Be My Christmas Treat : A BWWM Christmas Romance

by Nia Arthurs

  Even when she’s scowling, Clark’s absolutely gorgeous.

  My eyes devour her dark lips and her curves that can’t be concealed beneath a baggy T-shirt. “If people want a Christmas experience, they’ll go to the Christmas tree lighting or one of those pop-up winter wonderland fairs. It’s not like anyone’s life is in danger if they don’t hear Jingle Bells every minute of every day.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I lean against the desk. Sigh heavily. “I don’t get why this is such a big deal. What I saw outside were happy customers who barely noticed there wasn’t a Christmas tree on every shelf.”

  “Customers notice, Mave. It’s naïve to think that they don’t.”

  “And it’s naïve to think a few Christmas lights will make a difference to our profit margin.” My eyes caress her face—mostly because she’s got her hair tied back today and I can see every inch of it.

  I’d known she was striking up close, but she’s even more breathtaking standing defiantly, sunlight hitting her skin in pockets of gold.

  Clark’s features have an ethnically ambiguous look to them—honey-blonde hair, dark brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a sloped nose that flares at the tip to soften her a bit.

  Her light brown complexion hints of an African-American heritage and her full, maroon-colored lips capture my attention. Her top lip is tantalizingly plumper than her bottom, and I’m hit by the sudden temptation to kiss them.

  “Statistics show that when people are happy, they spend more. Guess what happens when they’re not happy?”

  My brows lift. “I think you’ve made your point.”

  “Good.”

  “But I don’t agree with it.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. “Why not?”

  “We’re not a colony of the North Pole. We’re a business. There’s no rulebook that says we have to throw up a million Christmas decorations this time of year.”

  “I can understand if you thought the decorations were overkill. I have a tendency to go overboard when it comes to Christmas and the mood in the bakery was tanked after Mrs. Lindsey left, so I put in a lot of effort to give us some cheer when it felt like we were falling apart. But even if you thought it was excessive, you didn’t have to tear it all down.”

  “Leona told me you worked hard on it. I appreciate the effort, Clark. I’m sorry that you’re taking it personally.”

  “That’s…” Her slender hands grapple the air. “That’s not the issue right now. The problem is your move doesn’t make sense. The decorations don’t hurt anyone. They add to the festive atmosphere. You take that away, you’re robbing someone of a smile.”

  “I hardly think it’s that serious.”

  Her brown eyes meet mine with a challenge. “Do you have some personal vendetta against Christmas?”

  My gaze flickers away. “I’m the one who should ask you that question. Are you on a Christmas crusade?”

  “You’re deflecting.”

  “You’re a lawyer now?”

  “Would that make you a criminal?”

  The air around us seems to crackle.

  Damn. I’ve never met a woman who could give as good as she gets. Clark isn’t backing down and something about that feels invigorating.

  “You’re harping on a done decision, Clark.”

  “Nothing’s set in stone.”

  “You think you can change my mind?”

  “I think you should.” She cuts me a dark scowl. “Those decorations are important, not just for me but for the bakery.”

  “And I appreciate your dedication, I do, but—”

  “You’re patronizing me again, Mave.”

  “What do you want me to say, Clark? Neither of us seems to be budging here.”

  “So why don’t you be a gentleman and cave?”

  “Because I’m the manager and I don’t have to.”

  “Managers can be wrong.”

  The way she’s standing, legs a shoulder-breath apart, back ram-rod straight and chin tilted up, she looks ready to tackle me.

  It’s clear she’s not someone to be messed with when she’s upset.

  Except messing with her is way more fun than it should be.

  “Tell me what you want,” I say, lowering my hands and facing her fully.

  “I want an explanation.” Her eyes sharpen. “Cutting out the decorations is one thing, but why touch the Christmas cookies? They’re what this bakery is known for.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I had to take a two-week training course before I could work here. They told us the origin story behind the Christmas cookies. Leanne Antaya and her daughter—”

  “I know the backstory,” I growl. It was mine.

  “We were banking on those cookies to be our best earners, especially around this time of year. It’s a bad business decision and you know it.”

  “The Christmas cookies go,” I say firmly. “That’s non-negotiable.”

  “Why?”

  An image of pale, flour-dusted hands strikes my mind. Blue eyes rolling up. A fluffy apron skidding to the floor.

  My heartbeat stalls.

  “There’s no way cutting the Christmas cookies is a good move,” Clark insists.

  “I’m done talking about this.”

  “I’m not leaving until I get a proper explanation.”

  “Clark, I need everyone on board here.” I step closer to her. “Especially you. You’re the backbone of this place.”

  Her eyes dart to the left. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Who was working as an interim manager until I showed up?”

  “It was only for a week.”

  “A week is long enough.” I tilt my head so I’m in her line of sight and force our eyes to meet. “Go with me here. Hm? Give me a chance.” I flash her a dazzling smile. “I’d really appreciate it.”

  Instead of melting the way I expect, Clark doubles down. “I don’t want to fight with you, Mave. I just want to understand. And, from what you’ve just told me, there’s no good reason for the decisions you’re making. I don’t appreciate people who are vague.”

  “If I said there was a good reason?”

  “I’d expect to hear it.”

  “It’s somewhat related to the business.”

  Her lips flatten.

  “Can you just trust me on this?”

  “How am I supposed to trust a Grinch?” She slants me an exasperated look and then shakes her head. “Fine. Can we compromise?”

  “On what?”

  “One Christmas tree.”

  “Clark—”

  “No Christmas lights. No Christmas music. No gifts. No Santa hats. Nothing. Just a big, fat, old tree in the corner of the room where no one can see it.” She juts her chin at the poor fern dying in the office. “Like that.”

  I rub my forehead. “It’s still a Christmas tree.”

  “Nope. It’s just a simple pine tree. Just a regular plant that grew out of the ground and smells like air freshener.”

  I laugh. “Air freshener?”

  “One pine tree, Mave. Deal?” She juts out a hand.

  “You’re very convincing when you want to be. You know that?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Temper tantrums don’t solve much. I have two stubborn nieces, so I have plenty of experience in this area.”

  “Did you just compare me to little girls?”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “Did I?”

  “I believe you did.” I step closer to her. “Not the best way to win an argument.”

  “You hear what you want to.”

  “I’ll concede to the Christmas tree on one condition.”

  “What?”

  “You help me clean up this place.” I gesture to the crazy office. “I feel overwhelmed just thinking about sorting all this out.”

  She bites down on her bottom lip. “If you’re working me, I’ll add to the deal.”

  “Name your price.”

&
nbsp; “Consider putting Christmas cookies back on the menu.”

  My lips tighten. “No.”

  “Consider it. That’s all.”

  “You really don’t give up do you?”

  “Not with the things I care about.”

  I chuckle and step closer to her. “Fine. Deal.”

  Her hand slips into mine.

  Our gazes collide.

  My chest floods with heat as the tension in the room thickens. It reminds me of the way I felt when I caught her in the kitchen.

  Her lips part softly and all I can think about is tasting them…

  At that moment, the door bursts open and a voice barks, “What in the hell is going on here?”

  6

  Clark

  I jump at the sound of the door crashing into the wall. Taking a giant step away from the aggravating temptation that is my boss, I turn swiftly.

  “Mr. Vultan.” My eyes widen.

  “Clark.” His gaze darts from me to Mave.

  I fiddle with my apron. “We were just—”

  Mave touches the small of my back to stop me from talking. “Who are you? And why are you making so much noise this early in the morning?”

  Vultan’s eyes narrow on Mave. “I’m the company liaison. I’m guessing you’re the new manager?”

  Rather than answer, Mave studies Vultan the way a kid would look at broccoli in their plate. His thick eyebrows pinch together and his full top lip curves up in barely disguised disdain.

  “Are you deaf?” Vultan hisses. “I just asked you a question.”

  “I’m deciding whether or not your tone deserves a punch or an answer.”

  Vultan’s jaw drops. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

  “It’s clear you don’t know who you’re talking to,” Mave responds calmly.

  Vultan cackles and glances at me. “Is he an idiot? Something wrong with his head?”

  “That’s hardly necessary, Vultan,” I snap.

  “Don’t tell me what’s necessary or not, Clark.” He growls. “You were supposed to be outside to escort me in! Don’t you know anything?”

  Mave’s glare intensifies.

  Mine does too. Who does Vultan think he is?

  Vultan strides into the room. “So you’re the guy from the Caribbean office? You just messed up, newbie. You were supposed to report to me before you started working here.”

  “I was told to rush over. There weren’t any other instructions.”

  “Then someone in HR must have messed up too.” Vultan squares his shoulders and plods forward like an overweight peacock. “I’m your direct supervisor and every little move you make around here should pass through me first.” His eyes dart to me and fasten with intent. “And you. You should be in front of the stove. Neglecting your duty isn’t a good look, Clark. I thought you needed this job to get your baking license? You’ve decided to give up your dream over a pretty face?” He nods at Mave. “Are you that easy?”

  My fingers curl into fists. “That’s out of line.”

  “Don’t be so sensitive, Clark.” He reaches out and rubs my shoulder. “I’m only joking.”

  I wrench my arm away from him.

  Vultan chuckles. “I just thought you liked playing hard to get. That’s all. I didn’t know cornering you in an office was all I had to do.”

  Mave moves in front of me and his voice hardens until it sounds like gravel rolling around an empty barrel. “I understand you’re full of crap and maybe you can’t help it, but I won’t tolerate any disrespect towards my staff.” His gaze hardens. “Stop talking now before you regret it, Vulture.”

  “What did you just call me?” Vultan barks.

  Vulture? Did Mave just say that to his face? Is he insane?

  “You know what, Clark?” Vultan’s eyes drill into Mave. “I need a minute alone with this buffoon. Go get me a cinnamon bun. Pick a good one. I don’t want too much of the drizzle on top. And make sure it’s not too hot or too cold. I want it just right.”

  “Last I checked, serving you wasn’t in my job description,” I snap, remaining in place.

  “Whatever I tell you to do is in your job description. Unless you no longer want to work here?” Vultan wags a finger in my direction. “And while you’re grabbing the bun, get me a coffee. You know the way I like it.” His lips ease into an oily smile. “Sweet, just like you.”

  Mave’s eyes throw daggers at Vultan. “Clark has a lot of work to do. She’s not your personal secretary. If you want coffee and a cinnamon bun, you can join the line and order it like a regular customer.”

  “You don’t know how we do things around here, do you?” Vultan arches an eyebrow.

  “I don’t give a damn.” Mave lifts his chin. “Now that I’m here, we’re going to do things a little differently.”

  His dark eyes pierce me. It’s like ramming into raw electricity.

  My heart picks up speed.

  I throw it back down.

  Don’t you dare skip a beat for this insufferable Christmas hater.

  He juts his chin at the door. “You should get back to work, Clark.”

  “Right.” I flatten my lips. Shoot a dark look at Vultan. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be slaving over the stove.”

  Vultan stops me. “I’ve changed my mind about the cinnamon buns, Clark. Turns out I’ve lost my appetite.” He breaks out into a cackle that makes me wince. He is such a little weasel. “This doesn’t seem like a good time for the new manager and I to have a conversation. I’ll see myself out.”

  “Good idea.” Mave nods.

  I scowl at Vultan as he leaves the office. How dare you boss me around like you’re all that, you annoying little turd. Lifting my hand, I pantomime throwing a punch at his balding head.

  Too much force is in the swing and I end up tripping on a stack of documents. As I lurch, big, tan hands wrap around my elbow and yank me the other direction.

  I collide into Mave’s chest.

  My back hits what feels like solid muscle covered in a thin layer of fabric. The scent of woodsy cologne fills my nostrils.

  Mave’s hand brushes my side and tingles erupt beneath my blouse. His nose close to my ear, he leans down to inspect me, all the cold pride in his eyes replaced with concern.

  His touch is warm and so is his voice when he asks, “You okay?”

  “Y-yeah.” Those deep, dark eyes so focused on me sends goosebumps over my skin. I slip my arm away from his. “Thanks.”

  “Be careful, Clark.”

  My heart does another flip.

  This time, I can’t control how breathless I feel.

  Mave leaks a tiny smile when he sees my expression.

  Feeling exposed, I hurry back to the kitchen without a word.

  Rosa meets me in front of the oven. “What did Vulture want? He looked upset when he stormed out of the bakery.”

  “He was bossing me around as usual.”

  “You told him off?”

  “Of course.” I huff. “He thinks he’s God’s greatest gift to man just because he’s from corporate.”

  Rosa frowns.

  “I should get those cinnamon buns.” I wipe my hands on the apron.

  Rosa follows me around the table and juts her chin at the hallway. “What did he come to discuss?”

  “Not sure.” I blow out a breath and pull on my oven mitts. “Mave saw right through Vulture’s act. I don’t think they’re going to be grabbing a beer after work today.”

  “That’s a given. A man like Mave is too good to tolerate someone like Vultan.”

  “You’re a fan already?”

  “I won’t gush over him like Leona.” Rosa grins. “His eyes are kind.”

  “Looks are deceiving,” I mumble.

  “It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of something.” Rosa folds her arms over her chest. “Just because someone is handsome doesn’t mean they’re vain.”

  “And it doesn’t mean they’re perfect either.”

  Rosa w
iggles a finger at me. “Ah. So you admit he’s handsome.”

  “No comment.”

  “At least we got spared from having Vulture as our manager. I was scared the company would send him to take over the bakery. Can you imagine? That would have been a disaster.”

  “I agree. If I didn’t have to work here to qualify for my license, I’d have punched him a long time ago.”

  Rosa chuckles and checks the pastries I’ve set on the table. “I think these have cooled enough. You want to take them out front?”

  “Sure.” I accept the trays from her and carry them to the main room.

  Leona sees me coming and hurries to help.

  The bell above the front door jangles as the last customer leaves. Pulsing silence fills the room and I find myself feeling deeply unsettled, but I can’t put my finger on why.

  Then it hits me.

  I glance around the quaint bakery and realize that all the tables are empty.

  No one stayed to eat this morning.

  “Hey, Clark.” Stacie, the part-time worker who only stops by for the morning rush before she goes to school, waves at me.

  “Hey. You heading off now?”

  “Yeah.” She grabs her backpack from behind the counter and swings it over her shoulder. “It calmed down a lot faster than it usually does.”

  Leona purses her lips. “It’s like someone turned off the faucet early.”

  “Maybe people are just cold,” I offer.

  “Then there should be more of them here getting something warm to eat and drink.” Stacie narrows her eyes at the tables. “I don’t think that’s it.”

  “Business has always been up and down.”

  “Yeah, but… I don’t know. Maybe it’s because this place feels different all of a sudden.” Stacie frowns. “Whose idea was it to take off all the decorations?”

  “Our hot new manager.” Leona grins from ear to ear.

  “Why?”

  “Ask Clark.” Leona gestures to me. “She’s the one who went to war with him over it.”

  “It wasn’t a war.”

  “We heard you yelling from out here.” Leona arches a thin eyebrow.

  “It was a discussion that… got heated.”

  “What did he say when you asked him?” Stacie adjusts her glasses.

  “He said he had his reasons.”