Be My Christmas Treat : A BWWM Christmas Romance

by Nia Arthurs

  “A nice bubble bath?” I ask hopefully.

  “A man.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Guys prefer women who don’t want a committed relationship.”

  I laugh softly. “I’ll slow down when my bakery is as successful as this one.” I gesture to the logo on the wall. My hands flail when I realize that this branch is about to close down and I hurry to take it back. “Well, not this one…”

  “I get what you mean.” Leona smirks, blue eyes sparkling. “I think Mave can turn things around. People will be lining up to see his face alone.”

  She’s not wrong.

  I remember his arms wrapping around me, those dark coffee eyes close enough to drown in.

  I shake my head to clear the memory and focus on Leona. “We just met the guy.”

  “So?”

  “We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

  “Always so pessimistic.”

  I laugh and push her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get back to work.”

  3

  Mave

  The office is in complete and total chaos. Documents are stacked to the ceiling. Folders litter the floor and invoices spill from a cabinet so dented it looks like it was thrown out a third story window.

  I stand in the middle of the room, wishing I could turn around and run right back out of it.

  I’m screwed.

  I thought this assignment would be a free ride. A couple weeks kicking back and directing the staff. A month to appease my grandmother. A breezy detour before I take off again.

  It was stupid of me to assume Gran would play nice.

  Even so, she didn’t have to throw a freaking dumpster fire into my lap.

  My phone chirps.

  Gran.

  It’s like she sensed I was thinking about her.

  “Have you settled in, Mave?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” I step over a box of documents and head to the window.

  “I’m glad.”

  “You know, when I imagined joining the company, this wasn’t the office I thought I’d occupy.”

  Gran’s breathy chuckle fills my head.

  I stop in front of the window. My fingers fumble with the strings for the blinds.

  I pull. Watch the slats tip up.

  Instead of a gorgeous view of the city, all I get is an eyeful of a boring brick wall.

  “It’s not to your liking?”

  “You couldn’t have given me a heads-up?”

  Gran huffs. “I gave you the folder with all the information.”

  “You knew I wouldn’t read it.”

  “Don’t make that a habit, Mave.” Despite the scolding, she still sounds amused. “You’re going to need to read everything you sign from now on. Especially right now. The board is watching your every move.”

  “I know.”

  “If—no, when you turn this place around and transform it into our most profitable location, the board won’t be able to say a thing. You can take the lead in peace and there won’t be anyone calling you incapable.”

  “People call me incapable?”

  “That’s not the point. What matters is the results, not the origin story.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gran.”

  “And remember not to tell anyone who you are. It’ll be even more impactful if you’re victorious on your own merits. We need to be convincing.”

  “That’s all well and good, but how am I supposed to turn this place around in just a month, Gran? That’s not enough time.”

  “I don’t know, but you’re a smart boy. You’ll figure it out.”

  “Or crash and burn.”

  “Think good thoughts, Mave.”

  Just then, there’s a knock on the door.

  “Can I come in?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  “Sounds like you’re busy. I’ll let you go,” Gran says.

  “Wait, Gran. Can’t I go somewhere else? A store that’s already successful? I—”

  Click.

  She hung up on me.

  The knocking on the door becomes more insistent.

  I grit my teeth. “Come in.”

  “Hey.” The cashier from outside, the one with the teal hair, pokes her head into the room. Her blue eyes take me in, and she offers a giddy smile. “You need any help in here?”

  “Help? This place needs a miracle.”

  “You’re right.” She chuckles. “Mrs. Lindsey’s husband bought this place. She found out about it after he signed, so she wasn’t too happy.”

  “Seems like she wasn’t too happy about accounting either,” I murmur.

  “She tried her best, but it didn’t help that she was crying all the time when she found out her husband…” Teal Hair lets the words fade. Suddenly, she brightens. “Hey, before you eat, you want a tour?”

  My hand slides over my stomach. The gurgling has stopped, but the solid emptiness in the middle tells me that I’m going to chew out my organs if I don’t eat something soon.

  “Don’t you have to watch the front?”

  “I’ll hear the bell if someone comes in.” She shrugs, tucking her blue hair behind her ear. “Plus, we rarely get customers after breakfast.”

  “Why not?” My eyebrow arches.

  “There’s a deli on the corner and a gourmet coffee shop right around the bend. Bill’s Blends. They’re our biggest competitors. They sell premium coffee and pastries. Most people go there in the afternoon.”

  “Hm.” I tuck that information away in my mind.

  “So, the tour?” She leans forward in anticipation.

  I shake my head. “Maybe tomorrow. I think I’ll head home now and tackle all this when I’m not jetlagged.”

  “Sure.” Her smile remains on her face, but the light fades from her eyes. “No problem. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

  “Thanks.”

  She turns to go.

  I step forward. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Leona.”

  I stick out my hand. “Mave.”

  There’s a distinct lack of spark when our palms brush.

  My mind drifts to Clark and the electricity that hit me when I held her, but I send that train of thought skidding off the tracks. Even jerks like me have a line and messing around with an employee is a complication I don’t need right now.

  “Looking forward to working with you, Leona.”

  She giggles. “Oh. Yeah. You too.”

  I slant her my signature grin.

  Her blush deepens. “Okay then.”

  She plods to the door and wiggles her fingers before disappearing through it.

  When she’s gone, I give the room another quick scan. With all the clutter, it looks as spacious as a college dorm room.

  A small sofa is stuffed into the corner. The desk has a hole in the back with wires sticking out of it. Across the room, there’s a fake fern that, somehow, managed to wilt and a weird-looking vase with a discarded umbrella sticking out of it.

  “Tomorrow,” I promise myself. “I’ll clean up tomorrow.”

  Leaving the bakery, I head back to my condo overlooking the beach and crash until morning.

  The next day, I get up and my first thought is of the bakery.

  So it wasn’t just a horrible dream?

  I groan, dragging myself to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

  A glance at the clock tells me it’s after ten.

  Damn. I’m late.

  “Food first.” I climb into my car and make a quick stop at the deli around the corner.

  With the sandwich in one hand, I stroll into the bakery through the back door.

  No one’s in the kitchen.

  Weird.

  I pass the area where I caught Clark in my arms and think about her off-key singing. Maybe she’s on her break.

  With a shrug, I stroll to the office and log into the company portal from the laptop. The first file I peruse is the employee roster and I stop and stare when I get to Clark’s profi
le.

  She left a distinct impression yesterday.

  Steadiness.

  Like a tree with deep roots.

  I got the sense that she’s a woman who knows what she wants and where she’s going. A woman like that is probably attracted to someone similar.

  Someone steady.

  Anchored.

  Stable.

  Words that don’t describe me.

  I let the wind carry me where it wants because settling down has never been an option.

  The truth is, I’ve never had a plan or a goal. Everything I’ve needed or wanted has been handed to me, either by my grandparents who felt sorry for the trauma I endured as a kid or by the people who are charmed by my looks and money.

  This is my first time trying to do something and it scares the freaking crap out of me.

  I shake the thought. Might as well sort these numbers out while I eat.

  The next file looks like last month’s profit and expenditure sheet. The numbers are so dismal I want to groan.

  This branch hasn’t been profitable for a long time. It’s strange that the company would have allowed it to limp along without any type of intervention.

  In between bites, I study the expenses and notice a pattern of mysterious expenditures. They don’t seem to be inventory, maintenance or staff salaries.

  Strange.

  I shoot off an email to Mrs. Lindsey asking for a rundown of what those numbers mean. Hopefully, she’ll get back to me from wherever she’s vacationing after her divorce.

  When I’m done with my food, I set the plastic wrap aside and return to the main part of the bakery for something to drink.

  I look out for Clark in the kitchen, but she’s still not back yet.

  Is she not coming to work today?

  Leona’s hunched over the register, staring at her phone when I walk in. Upon hearing my footsteps, she perks up and whirls around.

  I grab a water bottle from the fridge. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Yes. Of course. Anything,” she answers breathlessly.

  “Did Clark leave already?”

  Her expression falls. “Oh… Clark? Yeah. She’s done for the day.”

  My eyebrows arch. “What about this afternoon?”

  “Mrs. Lindsey wanted to offset costs by getting all the baking done in the morning and just reheating everything in the afternoon. That way our salary isn’t too much of a strain on the business.”

  My brows pinch together as I think about all the pastries in the kitchen. No wonder they bake a ton in the morning. It’s not to accommodate a large crowd but to serve the customers in the afternoon.

  Puzzled, I move to the kitchen and inspect one of the puff pastries. Right now, fresh from the oven, it’s perfectly flaky, the insides moist and delectable.

  My eyes narrow as I imagine a frazzled Mrs. Lindsey throwing these back into the oven at three p.m. to prepare for a new set of customers. The integrity of the product would have been compromised. There are not enough display cases with heaters to keep these products fresh.

  Could that be one of the contributors to the slow evening sales?

  In an effort to cut corners, the bakery’s reputation might have suffered with the afternoon clientele. A ripple effect would bring the entire profit margin down.

  Setting the pastry on a separate napkin, I dust my hands to get rid of the flakes and think about how badly the business has been bleeding money. How did the affairs get so dire if the previous manager had been cutting corners?

  I return to Leona. “Who was the company liaison working with this branch?”

  “A complete and total jerk.” Disgust rings from her voice. “We call him Vulture.”

  I wince. “That bad?”

  “He acts like we’re his servants whenever he comes by.” She crosses her arms, and I see the spark of rebellion in her that probably influenced the decision to dye her hair blue.

  “He knows about running a franchise?”

  “Obviously not.” She gestures to the empty space and the decided lack of customers. “You tell me if you think he’s got any brain cells between his ears.”

  “Harsh.” I grimace.

  “You’ll see when you meet him. The guy’s a tool.”

  “Hm.” My gaze falls on the Christmas cookies below the counter.

  Immediately, I think about mom.

  “You know what I love about Christmas, son?”

  “What?”

  “Spending time with you. There’s nothing I enjoy more than baking these cookies with you by my side.”

  Emotions well in my throat.

  That sweet memory is quickly chased by a bitter one.

  Mom on the floor. Flour-dusted hands. Blue eyes rolling back in her head.

  Tears on her face.

  My tears.

  I turn away quickly, so Leona won’t see the distress in my eyes. The memories get stronger and stronger like a boulder rolling down a hill.

  A familiar burning rises in my chest.

  Crawls through my stomach.

  Scorches everything it touches.

  I dig my fingers into the water bottle and the plastic crunches as it caves in.

  “Mave?” Leona’s concerned voice chimes behind me.

  I heft a finger at the garlands. “We’re taking those down. Today.”

  “What?” Her eyes bug.

  I stride to the nearest garland and tear it off the wall. The synthetic leaves make a rustling sound as I wrench them from their perches. Like wiggling worms, they gather at my feet, littering the floor with glitter and crumpled greenery.

  Leona gasps. “What are you doing?”

  “Staying sane.” I gesture to the Christmas tree near the cash register. “Please.”

  “But…” She wrings her hands together, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. “Clark worked really hard to put those up and get everything perfect. She was so excited…”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to Clark.”

  I’ve been fighting more and more memories lately. It’s the curse of the holidays. Christmas gets shoved into my face the moment I step outside. Salvation army Santas ringing their bells on the sidewalk. Carolers yodeling from house-to-house. Every freaking commercial and song on the radio.

  “Is this a religious thing?” Leona asks, swiping the Christmas tree. “You’d prefer that we put up the nativity scene instead of Santa?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Corporate rebellion then.” A hint of approval curves her lips. “You’re protesting the fact that businesses have turned the holiday into a grab for more cash?”

  “Just take them down.” I tap my fingers on the counter. “This too.”

  “Something wrong with the cookies?”

  “From now on, we won’t be serving these.”

  Her thin eyebrows shoot straight to the top of her forehead. “But it’s a few weeks to Christmas. The demand for these cookies is skyrocketing.”

  The tightness in my chest increases the longer I look at the cookies.

  “Mom! Wake up, please!”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and fight the memories. “We’ll take them off the menu and replace them with something else.”

  “Something like what?”

  I raise my hand and grasp at the air. “I’ll figure that out.”

  She gives me a dubious look.

  I move closer to the cash register, leaning in close. “Leona, this branch is in a prime location with everything it needs to succeed, yet it’s still failing.”

  “I—”

  “You said it yourself. That café around the bend is number one in this neighborhood.”

  She dips her chin. “True.”

  “If we want a different result, we can’t continue doing the same thing we’ve been doing for the past few years. This place needs to shake up and the first step in doing that is getting rid of these.” I nod to the garlands, the Christmas trees, and the cheerful Christmas lights. “That’s how we compete with the
other businesses.”

  “I guess so.”

  “You guess?” I ease further over the counter and deliver a practiced smile. “From what you just told me, Clark won’t be too happy about this. I’ll need someone in my corner who won’t be second-guessing.”

  Her blush breaks out over her face like clockwork. “No, you’re right. We should do something different. I’ll take everything down.”

  “Good.” I head to the door.

  “You’re leaving already?”

  “I’m done for the day.”

  “You organized the office already?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Thin eyelashes bat up and down. “If you need help, I’d love to—”

  “You’ve been working hard all day. It wouldn’t be right to burden you.” I keep my tone firm. “I’d rather go home and get back to it, alone, tomorrow.”

  She nods. “Okay.”

  I hurry to my car, only breathing easily again when I’m far away from the bakery.

  Gran wants me to turn this place around in a month and, for her, I’ll give it my best shot, but I won’t be held hostage to my past.

  No Christmas decorations.

  And no Christmas cookies.

  Those are my only conditions.

  I’m going to throw my all into this, but we’re going to do things in my style and in my freaking way.

  4

  Clark

  “I’m not late,” I say, shrugging out of my coat and setting it on the hook as soon as I enter my sister’s cramped apartment.

  “You always do this, Clark.” Maxine rushes past me, dressed in pressed slacks and a button-down shirt. Dark hands fiddle with an earring. “Always at the last possible minute.”

  “But I’m not too late,” I say again.

  “Barely.” She hands me the earring after several more seconds of unsuccessfully breaking it apart.

  I laugh as I separate the earring from the backing. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” She fastens the plastic jewelry on her ears. Brown eyes lock on me as her lips curve downward. Reaching out, she brushes something from my hair. “Were you staring at that old building in the cold again?”

  I sheepishly rub a lock between my fingers, thinking about my collision with Mave and how closely the snow in my hair resembles the flour that doused us both yesterday.