Mr. Delicious

by Gray, Khardine

  Two weeks ago, Dad was approached by a tycoon from Texas about the place, who offered us a billion dollars.

  My father was the head of Jordin Enterprises, but that complex had been specifically willed to Marc and me from our grandfather, meaning if I didn’t want to sign it wasn’t going to sell.

  “Adam, this is crazy. Don’t tell me you’re going to miss an opportunity because of some lowlifes.”

  “They aren’t lowlifes. They offered to buy the place from us.” I hated when he talked about people as though he could choose who mattered and who didn’t.

  Those lowlifes he was talking about were people who paid their rent to our company without fail for decades. They were our tenants. When Marc went behind my back and issued them a notice of intention to sell the other week, they got together, nominated a representative, and came to me with the proposition to buy their homes.

  That was more along the lines of the right thing to do.

  I stopped by a lamp post.

  The coffeehouse was just down the block. I wanted to wrap this up before I got inside. Talking like this, like I really was a prick was not how I wanted to start my morning, and I didn’t want to be one of those people who argued on the phone in public.

  Okay that might be a bit contradictory since I was walking down a busy road downtown near the L, and any passersby could hear me.

  It was just the coffeehouse I was worried about.

  Or, rather the woman inside the coffee house.

  Wren.

  I liked her name and liked the woman she was even more.

  She held a beauty that was rare. One that came from inside.

  I must have lost my mind officially because I didn’t know who else went to get coffee every day for the last two and a half years just so they could catch a glimpse, or sometimes be served, by a woman they couldn’t have.

  Me. That’s who.

  Ridiculous.

  Marc was saying something, but I didn’t hear him.

  “Adam are you listening to me?”

  “No, fuck, I’m not. And I’m not signing. We need to talk about this properly.”

  “Thanks a lot, little bro.” Sarcasm rippled in his tone. “I guess you’re going to go all valiant on me too with the Rosewood project.”

  I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me.

  “Unbelievable.” I frowned.

  That was another shady as shit deal. Marc wanted me to take Taylor Dean out to dinner, and by dinner he meant “seduce and sleep with”. Except I doubted I would have to do much work since the woman had her eye on me.

  The billion-dollar heiress had the plot to a resort in the Hamptons Marc wanted.

  “Come on Adam. Don’t act like you’re some fucking saint and jump on your high horse. I would do it, but she likes you.” Said my brother, who’d been married for ten years to a wonderful woman who’d given him two beautiful little girls.

  Fucking bastard cheated on her every chance he got. He was just like Dad.

  I hung up before he could say another word and stuffed the phone in my back pocket.

  Enough.

  I took a deep breath and continued walking, the coffeehouse was about a minute away. I’d walked for an hour. Not what I banked on doing after a two-hour session at the gym at the crack of dawn.

  I was going to stick to my guns and not sign anything. In fact, I was going to work from home today and keep my phone on divert to Pamela, my trusted secretary. She’d understand.

  I couldn’t risk going in and having Marc continue being an irritating ass about this.

  Jordin Enterprises would just have to miss one of its key members today. It may be missing one of its key members for good if Marc continued behaving the way he did.

  I’d started to work for the company straight out of college. I went to Princeton just like every other male Jordin, past and present.

  I’d never had a problem following tradition since I loved working for the company. But things changed after my grandfather’s death.

  My dad took over and suddenly the company lost the virtue it once stood for.

  It was sad to see it disintegrate before my eyes.

  I sighed and pulled in a deep breath to clear my head. No way was I going to allow my prick of a brother to ruin my day. I had other things to focus on today that needed my attention.

  Pumpkin spice tickled my nose as I pushed the door to the coffeehouse open and went inside.

  It immediately calmed me, even though my usual spot had been claimed. I would have normally been here half an hour ago, so it was understandable.

  My spot of comfort which gave me an unobstructed view of my object of affection was taken up by a young mother who looked to be in her early twenties and her toddler. A boy who was drawing on a piece of white paper while she tapped away on her phone.

  Selene, one of the waitresses who was always trying to get my attention flashed her pearly whites at me, and pushed out her tits a little more. Making a show of the recent work she’d had done.

  Not that I set out to look, but it was hard not to notice when I constantly had her breasts shoved in my face daily.

  I noticed three days ago she’d gone up at least two cup sizes.

  I took a seat by the window, opened my laptop so I could pretend to be busy, and hoped it would deter her if I looked like I was working. Usually I’d answer a few pressing emails that would have come through in the night. Then I would read the morning news.

  The shushing of the coffee machines sounded along with the clanking of cups and plates as I shuffled into the booth.

  I looked around for Wren. She’d be here first thing to greet her customers, and then she’d make the first batch of coffee with those magical fingers.

  First pot always tasted the best. The other guys made the coffee any old way, without heart.

  Wren always made the first batch of cookies too. I looked like a man who never saw sugar in his life, but I’d brake my strict health rules for one of her cookies. I always took a chocolate chip and cinnamon cookie for the road every day.

  Chocolate chip and cinnamon cookies were only available here. As with everything else that woman thought up.

  Marc was right about one thing. I wasn’t a saint.

  I wanted that woman. Not just for the magical pastries, but for her.

  If she were mine I’d spoil her rotten, and I wouldn’t have her working so hard.

  The poor angel worked every day of the week. I knew that because except for when I was away travelling for business or pleasure, I was here.

  It was routine for me to start my day here.

  Maybe I was crazy indeed. And since she wasn’t mine I needed to stop thinking about her.

  I needed someone like her. Beautiful and sexy, with that heart warmth.

  All traits that idiot of a boyfriend she had didn’t deserve. I was biased though, so… in my world no one deserved her, not even me.

  It was nice though when she looked at me it was always with interest, like there could be something. Like she wanted there to be something.

  She wasn’t a cheater though, and neither was I.

  My interest in her ran deeper still, more than she’d ever know.

  Selene came up to me with my usual. Rich black Columbian coffee, no sugar and a lightly toasted cinnamon bagel.

  Pretty girl. I probably would have gone for her a few years back, before I stepped away from the billionaire bad boy image. Most said I was still like that, but I begged to differ.

  Selene gave me a once over as she set the plate with the bagel down on the table. But she kept hold of the coffee and twirled the ends of her blonde ponytail around her thumb. Bright blue eyes trained on me.

  “I always feel like I should ask you if you want something else.” She stated, smile widening.

  “The usual is fine thanks.” Jesus, the look of seduction she was giving me was through the roof sexy.

  “You sure? Wren has a special going on her sugar buns.”

&n
bsp; It was the way she said sugar buns. Slow and sexy, her blue gaze darkening with desire.

  “I’ll just have my usual cookie for the road if there’s any.”

  “Oh God, I’m sorry. The one thing you ask for and we don’t have. Boss isn’t here yet. Only she makes those.” The smile receded into a little lopsided grin.

  “Where is she?”

  “Not sure. I could try to make you something.” When she leaned forward to rest the coffee on the table I got a good view of her left breast. Nipple and all as intended.

  But just then the door opened and something more desirable stole my mind.

  Wren rushed in and headed straight over to her friend, Stella.

  She looked upset, and her usual put together appearance looked disheveled.

  My heart stilled when I noticed the tears running down her cheeks.

  All the time I’d known her I’d never seen anything but a smile on her beautiful face.

  Today was…

  What the hell could have happened to her?

  I would have asked if I’d said more than a hello to her over the whole time I’d been coming here.

  Since we didn’t know each other like that, all I could do was watch.

  Chapter 3

  Wren

  * * *

  You know what went well with red blotchy eyes? Red lipstick.

  Not.

  Turned out neither did any of the make up in my bag. My foundation seemed too pink, my concealer too yellow and my powder too pale. Ghost pale.

  Suddenly nothing worked for me. The same products I wore everyday had turned on me.

  I cried for most of the night, fell asleep like that, and woke up late with tears in my eyes.

  I didn’t get the chance to go outside and clean up the clothes on the lawn. I would have opted for staying in, but I couldn’t afford the luxury of making things worse.

  There was however a beautiful surprise that hit me as I dashed out of the house to leave. The kind of surprise that touched my heart. My neighbors had cleaned up the lawn for me. The lawn was pristine and even the flowers were pruned. They’d also gone as far as to leave a goodies basket on the porch with a little card stating that I should call if I needed anything.

  That was from Mrs. Withers and four others. They were all outside yesterday when everything went crazy. It was at least nice to know they didn’t judge me or think I’d lost my mind.

  It was something, but not enough to calm the inner torment that seemed to have tripled over night.

  When I got to the coffeehouse and looked at it, the thought of losing it rushed to the forefront of my mind, and the tears came again.

  That was when I rushed in and ran straight into Stella’s arms.

  Thank God she was here. She was always there when I needed her.

  “Lord, honey, what happened?” Stella gushed, her voice laden with her Texan accent. “Sugar, just tell me what happened.” She held me tight.

  “Oh Stella. Everything’s a mess.” I tried to keep my voice low so as not to attract attention. I hated crying, and I wasn’t the type to cry in public. There were a few people in here. Not that busy for this time of morning, but I was certain a few of my regulars had seen the state I was in when I came through the door.

  “What happened?” Stella pulled away and looked at me with deep concern.

  I didn’t know how I managed to tell her everything while keeping the tears under control, but I did.

  “The asshole!” Stella snapped, balling her fists.

  “I know.”

  “Why didn’t you call me last night.”

  I should have called her last night, but I just couldn’t. She hated Billy, always drilled it into my head that I could, and should do better. But I knew talking to her wouldn’t be as bad as the “I told you so” lecture I’d definitely get from my mother and sister when they found out what happened.

  Not only did they hate Billy, but they thought I was incapable of making sensible decisions. Me, a woman of thirty years old. They still treated me like the baby. I was five years younger than Cora, my sister, and that meant being the subject of many family discussions.

  “I’m sorry. I know I should have.”

  “Did you call your parents, or Cora?”

  I bit my lip and shook my head. My eyes fell to the square patterns on the table. I contemplated calling them to ask for a loan. Just something to help me cover Billy’s part of the loans until I figured something out.

  Either of them would have been able to help. The question was more the case of if they would help me.

  “I don’t think I can call them.” There, that was decided. I lifted my gaze back to hers. “You know how they feel.”

  Stella immediately frowned, but then nodded in understanding.

  My family expected me to become a doctor or at the very least someone in medical. Not the baker, or pastry chef, or whatever it was I called myself these days.

  Mom and Dad were brain surgeons. Cora was a cardio-thoracic surgeon. Her husband was a pediatrician. My two uncles on Mom’s side were lead consultants at a private hospital in Maine, and on Dad’s side mostly everyone were surgeons.

  It made sense I would follow suit with the majority and not follow the one person in my family who wasn’t medical and fainted at the sight of blood.

  Aunt Rena. Dad’s middle sister.

  Like me, she loved baking and taught me everything I knew about the craft.

  My family hated that I went to Brown’s to study business, became a pastry chef—albeit one who’d won many awards and worked in three Michelin starred restaurants—and they loathed I’d set up the coffeehouse.

  I could have continued to work for any of the restaurants that hired me as I was well sought after, but I’d always dreamed of having my own business. Somewhere I could have free reign of what I wanted to do and be creative.

  “I don’t know what to do.” I rested my palms on the table and pulled in a slow breath.

  “What can I do to help?” Stella asked. She looked at me with huge, sad eyes. “I should have helped you more.”

  “No, don’t say that. You helped me enough.”

  When I first set up, Stella gave me ten grand. Ten grand. And, it was a gift. That with Aunt Rena’s twenty-five, gave me a chance to get the place.

  Stella wasn’t rich or anything. She wrote for the relationship advice column in the super-cool weekly magazine, Trendy. She was always busy thinking up some crazy relationship advice and answering mail for the Dear Stella section of the column. She considered herself to be comfortable in her earnings, but just wanted to see me do well, doing something I loved. After all she’d done there was no way I could ask for more.

  “I could have stopped this.” She insisted.

  “No, I should have stopped this myself. It was just too late when I realized Billy wasn’t for me.”

  “How were you supposed to know?”

  “You knew.” I pointed out.

  “He was ugly Wren, and I thought you could do better in the looks department. I didn’t really think he would be into all that crazy stuff. And I seriously never imagined he would scam you. My lips to God’s ears.” She placed her hand on her heart. “Wren, you know I would have told you to get rid of him. Jesus, why is finding a good man rarer than hen’s teeth?”

  Normally I’d laugh at her sayings, today I didn’t have the strength. All the humor was gone from me. Particularly since I’d always been with assholes.

  Landon, my first boyfriend, was a complete dick. He didn’t cheat, but he treated me like shit, always questioning me and undermining my intelligence. I rejoiced when I built up the courage to leave him.

  Peter, Lucas, and Freddy came next. All short-lived relationships that never lasted more than six months because they were all jerks.

  Handsome faces with ugly hearts. Like most women I loved the GQ handsome types with muscles and the kind of body that would make a woman melt. But those types of guys tended to be assholes; to me any
way.

  Then came Billy.

  He was my something different guy because he wasn’t exactly good looking. Okay, he was ugly. Just like Stella said.

  Billy was supposed to be a safe option, and he turned out to be the biggest ass of them all.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Best to drop the subject of assholes because I didn’t want to start thinking something was wrong with me, or settle into some depressive state where I gave up on love. “Maybe I could remortgage or sell.”

  Stella was already shaking her head before I could finish talking.

  “I’m sorry, sugar. But I know there has to be another way. Putting your home at more risk is no good. You already have a secure loan on it. My cousin did it and ended up losing everything.”

  “I have to get rid of the loans somehow. That’s the only thing. I can’t lose this place. It’s my everything. Everything here is exactly as I hoped it would be.”

  The more I thought about it the more I could see I was going to lose everything. Everything I’d worked so hard for if I didn’t do something with the house.

  I’d dreamed about having this place all my life.

  Aunt Rena ran a bakery on the other side of town before she died. She was my inspiration. Her passion for baking inspired me to get this coffeehouse.

  I called it The Spot. Not intending for it to be a hip or trendy hang out. It was the spot as in it hit the spot.

  Like that aww moment you got when you were able to relax after a long day, or the moment you found something that was just right. Perfect even.

  That was my meaning.

  I baked my line up of creative pastries, but I also added in other things I thought people would like. I did flavored hot drinks like toffee popcorn hot chocolate and coffee, pumpkin teas, donut lattes with any type of flavor a person could think of. Things you couldn’t get anywhere else.

  I also did themed food and drinks, and events.

  People came throughout the day, hung out until closing time in the evening, and came to the weekly poetry reading sessions and jazz evenings where my chefs prepared themed feasts.

  It was fantastic.

  I shouldn’t have to worry about money. The fucking loans however robbed me of any happiness I got from doing all those things.