A Fine Romance

by Christi Barth

  “Well, a bus ticket to New York and twenty years of practice can get you to Carnegie Hall.” She propped the broom against the counter.

  “Funny. You’ll regret that remark when I tell you that I brought you a present.”

  “Ooh, is it the tiara you promised me?”

  “Nope. I’m dangling that shiny carrot for opening day, remember? But speaking of your grand opening, this present will help get you there.” Ivy pushed forward the silent man. “Mira Parrish, meet Hays Dellimore. Your new store assistant.”

  “It is my genuine pleasure to meet you, Mira.” Hays bent over her hand in a shallow bow. When he rose, he trailed the pad of his thumb down the length of her hand before releasing it. The touch straddled the fence between flirtation and appreciation. It took practice to be able to pull off a move so subtle. Impressive.

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Daphne appeared at her side, hand outstretched and flirt switch turned to on. “Daphne Lovell. So glad you’re joining the team as an accessory. I mean, an associate.”

  “Ivy? May I have a word?” Mira jerked her head to indicate the back of the store. “We’ll be right back, Hays. Daph, would you keep him company?”

  “It’s why I’m here,” she said, throwing her shoulders back and tossing her long, blond ponytail.

  Ivy’s heels beat a staccato rhythm against the hardwood floor. “What’s going on?”

  “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.” Mira stopped in the hallway outside the bathroom. He shouldn’t be able to overhear their conversation, this far back. “I’ve been interviewing candidates for a few weeks now. Have we been duplicating our efforts? You didn’t mention you planned to search for my assistant.”

  “I didn’t. Honestly. But you haven’t found anyone yet, right?”

  For a workforce supposedly in the grips of a recession, the candidates had been few and far between. So far, none had displayed the necessary mix of experience and personality. Frankly, nobody that she’d be willing to share space with for eight hours a day. “No.”

  “Hays practically dropped into my lap. You remember Milo, my office manager? He’s friends with Hays, and heard the lingerie store he worked at recently closed. Which is a shame, because I wanted to go crazy in there to prep for my honeymoon. They carried a great line of lace tap pants and matching camis.”

  “Ivy, focus.”

  “Sorry.” Ivy flashed a guilty grin, reminiscent of someone caught licking the icing off a newly frosted cake. “I’m trying not to turn into one of those brides whose entire life narrows down to her wedding. Hard, though.”

  “Daphne and I won’t let you turn into bridezilla. And I promise to give your honeymoon underwear all the serious attention it deserves. But for now, could we get back to my potential employee?”

  “He’s a struggling actor.” Ivy lowered her voice to a whisper. “According to Milo, Hays is talented, but keeps getting cast in bad productions. He can’t break out of the community theater circuit. Which is a plus for us, because it diminishes the chance he’ll make it big and leave you in the lurch.”

  That explained the leading-man good looks. Given his connection to Milo, it also made her briefly wonder which side of the sexual fence he grazed on. “Not really a big enough reason to hire him.”

  Ivy rolled her head around, cracking her neck. “I’m coming at this backward. As a struggling actor, he’s worked for years in retail. Has experience with all sorts of customers. The acting experience helps him pour on the charm. He’ll be able to flirt with the women and help the out-of-their-element men feel comfortable. We’re lucky to be able to scoop him up.”

  He sounded good in theory. But so did Communism, before anyone put it into effect and discovered what a disservice it did to most of the population of a once-happy empire. “What about references? I need more than Milo’s seal of approval.”

  “Forwarded to you before I left the office. I thought you’d prefer to speak with them. Look, I’m not trying to step on your toes. On paper, he adds up to a perfect fit. Why not give him a one-week trial run, through the preview? You can even keep interviewing people. But you need help lined up before we open.”

  The idea of a probationary period worked for her as a compromise. “Okay.”

  “Great.”

  “As long as you promise to stop with the winking. My job as your best friend is to let you know the cold, hard truth. It isn’t cute. Looks like you have Tourette’s. Stick to flashing Ben your bedroom eyes.”

  Ivy fluttered her eyelashes. “They do work well.” She bustled to the front door. “I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted. Daph, are you coming back with me? We have the Clough-Nakano consult in less than half an hour.”

  After nipping back to grab her bakery bag, Daphne waggled her fingers in a goodbye. “Slave driver,” she muttered, following Ivy out the door.

  Mira eyed the almost too-handsome man lounging against a display case. It could be a brilliant fit, or it could be Milo hooking up an unsuitable friend. Time would tell. “Hays Dellimore. Tell me, is that your real name?”

  “Nah. Stage name. Lewis Keller just doesn’t have that theatrical ring to it. Don’t worry—I’ll fill out the W-2 with my legal name, so it’ll all be on the up-and-up.”

  “I hear you’ve worked in stores—”

  Hays cut in and corrected her, raising one eyebrow. “Boutiques.”

  “My apologies. You have years of experience selling in boutiques. Generally populated by high-class customers, sometimes difficult to please. Do you enjoy it?”

  He flashed a wide, disarming smile. “Immensely.”

  “Why?”

  “When people come to see one of my plays, they get a reprieve from life for two hours. They’re happy, even get a little serotonin buzz that lingers, like the endorphin rush after working out. When I help people shop, the same thing happens. They derive pleasure from the treasure hunt, from the thrill of victory. I help make them happy. What could be better?”

  “What could be better, indeed?” Mira had to hand it to him. It was the perfect answer. It mirrored her own feeling. A thin layer of stress flaked off as if Hays were an emotional loofah. “Alright, I’ll offer you a trial run for a week, through preview. If we’re both still happy after that, the job is yours. Of course you’ll be compensated for your time either way. I may run you ragged, since we’re up against a time crunch,” she warned. Better to set out her expectations right from the start.

  “I’m not afraid of hard work.”

  A man after her own heart. Almost starting to sound too good to be true. But she’d take her chances. “Can you start right away?”

  “I’d like that.” He pushed off the display case full of heart-shaped lockets. “I took a quick peek around while you two debated my merits.” A self-deprecating smile, this time. “This store is full of beautiful things. None more so than the manager.”

  Mira appreciated compliments as much as any woman. However, she also knew how less-than-impressive she looked at the moment, after spending the morning sweeping, dusting and sanding the edge of a kitchen cabinet that didn’t close quite flush. Most men tossing out a line that cheesy and obvious would be feeling her coldest, withering stare already. Yet Hays’s assertion had the crystal clear peal of sincerity to it. And his eyes were full of nothing but appreciation. He made her feel pretty. Then it hit her.

  “You’re auditioning for me, aren’t you? Showing me how nicely you ca
n turn on the charm and treat our customers?”

  He shrugged, the movement rippling his pecs and abs in a cascade of muscle. “You caught me. How’d I do?”

  Mira laughed, more and more delighted every second with her new addition. “You get extra points for thinking to impress me, unasked, as well as a big thumbs-up for your performance.”

  “I like to flirt. Why not use my talent to make women feel good about themselves?”

  “As long as you don’t overstep,” she cautioned.

  “Don’t worry. I have a strict policy against dating the customers. And coworkers,” he hastened to add. “But, to be clear, you are a beautiful woman. You have luminous skin.”

  What red-blooded man ever complimented a woman on her skin? Only the ones who weren’t interested in women. With that one comment, Hays made it clear he pledged his allegiance to the rainbow flag. She’d have to warn Sam that she wouldn’t be the only one throwing lustful looks his way anymore.

  “I think you’ll definitely be an asset when it comes to moving merchandise.” Mira shook his hand. “Welcome to A Fine Romance. And in the spirit of reciprocity, I should mention you’re not too hard on the eyes, either.”

  “I do a little modeling on the side. Just local catalogs and stores. Great place to pick up dates, walking the catwalk.” He picked up the broom like a knight hoisting a lance. “Do you mind if I look around and acquaint myself with the layout for five minutes? Then you can ask me to do, well, anything, boss.” Hays winked, and pulled it off with all the smooth aplomb Ivy had miserably lacked.

  Mira patted him on the arm. “Take your time. Get comfortable.”

  “Like hell he will,” Sam bellowed from the doorway. He’d bent at the waist, leaning so far out she was amazed he hadn’t toppled over. And if this was a cartoon, he’d have twin plumes of steam curling from his temples, along with angry red darts shooting from his eyes. Damn it. She knew having the top of that door open would lead to trouble.

  Chapter Twelve

  Both halves of the Dutch door slammed shut behind Mira. She glanced at the mother and two toddlers seated at a café table, all slurping hot chocolate. “Is there someplace we can talk?”

  He’d talk with her anywhere, as long as it got her away from the smooth-talking muscle boy in her store. With a gentle palm against the soft nape of her neck, Sam steered her down the hallway, stopping just short of the entrance to his cooler. “I’ve got to stay visible in case Marla and her daughters need a refill. This is as private as we get.”

  “Understood.” Mira crossed her arms over her chest, to his disappointment. “We agreed to not talk to each other during the workday, not to indulge in our relationship. But evidently I should’ve added that you have no say on how I conduct my business. Care to explain yourself?”

  “Me? You’re the one hanging all over Mr. Muscles.”

  She huffed out a breath hard enough to lift her bangs off her forehead. “Exaggerate much? For crying out loud, I touched his arm. Let’s see, I also ran by the pharmacy this morning. Pretty sure the pharmacist and I touched fingers when he handed over my bag. Oh, and a guy running for a taxi slammed right into me. Full contact. Got a problem with all of that touching, too?”

  “Only if they also mentioned your ‘luminous skin.’” On the last two words he made air quotes with his fingers. What the hell kind of a compliment was that, anyway? Had to be one of the worst lines he’d ever heard. Worse still, Mira seemed to have liked it.

  “You were eavesdropping on me?”

  Nice try, but he refused to let her turn the tables. Daphne’s the one who left the door open. Why should he take the blame? “Not on purpose. I delivered the hot chocolates, and as I came back around I heard you two obnoxiously flirting the day away.”

  “I can’t take credit for this oldie but goodie.” She spread her arms wide, palms up in exasperation. “Don’t listen to other people’s conversations. You might not like what you hear.”

  Yeah, he knew that now. “Not the point.”

  “You’re right. The point is that you can’t holler at people in my store.”

  Sam crossed his arms, mirroring her. “I can when they’re making a move on my woman.”

  “Oh. Ohhhhh.”

  “What?”

  Rising onto her tiptoes, Mira kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were as soft and luscious as crème brûlée. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

  Torn between enjoying the kiss and annoyance, Sam gave in to his aggravation and stepped away. “Men aren’t adorable. We’re rugged, or sexy. Sea otters are adorable.”

  “I notice you’re not disputing your obvious jealousy.”

  How was that a bad thing? Didn’t it prove how much Sam liked her? Damn it, he wanted her all to himself. “So what if I am jealous? How am I supposed to work when ten feet away someone’s trying to get in your pants?”

  Mira wound her arms around his neck. “I hear healthy competition is a motivator for men. Maybe this will give you the encouragement necessary to get into my pants first.”

  First? Was there a line Sam didn’t know about? Should he have taken a number? Then sheer gratitude for his apron washed through his brain. With Mira rubbing against him like that, there was about to be a big-ass bulge in his jeans that none of his customers should see. “Mira, there’s kids in here.”

  “I know. Just one minute...” She licked the edge of his jawline, then again on the side of his neck where he knew his pulse had to be jackhammering. Easing back, she drew her index finger along the hollow at his collarbone and held it up on display. The end of her finger was now covered in lime-green frosting. “I was cleaning up the splatters.” With a wide-eyed innocence that belied the porn-star suction of her lips, she licked it off. “Tasty. Citrus?”

  “Mostly.” Sam pointed at the multilayer cake he’d walked away from when he’d glimpsed ridiculously handsome guy flirting with her. “Margarita flavored. The bride and groom got engaged in Mexico, so they’re shoving the whole sombrero and mariachi thing down their guests’ throats.”

  “Oh, no shoving required. It’s delicious. Like everything in this bakery.” Mira popped off a flirty grin. “Including the handsome baker.”

  He’d take a wild guess that she wasn’t bothered anymore by his interruption. But the reason behind it still didn’t sit well with Sam. “We didn’t set many ground rules as things have progressed. You should know that my eye doesn’t wander when I’ve got a girl locked in my sights. Kind of assumed it was the same way for you. If not,” he rolled his shoulders, trying to work past the tightness that suddenly seized all his muscles, “then just be up front. If I don’t have a claim on you, I deserve to know.”

  “Don’t you get it, Sam?” Mira headed for the doorway, a mysterious smile tilting upward. “I’m waiting for you to stake your claim. Plant your flagpole on top of the mountain. And I don’t mean theoretically. Figure it out. Fast. I’m tired of waiting.” She crossed into her store and paused, one hand on the frame. “Get used to seeing Hays over here, by the way. He just joined the team. But don’t worry about him. I’ve got, hmm, two too many breasts for him to ever be interested in me.” She slammed the door shut, bolting top and bottom.

  It took Sam a second to catch up. The too-handsome-for-his-own-good guy must be gay. Which meant there weren’t any others making a play for Mira. She’d been egging him on because...God, he was an idiot. If she’d whipped off her pants and twirled them above her head, she couldn’t have made her intentions any clearer.

  The past couple of days had been torture, not being able to get his hands back on her. He’d almost told his poor, widowed mother to get one of her friends to drive her on the great bingo face-off. Of course, guilt poked the soft, fleshy underside of his heart a moment lat
er with all the subtlety of the stingray barb that caught that crocodile-hunting guy right in his ventricles. What kind of a son chose sex—no matter how earth-shattering it promised to be—over his mom?

  Luckily, Mom had plans tonight with a friend. He’d been planning to call Mira to see if she had the energy to go out. Sam knew she’d been working like a dog to get the store ready. Now, though, he didn’t need to check. Although the actual door between them was firmly closed, she’d pretty much opened the metaphorical door, stuck out a welcome mat, lit candles and baked him a cake. Good thing he had all day ahead of him to plan the next step, with Javon and Isaiah coming in to work a shift. He’d give Mira until exactly five o’clock. With the amount of need pooling in his pants right now, it’d be a miracle if she still had any clothes on ten minutes later.

  * * *

  The bakery was dim, lit only by the soft glow in the display cases. Sam had turned everything else off an hour ago. Mixer cleaned, dishes washed and dough prepped for his mother to start the early baking predawn. After buckling to his nerves—the good kind—he’d closed the shop early and ran around making preparations.

  While Sam had enjoyed the hell out of their make-out session in the elevator at the Cavendish, Mira deserved more than a quick screw against the wall. She deserved romance by the bucketload. This wasn’t just sex with his hot and convenient neighbor. They were building something here. So he’d scrambled around getting things ready. Even shaved off his heavy-by-three-o’clock shadow.

  When he got back to the bakery, he’d eased open the connecting door a crack. Not to intrude. Just to know the moment she turned the key behind the back of her new employee. No such luck. Quitting time came and went. He’d mopped the floor, practically scrubbing divots in the aged linoleum in an attempt to take the edge off his feverish desire. Yet still the two of them worked and chatted and laughed, the sound like nails down a chalkboard to him.