capable of.”
Thomas reaches out expectantly. I hand him the box, and when our fingers get close, a new flash of heat burns through my belly. He walks to his desk, setting the box down gently and speaking without looking at me. “You came here to try and bribe me.”
“Bribe? What? No, I...”
“Because,” he goes on, lifting the box's lid with deft fingers. “I do have a sweet tooth.” His eyes run over the contents, taking in the cupcakes and eclairs with what I hope is appreciation. The heavy silence stretches until my anxiety makes my ears ring. Finally, he nods his head towards a small table where a coffee maker sits. “Grab me a cup, please. And one for yourself.”
Elated, I hurry to pour two mugs of the scalding drink, glancing at the bowl of sugar and other extras. “Do you like cream, Mr. Volt?”
“Do you?” he murmurs softly.
I dribble some of the dairy into my coffee. “Sure. I like it a lot, in fact.”
“Interesting,” he chuckles. “I'll take mine black.”
Shrugging, I carry the drinks to the other side of the desk. Thomas takes his mug, gesturing to the pink box as he sips. “This is what you thought I'd like.”
“I tried to give a little variety since I don't know your personal favorites.”
Th
omas levels a look at me, his eyes half-lidded; bedroom eyes. “The things I like to eat aren't in this box, Alice.”
Frustrated, I huff, “You might like them, you won't know until you try!”
His chuckle is insulting. “Is that how you live your life, believing you should try everything to see if you like it?”
I open my mouth, then shut it. What the hell is he talking about? “I don't know. I guess so?” Without waiting for his permission, I sit in one of the plush chairs. When I push my hair behind my ears nervously, it thrusts my chest out. Thomas's eyes move there—a fast motion, but I see it.
Well, well. Maybe I'd been convincing myself that all the intense stares were meant to intimidate me. Did Thomas actually feel the same pull towards me that I did to him?
Tapping my toe anxiously, I grip my coffee mug and take a long, slow sip. When I'm done, I sigh. The sound comes out close to a moan. Thomas's eyes flash—I blush furiously. Are you flirting or doing impressions of a bad porno? Get it together, Alice, I think angrily.
Thomas braces his hands on his desk, studying me with sudden interest. “Alice,” he starts carefully, “you're not here to prove me wrong about your baking. You're worried about your career. Your future.”
His bluntness takes the wind out of me. Setting my mug down, I narrow my eyes. “Of course I'm worried. I don't want to lose the bakery I love.”
“Then let's make a deal.” He shuts the box of pastries, sliding them towards me. “If all you want is your job, you can have it.” I start grinning wide as the moon, but he isn't done. “There will be some conditions.”
“Like what?” I ask warily.
Thomas strolls around the desk until he's behind me. “I'll become your boss, Alice. That means whatever I say goes.”
Twisting to make sure I can see him, I wrinkle my nose. “Isn't that normally how employees behave with their bosses?”
His tone shifts, almost imperceptibly, becoming hot smoke and honey. “You're not just my employee, oh no.” He's watching me intently. I have the sensation of being trapped and I don't know why it's so exciting.
