Be My Christmas Treat : A BWWM Christmas Romance

by Nia Arthurs

  “He’s not a bad guy, Clark. Life’s been hard. If you knew everything he’s been through…”

  My lips tighten. “Did he give you anything other than excuses?”

  “He promised he’d help me out more.”

  I snort yeah right.

  “Just give him a chance.” She meets my eyes. “People change, Clark. If you believe in them and give them the opportunity, they just might surprise you.”

  I scowl at my coffee, biting back my tongue so I don’t tell Maxine her precious ex spilled the beans while he was sniffing around for money.

  Levonte can have an opportunity to prove himself, but I’d rather keel over and die than give that man one cent of my hard-earned cash.

  9

  Mave

  It’s nearing the end of the two-week mark and, even though we’ve been making great strides, the bakery’s profits are nowhere near where they need to be.

  That’s not for lack of trying.

  I’ve been hitting the pavement.

  Brand ambassadors. Street marketing.

  Giveaways. Promotions.

  I’ve organized everything I can think of to get sales to jump the hoops Gran wants them to jump through.

  Clark, Rosa and Leona have done their part, staying late to help with crafting flyers and being the foot soldiers on top of their regular duties.

  It’s frustrating that the bakery is still so deep in the hole.

  Something isn’t adding up.

  I keep thinking about those strange numbers in the expenditure sheets. Since Mrs. Lindsay has yet to respond to my emails, I’m in the dark about what those mysterious expenses are and it bothers me like a nagging mosquito.

  I’m thinking of sending the numbers to Will and getting his input. There’s got to be a way we can pull in an accountant and get to the root of the issue, if for nothing else but my peace of mind.

  A knock on the door startles me.

  Leona pokes her head in. “Hey, boss. You’re working late today.”

  “Yeah. Figured I could catch up on some paperwork.” I tilt my head to see over her shoulder. “Is Clark still here?”

  “She’s cleaning the kitchen.”

  “Ah.” I nod.

  “Do you need something from her?” Leona asks hesitantly.

  “No, I was just checking.”

  She pulls her lips in. Hesitates. Glances at me and then the ground.

  I study her. “You have something you want to share?”

  She sucks in a deep breath and seems to be building her courage.

  I want to humor her, but I’m not in the mood tonight.

  “Leona, if this isn’t important, we can—"

  “Clark doesn’t like you,” she blurts.

  I blink once. Twice.

  She fidgets with her purse. Her hair falls in front of her face, but she doesn’t push it back. Instead, she uses it like a curtain to hide her expression. “I just thought I should make that clear. She’s not flirting or playing hard to get. She genuinely can’t stand you. There’s no way you two will get together.” Leona lifts one shoulder. “I just… figured you should know that.”

  I fold my hands on my stomach. “And why do you feel the need to tell me that Clark isn’t interested?”

  “Because,” she huffs, “you keep asking about Clark. Every day, you walk in and she’s the first person your eyes seek out. You tease her and you check on her and you ask me and Rosa if she’s okay when she’s not there.”

  I keep my expression cool, but on the inside, I’m slightly stunned.

  Have I been paying Clark special attention?

  It’s not a habit that I cultivated with intent. Gradually, I’ve been thinking about Clark more and more beyond the landscape of work. My affection for her, I assumed, was based solely on the fact that she thinks I’m a Grinch while everyone else worships at my feet.

  But could it be more?

  “You put in all of that effort, but she doesn’t notice you. She doesn’t appreciate it. I just…” She swallows hard. “I feel like you should give that attention to someone who’d give it back. Someone who’d love all that you bring to the table. Someone like—”

  “You?” I ask.

  She blinks rapidly, a flush stealing across her cheeks.

  I rise from the desk and saunter toward her.

  She inches back, her face burning an even brighter red.

  I sigh. “Leona, I’m sorry. I’m not—”

  “Stop.” She lifts a hand in my direction.

  I freeze. Give her the space she wants.

  Tears bubbling in her eyes, she shakes her head. “I know what you’re going to say. You don’t have to spell it out.”

  “You’re a lovely girl. I’m sure you’ll find someone who can appreciate you the way you deserve, but that person isn’t me.”

  She pats her cheek with the heel of her hand, soaking up the tears with her fingers. “T-thanks. I should—” She hiccups. “I should go.”

  I watch her scurry out of the room like rabid dogs are on her tail. Her plaited skirt flaps around pale thighs and her blue hair swishes around slim shoulders.

  It looks like she dressed up today.

  I blink in astonishment. I hadn’t even noticed.

  Not the way I notice Clark.

  I’m extremely aware of Clark whenever she enters the room. I know the very details of her outfit—from her hairstyle, to the tinge of color in her lip gloss, to the extra pocket on the back of her khakis.

  Damn. I do have a problem.

  Leona’s sobs echo down the hallway, forcing my attention back to her. A part of me almost feels sorry, but I’m not going to encourage her attention just because she’s into me.

  Love is a lethal force that can punish as much as it can reward. Dad already taught me that lesson the hard way. He gave into love and in the end, his car got wrapped around a tree like a Christmas bow.

  Love is a game that’s rigged against the person who falls the hardest and I strive to make sure that sucker isn’t me.

  I’m never settling down. The women who enter my orbit fully understand that because I always make it clear what my intentions are.

  A good time.

  One night.

  I satisfy and then I leave them.

  Plain and simple.

  Only those who understand the rules get to play the game.

  With a sigh, I return to the desk.

  To think I would have been on the beach right now enjoying the Caribbean Sea.

  The thought should sting, but it doesn’t. I’m not hating this job as much as I thought I would. Feeling like I’m doing something, like I’ve got a purpose beyond myself, is as fulfilling as it is exhausting.

  The fact that Gran has barely checked up on me and hasn’t sent Will to babysit means she’s seeing some progress. I’m glad for that. Even if the determination welling inside me is too little, too late, I want to make her proud.

  Time drifts by as I focus on my work.

  After I’ve finished the orders, I move around the office to stretch my legs.

  Soft music pours from the front of the bakery.

  Curious, I head that way and notice soft, golden lights bouncing against the upturned chairs. Clark is humming softly to the music, her feet gliding across the floor as she takes the customers’ snowflakes off the tree.

  I sneak behind her.

  Wait for the perfect moment…

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  “Ah!” She shrieks and spins to face me.

  I hold my hand out to her. “I’m ready if you’re going to drop into my arms again.”

  “You’re hilarious.” Her lips twitch. “What are you doing here? I thought everyone was gone?”

  “You thought wrong.”

  She cranes her neck. Peers through the glass windows. “Your car’s not outside.”

  “I’m getting a part changed.” I fold my arms over my chest and lean against the counter. “You’re stealing snowflakes now?�
��

  “I’m not stealing it. I’m looking for something.”

  I ease close to her, my eyes on the tree. “What?”

  “A little girl came in today. Her mom was looking for a job and seemed to be having a hard time.” Clark keeps perusing as she speaks. “I gave the little girl a pencil and told her to write her Christmas wish along with her name."

  “You’re looking for her wish.”

  She doesn’t bother responding.

  “But why?”

  “Why do you think?” She cuts a dark look over her shoulder. “So I can grant it.”

  “What if it’s expensive?”

  No response.

  I follow her as she moves to the other side of the tree. “Why do you care?”

  “Are you just going to bother me?” Clark mumbles.

  I draw closer to her. “I’m going to help.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  “The people who need it the most are the ones who never ask.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re a philosopher now?”

  “You take care of the bottom half of the tree. I’ll do the top.” I reach above Clark’s head to get the higher branches. “What’s the little girl’s name?”

  “It’s Eva.”

  “Eva…” I murmur, searching the paper snowflakes on the tree.

  Clark turns around, her eyes narrowed. “I really don’t need your help.”

  “We’d find her snowflake faster if you’d stop fighting and started looking.”

  Clark stubbornly glares at me. “How would a five-year-old even reach up there?”

  “Maybe she’s better balancing on a chair than you are,” I say, glancing down with a smirk.

  Our gazes lock.

  I can’t look away.

  Attraction sparks inside me, sending my pulse into overdrive. Clark’s warmth seeps right into my chest. Golden lights bounce against her brown skin. Shiny gloss coats her lips and I’m desperate to know if they’re as soft as they look.

  Just one taste…

  The fragrance of honey and cocoa butter swirls around her.

  My fingers dig into the spindles of the tree to keep from reaching out and dragging her close to me.

  My heart gains speed, thudding loud enough to drown the music crooning from the speakers.

  ‘Every day, you walk in and she’s the first person your eyes seek out.’ Leona’s words haunt me.

  As I drag my gaze over Clark’s face, I get the sinking sensation that Leona was right.

  There’s something deeper beneath the pull between me and Clark.

  Something intense.

  Something real.

  At that moment, my eyes catch on a snowflake behind Clark’s head.

  My lips curve upwards as I reach for it.

  Clark sees me moving in and her eyes widen while her breath turns shallow. She lifts both hands, setting them on my chest while I slowly press into her personal space.

  I lower my head until our noses are a breath away.

  She curls her fingers into my shirt, her eyes fluttering closed in anticipation.

  I grin and study her for a long moment. Her sloping chin. Her plump lips. Her thick, black eyelashes. Stunning.

  Finally, I reach past her and unclip the card from the tree.

  Clark’s eyes burst open. Nostrils flaring, she pushes me away with enough force to overturn a truck.

  I stumble back, chuckling softly when I notice the quiet awareness zipping through her expression.

  For all her bite and bluster, Clark closed her eyes when she thought I would kiss her. That gives me hope that I’m not the only one who feels the current between us every time we’re in the same room.

  “Found it.” I lift the card.

  Angrily, Clark snatches the paper snowflake from me. “You could have just told me.”

  “But that wouldn’t have been as fun.”

  She frowns. “I’m not playing your game, Mave.”

  “What game?” I lean against the wall and subtly adjust my pants.

  “Leona.” The name drops to the ground with a thud. Clark glares at me. “I saw her crying when she ran out of your office.”

  I flinch. “I was honest with her.”

  “You have no idea how to care about anyone other than yourself, do you?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Maybe not.” Fury blazes from her eyes. “But I haven’t seen anything from you that would prove me wrong.” Stalking to the counter, she grabs her purse, slings it over her shoulder and growls, “Have a goodnight, Mave.”

  The bell jangles angrily, announcing her abrupt exit.

  What the hell did I do now?

  I run my fingers through my hair.

  That woman drives me insane.

  Frustrated to the point of feeling suffocated, I march back to the office.

  There’s no way I can stay here and crunch the numbers tonight. Clark’s blasted her way through my evening plans and now, all I can think about is heading home, drinking beer and forgetting about the irritating woman I’m just realizing I have feelings for.

  I angrily pull on the dented cabinet.

  Once the drawer opens, I shuffle inside for the files I need to work on.

  “Where the hell is this thing?” I yell at no one in particular.

  Realizing I sound like a madman, I slow down my search and carefully peel through the folders.

  Empty.

  My brows draw together. Why is it empty? I’m sure I stored the documents in there yesterday.

  Scratching my head, I turn and survey the room. Boxes piled on top of one another. The punched-in cabinet. The sad fern and the umbrella sticking out of the vase.

  It’s no wonder I can’t find a damn thing in here. There’s a likelihood that a person could get lost in this chaos.

  I open the laptop and check the portal. As long as the files are still available online, I can print them out again.

  A quick check sends that option out the window.

  My eyes bug when I study the online sheets. The expenditure column is still there, but it’s been tampered with. All entries regarding the suspicious expenses have been scrubbed. Completely.

  I narrow my eyes at the screen, willing it to change back to what I know should be there.

  Nothing does.

  Rubbing my forehead, I push away from the desk and pace the office, weaving through the stacks of documents I have yet to sort out.

  Something’s desperately wrong here.

  Someone went to a lot of trouble to hack into the portal and change the numbers.

  I stop. Glare in the direction of the cabinet.

  What if I didn’t misplace the files.

  What if they were stolen?

  My cash would be on Vulture. He seems like the type to be involved in a scheme. It would also explain why cash keeps flowing out of this place without explanation.

  Someone’s been funneling funds out of the bakery.

  All I need is proof.

  Planting my hands on my hips, I search the office for cameras. Whoever walked out of here with my files is likely working with or is the person behind those suspicious expenses.

  My eyes graze every corner.

  No security cameras.

  Leona mentioned the cameras that faced the street were down too.

  I could call a security company to come out tomorrow, but I’m too impatient to wait for that. Besides, whoever pilfered the documents will be on their guard if they think I’m on to them.

  Rather than call anyone, I head out and get the security cameras myself. I know my way around a security system thanks to years of sneaking out of Gran’s secured mansion.

  There’s a tech store a few blocks away. It doesn’t take me long to pick the right cameras out. I’m more interested in recorders that can be discrete and only a few fit the bill.

  I walk back to the bakery, hurrying to keep the cold from seeping beneath my jacket. When I near the building, I notice a small, wh
ite light coming from inside.

  Strange. Did Clark come back for something?

  Somehow, I doubt it.

  Unease twists my guts into a knot. Instead of going through the front door with bells that would alert anyone to my entrance, I take the side door.

  Stumbling inside, I start to flick on a light when I hear something heavy thudding against the ground.

  Ice pours through my veins.

  I freeze, caution kicking in as my adrenaline rushes.

  Did the thief return to cover their tracks?

  I step cautiously forward, my eyes darting back and forth as I anticipate a threat.

  A thud echoes in the distance.

  I grab the nearest weapon I can find, which happens to be a rolling pin, and lift it like a bat. Keeping my steps quiet, I tiptoe in the direction of the sound.

  A figure dressed all in black scurries through the kitchen, lugging something in their hands. Their movements are urgent and furtive. Every so often, they’ll glance up and around in a panic.

  I move closer, my fingers curling around the pin.

  The person’s shape looks familiar.

  Isn’t that…?

  The thief glances up and moonlight slices across her face.

  I step back in shock.

  My body rocks against a shelf.

  The collision knocks the furniture off-balance and all the pans come crashing down in a clang that sounds like a gunshot.

  10

  Clark

  The bell above the door jangles as I open the bakery early the next morning. I linger on the front stoop, brushing my gloved hands together to ward off the cold.

  My head whips forward. Backward. Forward again.

  The street is dark and empty. Lampposts shed a silver glow on concrete. Snow flurries in the air, landing on the ground that’s yet to be trampled by cars and pedestrians.

  Where’s Rosa?

  Normally, she gets to work right on time. On some occasions, she’s even earlier than me. I’ve been working here for months and I’ve never seen a day when Rosa didn’t arrive at three thirty on the dot.

  My eyebrows knit in concern, but I shrug it off.

  Maybe she overslept. I’m sure she’ll be in later.