by Tessa Layne
Simon nodded, pouring a second helping of the lemonade.
“Then we just pour some powder down the drains. It helps keep them clean and free of food.”
“That’s not too hard.”
“Nope. Piece of cake. There’s a box on the shelf under the sink.”
Simon ducked down and stood with two boxes. “Which one?”
Shit.
How the fuck was he supposed to know? Jamey’d never taught him this. Sure, he’d seen her do it a thousand times, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what color box she used.
Yellow or orange?
He pulled his fingers through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the last time he’d seen Jamey cleaning the drains. He blew out a long breath. “What do the boxes say?”
“Baking soda and washing soda.”
“Go with the washing soda.”
Simon dumped the contents of the yellow box down the drain. He replaced the boxes under the sink, then rose to offer Brodie a high five. “Guess we’re done, huh?”
“Anything else on your list?”
Simon pulled out the crumpled paper and studied it again, shaking his head. “Nope. She said I could take some kitchen sink cookies back to the Big House with me.”
Brodie saw two brown paper bags tucked away in the corner. “Those them? She bribing you with cookies?”
Simon tossed him a gleeful grin as he grabbed the bags, opened one and stuffed a cookie into his mouth on his way out the door.
“See you, kiddo.” Now to hunt down Jamey and investigate what color lingerie she was wearing today.
CHAPTER 35
Nervous anticipation thrummed through Jamey as she sat in the office, double-checking her numbers. Pulling the numbers and fully fleshing out her proposal had taken the better part of the last few days. But if Brodie went for this – and there was no reason why he shouldn’t – they would be sole owners of the lodge in five years. Or less. She’d been conservative with her projections.
Restaurants failed over half the time, but their advantage here was diversifying. Between catering special events, classes, lodge guests, and her pop-up restaurant idea, they could ride out the slow months and the slow start to building repeat lodge guests. And, if she could convince Brodie to build a smoke house, they could get certified to sell smoked meats, locally and online. They could put Prairie on the map as a local food mecca.
She glanced at the notebook to her side. Being with Brodie had once again opened the floodgates to her creativity. She had more ideas than she could execute in a year, and more would come.
She knew it.
Every time she sat down to plan, the ideas kept coming.
Taking a deep breath, she hit the print button. Excitement flooded down to her fingertips. She hadn’t felt this way since she’d been accepted to Le Cordon Bleu. Of course the fallout with her family once she’d told them of her plans had been epic. But she’d weathered the storm.
Her brothers remained unconvinced, especially in light of the Frenchie O’Neill’s debacle. But she’d learned her lesson. She’d ask Jarrod to draw up a contract with a fair escape clause should things go wonky. But they wouldn’t. Not with Brodie. And this was in Brodie’s best interests. The plan capitalized on his natural talent.
“Whatcha doing’ there, chef?” Brodie’s voice slid over her like whiskey-infused caramel sauce and dripped with innuendo.
She turned to catch Brodie lounging in the doorway giving her body a blatant once over. She caught the faint aroma of fresh cedar. He must have been out chopping wood again. Chopping wood seemed to give him wood.
Every. Damned. Time.
Not that she was complaining.
She was half convinced her frequency of orgasm had something to do with her current flood of creativity. She leaned a hip on the desk, giving him her own perusal. His muscles perfectly filled out the blue tee he wore. The same color blue as his eyes.
Mmm, yes.
She’d take him over dessert any day.
But today, she’d postpone their afternoon tryst. She couldn’t wait any longer to show him her plan. Once he’d seen it, they could take it to Blake and then go celebrate. “I have something to show you.” She made the innuendo clear.
His eyes lit. “That lacy pair of panties I ordered you?”
Her pussy clenched at his words. An unmarked package had arrived for her yesterday, containing a black lace pair of cutout panties with a matching garter and see-through bra. He’d definitely appreciate what he found underneath her bulky chef’s clothes today. She raised her eyebrows. “Mmm… perhaps.”
He leaned forward, eyes hopeful.
“But first, I have something exciting to show you.”
He stepped into the room, crowding her against the desk. “Can’t possibly be more exciting than you naked in my arms.”
She tilted her head and leaned in for a kiss, brushing her lips across his, then leaned back, teasing, when he opened for more. She placed a finger over his mouth. “More kisses in a minute. I want to show you something. You’re going to love it.”
“I’m going to love kissing you more.” He growled low, dodging her fingers and laying a kiss on her neck in the spot that always made her squeal.
“Brodie, please.” She giggled, then allowed herself one more delicious kiss, enjoying the swipe of his tongue as it curled against hers. Pushing him back, she grabbed the papers and his hand, and led him out to the great room.
He settled in one of the oversized leather chairs, and she climbed into his lap. The first time he’d pulled her onto his lap, she’d been surprised. Nervous even. But cuddling against him felt… right. And they’d ended up spending many evenings like that after the guests had retired. Cuddled up, talking and teasing. Enjoying a fire in the fireplace and a nightcap. Sometimes even a little teenage-style making out. This was the best place for a heart to heart about the future of the lodge. Even in the middle of the afternoon.
Brodie stroked a finger down her cheek, eyes dancing. “So… what do you have to show me that’s so important sexy time has to wait?”
Her heart thudded in her chest, full of eager anticipation. “Remember a few days ago at the baby shower?”
“You mean the day we had the food fight?” He winked at her and nuzzled her neck.
Her body warmed at the memory. “Do you ever stop thinking about sex?”
“With you? No.”
She giggled. There was something so sweet about that. So… reassuring. And yes, so damned sexy.
“Ok, forget about sex for a moment.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Brodie.”
“What?” He perfectly mimicked the way she said his name.
“Be serious.”
“Only if you give me another kiss.” He rubbed his hand along her thigh, bringing it back to rest on her hip and squeezing.
She rolled her eyes, unable to contain a smile. “Fine. But only one. This is important.”
“So is this,” he answered, slanting his head to hers.
She lost herself in the sensation of his mouth. His tongue slowly stroking hers, the way his cock would later. God, she would never tire of kissing this man. Never. A little sigh escaped and she tucked her head under his chin, reveling in the pure contentment that came over her. “Can we please talk about this now?”
He pulled her closer, one of his hands stroking her back. “I suppose.”
“Should I move to the other chair? Out of temptation’s way?”
He growled low and shook his head.
“Fine. But if you get handsy, I’m scooting over.” She grabbed the papers from the side table and handed them to him.
“What’s this?”
“Our plan.”
“For the lodge?”
She nodded. “A five year plan for solvency.”
A shadow crossed Brodie’s face and his eyes became guarded. “I’m sorry, can you read it? That’s… a lot.”
She
let out a long breath. “Have you called the school yet?” She could tell by the set of his jaw that he hadn’t. His reluctance to take action was becoming a bone of contention between them. She didn’t want to nag, but if she didn’t, she was afraid he’d never do it. She brought her hand to his cheek. “What if I come with you next week?”
His mouth compressed. “Can we talk about it next week?”
She bit back a frustrated retort. Now wasn’t the time for this argument. She nodded. “Sure. Okay.” She blew out another breath, some of the excitement leaching out of her.
“So at the baby shower Millie Prescott asked if I would give her lessons on how to make macarons.”
“Those are the pink oreos?”
She quirked a smile. Never let a Frenchman hear them called that. “More or less… Anyway, a few of the other women said they’d like lessons, too.”
“Sounds good.”
“Well, after the party, my brain went crazy. The food was a hit, and I realized that in Prairie and the surrounding areas, there are lots of celebrations where people want nice food. Nicer than Dottie’s homemade pies. And that we… I… could offer high-end catering services.”
He was paying attention now. “Go on.”
“And then, I thought about the pop-up restaurant phenomenon that’s taking place in big cities all over, even in Kansas City.”
His brow furrowed. “Pop-up restaurant?”
“Restaurant overhead is notoriously costly. The biggest expense of running a stand-alone. A pop-up drastically reduces overhead. It could be someone’s home, or a party space, or in our case, the lodge. We’d have to purchase some additional tables, but once a quarter, once a month, basically whenever we decide, we could advertise a pop-up dining experience.”
She knew she was spinning it out too fast, but she was too excited to stop. “We could do themed nights, take reservations, even do tasting classes. Advertise in Manhattan, Wichita, even Kansas City. People will drive for a fancy food event. Especially if we brand it as high-end locally sourced, exclusive food.”
“But we’d still have the hunting lodge?” His muscles tensed under her. Was he not excited about this?
“Of course. But there will be slow times. Ask any bed and breakfast owner. Even if we brand the lodge as hunting and wrangling, which we should, we’ll need additional income.”
He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.
“What’s wrong?” If he shot this down, she wasn’t sure what to do. The lodge needed to diversify to stay solvent.
“What about me?”
She leaned back, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what about me?” A tense edge crept into his voice.
“I don’t follow. We’re partners.”
His eyes grew suspicious. “Are we? I hear a lot about cooking and classes. What about me?” The energy crackled off him.
“You’ll still be doing what you do best. Wrangling, taking out guests, building.”
“So I’m just the work hand.”
“No, you’re going to keep doing what you’re doing.”
He picked her up and moved her as he stood, leaving her in the chair, to pace in front of the fireplace. “Which is be the help.” He practically spit out the words.
“Brodie, I don’t look at you that way at all. I can barely tell a horse’s nose from its ass. I don’t feel comfortable mixing with guests. You’re the entertainer, the host. I work best behind the scenes.”
He stopped pacing to stare at her. Hard. “You mentioned a plan…”
This was not how she’d envisioned this conversation. “Yes. I have a plan to buy out Blake.”
CHAPTER 36
Jamey held out the papers. “I know it will take you a long time to read through it, but I’ve detailed a plan to buy out Blake in five years. We’d have to draw up a contract, and in the end, it would give me fifty-two percent equity, and you forty-eight percent.”
His eyes flashed and his pulse throbbed wildly at his temple.
“It’s not what you think,” she rushed ahead. She needed to explain before he blew a gasket. “The four percent allows for the fact that I will also take over full operations so you don’t have to.”
“What if I want to?” he ground out, every muscle tensed.
“Brodie, you know I love you, but you don’t have a handle on the numbers. It’s not your strength. I’m better at it.”
Anger flared in his eyes. “Wait just a second. You pick now to say you love me? Is that supposed to butter me up? Make this pill easier to swallow?”
“No… I… it just popped out. I do love you. But this is business. This is for both of us.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “If you love me, then why do we need a contract?”
Jamey pinched the bridge of her nose. This was coming out all wrong. “Look. I’ve been down this road before and lost everything because I trusted the wrong person. I’m not going to risk it again.”
“You can trust me.”
Her heart started to pound wildly. “I know I can. I do. But this is still business, and it protects both of us.”
“And you’re making it so that I work for you.” His voice was flat. Hard.
This was not at all the reaction she’d expected. Hoped for. “No. We’re partn–”
“Partners means fifty-fifty split.”
She folded her hands across her chest, warding off the rising panic. “I’m not going to do fifty-fifty.”
He glared at her. “Why the fuck not? We’re either in this all the way together, or we’re not.”
“That’s not the point. Of course we’re in this all the way together. The point is–”
“The point is I’m the boss. This is my family’s property. This is my lodge to run.”
“But you can’t even read. How in the hell do you expect to run a big operation if you can’t read?” She hated flinging that at him. Hated using his weakness to make a point. But she knew in her heart of hearts he would run the business into the ground. He’d practically done it already.
He stalked to the fireplace, then spun to face her, arms across his chest. Anger and pain radiated from his eyes. “You’re just like the rest of them aren’t you? You make a big act of saying it’s okay I can’t read–”
“I never–”
He held up his hand and continued. “But you think I’m stupid. Just like everyone else.”
She crossed to him, reaching out to caress his arm. “I don’t. Yes, you need to learn to read, but this isn’t about your dyslexia.” Her heart twisted when he flinched at her touch. “Dammit, Brodie. Don’t make this into something it’s not. This is about building a smart business.”
His eyes glittered like ice. “Is it now?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.
That set off the fire brewing in her belly. “Yes,” she ground out. “Yes, it is. And if you would stop behaving like a spoiled, self-centered, thumb-sucking, ham-fisted baby, you could see the big picture.”
“Tell me what you really think, darlin.’” His voice came out cold and clipped.
Anger rushed through her. Of all the stubborn, short-sighted, muttonheaded responses. Her proposal was brilliant. “Fine, McSnarkypants. If you’re such an idiot that you can’t recognize something great when it’s right in front of your face, that’s on you. I. Quit.”
The words hung between them.
Only the sound of their elevated breathing cut the silence.
For the tiniest of instants, a look like anguish flashed across Brodie’s face. Then his eyes hardened. “Fine. But next time you accuse someone of not recognizing what’s right in front of their face, take a look in the Goddamned mirror.” He stalked past her and through the kitchen, where she heard the back door slam.
What in the saints had just happened?
Had she really just quit her job?
Quit them?
Had he really just shut her down without even considering she was right? Two tears pricked b
ehind her eye. Oh no. She would not cry. She would not cry. No man was worth any more of her tears. Not even Brodie. And she’d let it slip that she loved him. How stupid was that?
Pain stabbed through her so intensely, she couldn’t breathe. She sat down hard as the room began to tilt. She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose, unable to prevent a little sob from escaping. She picked up the papers she’d placed on the side table and crumpled them one by one, tossing them at the fireplace. A solitary tear leaked out. She furiously brushed it away.
Get a grip, Jamey. Get a grip.
The pressure in her chest increased and pushed up into her throat. If she continued to sit here, she’d melt. She’d disintegrate into a weak, blubbering puddle. Giving herself a shake, she rubbed her hands along her thighs and stood. She stared down at the space in front of the fireplace, her dreams as crumpled as the papers at her feet. Nausea roiled in the pit of her stomach. Let Brodie pick them up. Let him throw their future away.
She whipped around and made for the kitchen. She had a job to do and guests to prepare for. She could hike up to the Big House later and give her resignation to Blake. Maybe her brothers were right. Maybe she needed to come home to Boston and set her sights a little lower. Another tear oozed out, and she brushed it away.
Damn Brodie for sweet-talking her. For lulling her into believing she could build something successful… something meaningful with him.
A little sob escaped her throat and she sniffed hard.
Oh no.
She was having none of that.
Opening the cupboard, she reached for the twelve year Redbreast and a tumbler. Who cared that it was the middle of the afternoon? If there was ever a time for the crisis bottle, it was now. She filled the tumbler, and took a hefty gulp, letting the smooth liquid burn her throat.
She could always go work for Mason Carter.
Another half-sob slipped out. She didn’t want to work for Mason. She wanted to build something here with Brodie. And now she’d ruined it all by letting her temper get the best of her.
Oh God.
What had she done?
The finality of it all slammed into her with the force of a cast-iron skillet to the head. Taking another gulp of whiskey, she struggled to bring order to her thoughts. At the moment, prepping food demanded her attention. Guests would be here in a few hours. At least chopping things with her sharpest knife would calm her down. Then later, she could cry into the crisis bottle with Maddie.
