His Plain Jane (Happy Endings Book 3)

by L. Nicole

  When the bell on the door jingles, I reluctantly look up to see Casper standing there. He always looks amazing, but he’s really dressed up today. He’s wearing dark black slacks, perfectly creased, a matching black jacket and a crisp white shirt that sparkles against the darker fabric. He looks great in jeans and a nice shirt. He looks great in khakis and a pullover. Neither of those can hold a candle to Casper in a suit.

  “Hi there. How you doing?”

  Hi there? How you doing? Oh God, I’m even lamer than lame. I’m imitating Joey from Friends. Do people even know what that show is anymore? Is this how I flirt? What is wrong with me!?!?!

  “Coffee, black and a bran muffin, please.”

  “You’re really stuck on those bran muffins, aren’t you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. I’ve just noticed you always order them. They’re good, of course. I make them from scratch every day. It’s just sometimes you just have to have a little more flavor in life, am I right?”

  “The bran muffin is fine,” he says. I’m just here, waiting for the ground to swallow me up whole.

  “Okie-doke,” I mumble, under my breath. “Here’s the thing. I feel like you need a little spice in life.” Casper doesn’t reply he just stands there, and I hear him grumble under his breath. My knees go weak, but I soldier on, because I’m committed.

  And probably need to be committed.

  “How do you know my life doesn’t have spice? You don’t know anything about me,” he asks, and I’m kind of happy in some sick, twisted way, because that’s the most words Casper has ever said to me.

  “Well, I don’t, but everyone can use a little more spice in their lives,” I tell him, frowning, because it’s clear that I’ve upset him.

  “The day I look for a muffin to add spice to my life, is the day they put me in the ground. Now, are you going to give me my bran muffin and a coffee or do I need to find a new shop?” he asks, and yep, my attempt at flirting has definitely pissed him off.

  “I’m taking it that’s a nega-tory on trying a banana bran muffin? I made them fresh today and with the addition of bananas—”

  I stop talking when he lets out a muted grumble, which really could be more like a growl. It’s reminiscent of a wild animal roaring after an enemy.

  “Okie-doke, bran muffin and coffee it is.”

  I would have thought things couldn’t get worse. I really would have. But I would be oh so wrong.

  Because, when I hand Casper his muffin and then extend the coffee out to him, I must have failed to secure the lid properly. It jostles and sloshes when I pick it up and some of it spills out the side, dripping down on my thumb and fingers.

  The hot liquid burns and I let out a squeal, jumping slightly at the sudden pain. The cup slips from my hand and I swear time slows down and I watch as if in slow motion as the bottom corner slams against the counter and tilts forward, before falling and splashing hot coffee on Casper’s shirt.

  His shirt that is definitely no longer white.

  5

  Casper

  “Christ!” I growl, seeing it happen, unable to do anything but jump back, but that doesn’t help. The hot coffee splashes against my stomach, the hot liquid instantly warming my skin and burning. “Can’t you do anything, right?”

  I look down at my ruined shirt and my eyes immediately lift to the clock on the wall. There’s no way I’m going to have time to go home and change. Which means, I’m going to have to attend possibly the most important meeting of my career in a ruined shirt.

  “I’m so sorry. It slipped out of my hand,” the girl says, coming from behind the counter, loaded down with a bunch of napkins. I try to reach for them, but she ignores me. She begins slapping the napkins against my stomach, trying to dry it up. I hold my hands up, unsure of what to do. “I’ve ruined your shirt. I’ll buy you a new one, your pants too,” she rambles. I want to tell her that my pants probably cost more than she makes in a month, maybe two if she lives on tips. I doubt anyone leaves much a tip at a bakery.

  “Listen—”

  “Maybe we can try dry cleaning,” she continues to mumble, completely ignoring me. I could almost find her humorous, but her hand is moving against the front of my slacks, brushing against my cock and the strangest thing happens. It jerks into life. It’s been so long since that has happened that I can barely remember it. Turns out, if you don’t have sex, after so long, you get to where you don’t think about it. At least, that’s how it has been for me. But just a few brushes of her hand and my cock is swelling, stretching out, hungry for more. I take a breath, intent on getting control of myself and I smell her.

  All her.

  Vanilla sugar.

  Do they sell that particular spice? If not, then they definitely should. I don’t know what to do with this. I’ve worked hard to keep control of my life. I don’t like that this girl is affecting me so easily.

  “Listen—”

  “I have a good drycleaner. They work wonders. One time I spilled a gallon of pineapple syrup on a dress that I was wearing to a wedding. Sure, pineapple syrup is mostly clear, but I had brown sugar in it, so the color is comparable,” she rattles.

  I can only see the top of her head, because she’s bent down over me. In fact, if I put my hand to the back of her head and pushed it down barely an inch, her mouth would be right there at my cock.

  My balls harden at that thought. Maybe it’s time that I give up abstinence. Brad might have a point—although I’d never admit that to him. This girl is annoying, obviously clumsy, wears baggie clothes and is nothing really remarkable. For some reason, her glasses are kind of hot. It might be fun to give it—”

  All thoughts cease as pain explodes from my groin as the damn girl slaps the napkins to my groin and gets my nuts in the process.

  6

  Jane

  My mouth is like the Energizer Bunny. It just keeps going and going. I know it, but I can’t seem to stop it. I’m a disaster and I’m going to crash, but I can’t avoid it for the life of me. I thought it couldn’t get any worse, and then, because I’m so nervous I continue trying to clean him up by dabbing down the line of the spill—which just so happens to go to his crotch. I know better, but again, I can’t seem to stop myself. Then, I feel it. His dick moves under my touch. I know I’m a virgin, but I’m not stupid. I realize the movement has everything to do with the fact it’s a natural thing. He’s a man and his dick…well, it’s an erogenous zone. Okay, it’s the erogenous zone. Still, it sends excitement through me, it affects me, and it makes me want more, even though I know I will never have it. A heady sense of power slides through me. If I was brave, I’d do more. I’d drop down on my knees, stare up into those dark chocolate eyes that I dream of at night. I’d unzip his pants, our gazes locked, and I’d stroke him, take him into my mouth…

  Okay, after that it gets a little sketchy. I’ve never given a blow job before, so I’m not real clear on what happens next. In my mind, I can see him gather my hair in his hand, making me take all of his cock, overfilling my mouth, urging me to suck on him.

  I’ve dreamed about it nightly. I’ve thought about it, pictured it in my mind night after night as I used my vibrator, so the fantasy is like a living, breathing thing inside of me. I get so caught up in the desire, the daydream of making love to Casper, that when I hear him make a noise it startles me back to reality and my hand slams a little too hard. I wince as he jerks instantly, letting out a stream of curse words that are violent in both nature and sound. If I wasn’t already mortified, I’d be blushing. Casper Hartley could give a sailor a run for his money in violent curses.

  “I’m so sorry,” I gasp, humiliation moving over me.

  “What the fuck, lady? Are you trying to maim me?”

  “It was an accident—”

  “From where I’m standing, you’re nothing but a mistake,” he snaps. “How do they even let you walk around by yourself?”

  I take a step away from him, my body jerking as if he
hit me. But then, his words feel like a physical hit.

  “Listen—”

  “My entire life I’ve heard about dumb blondes, but I don’t think I’ve met one until you.”

  “Are you calling me dumb?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “You’re calling me dumb because I spilled coffee on you?” I ask, incredulously.

  “And for acting like a hooker trying to get my attention.”

  “A…What?”

  “You heard me, but if you don’t understand the word, I can spell it out for you.”

  “You ass. I was trying to keep you from being burned. How is that—?”

  “There wasn’t coffee on my dick lady and we both know you were spending all your time there.”

  “I…Get out!” I order.

  “Do you know who I am? You can’t order me out of here. I’ll have your job before the end of the day.”

  “Good luck with that, since I own the place!”

  “You own this bakery?”

  “Exactly and you either get out now or I’ll call the police, and have you escorted out.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” he growls, his eyes narrowing on me. My hand moves to my glasses because, I’m a nervous wreck. I’m also mortified and pissed. No one—and I mean no one—has ever spoken to me like this. I’ve always been the quiet one, easygoing. People have overlooked me, barely noticed me and taken me for granted, but they have never spewed such hateful venom at me. Once the shock leaves me, I know I’m going to cry. That’s how I’m made. I get so angry it builds up and then all I do is cry through it.

  I don’t want to cry in from of Casper Hartley. He doesn’t get that from me. He’s already crushed my dreams and my fantasies. He’s hurt me with his venom in ways that I don’t understand—at least not yet. The last thing he will ever get to see from me is my tears.

  “Try me.”

  I’m proud that my voice is firm and solid, not betraying my pain or my nerves. I think I’ve made him speechless. That gives me a certain amount of satisfaction.

  “You’ll regret this,” he promises, turning away from me.

  I don’t answer, because I’m already regretting it. I’m regretting everything. If I had a rewind button, I’d hit it right now and totally do everything over. He walks out and the ringing of the bell signifying the door has been opened seems abnormally loud.

  It takes a brief moment before my legs start quaking, and the tears begin to sting my eyes.

  “Honey, are you okay?”

  I look up and there’s an older woman standing by the counter. I had no idea I even had another customer.

  A customer who’d obviously seen everything that just happened.

  Great, a witness to my humiliation.

  I take a deep breath, trying my best to get my body under control.

  “I’m so sorry you saw that. I promise you that nothing like this has ever—”

  “Oh stop, dearie. I loved it.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “It was like one of my Spanish soap operas I love to watch. So much drama! It was fun.”

  “Oh…” I murmur not sure what to say to that.

  “You did good throwing him out. That Hartley boy was way out of line.”

  “I…thank you,” I manage to murmur. I doubt Casper would like being referred to as a boy, but I at least feel better knowing the woman isn’t blackballing my bakery for life. I mean, Casper is treated like a god here in York and I just…

  “I just kicked Casper Hartley out of my bakery.”

  “I know dear, I was here. Are you okay?”

  “I kicked Casper Hartley out of my bakery,” I repeat, the complete weight of everything I just did falling on me like an avalanche and it’s burying me alive.

  “Maybe you should sit down,” the woman says and I’m vaguely aware of her helping me to sit down at one of the small tables that are arranged to the right of the counter.

  I sit down, but I can’t seem to catch my breath. I just kicked the most powerful man in York out of my bakery. This could ruin me.

  He could ruin me.

  7

  Casper

  “Brother, you were fucking brutal.”

  “Let it go, Brad.”

  “You need to apologize to her, Casper.”

  “Bullshit. She tried to maim me!”

  “From where I was standing, she was doing her best to give you a hand-job.”

  “You mean she was trying to de-ball me.”

  “Dude get over yourself. It was an accident and you’re just being an ass.”

  I give Brad a dirty look. I don’t exactly disagree with him. I did snap without thinking. I couldn’t help it. The girl’s effect on me was so unexpected that I kind of lost it. I think about going back inside to apologize. I look down at my watch and the time catches my eye.

  Fuck.

  “I can’t,” I tell him, looking down at the mess I’m wearing. Going to a damn meeting like this is the last thing I want to do. Unfortunately, I don’t truly have a choice. I reach down and button the jacket, hoping it hides most of the stain on my shirt. There’s not much I can do about having a wet crotch. Truthfully, that’s not bothering me as much as the fact that my damn cock is still hard, even though my balls haven’t quit hurting.

  “Why in the hell not?” Brad asks.

  “I’m late for the meeting on the government contract.”

  “Make them wait,” Brad says, as if it’s truly that simple.

  “Do you know how much hinges on this contract? Everything we’ve been working for is on the line, Brad. You want me to throw that away for some silly girl who sells muffins?”

  “You hurt her feelings, Casper and she’s sweet. Besides, I’d like to see her muffins.”

  “So, you want me to put our entire business on the line so you can have a booty call?”

  “Geez, Casp. Don’t bullshit me.”

  “What are you talking about now?” I grumble.

  “You act like we’ll go bankrupt without this contract. You’re a fucking millionaire, and the company is making money hand over fist. You don’t need this contract, brother. Your ego wants it.”

  “Great opinion you have of me there, Brad.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong, Casp.”

  “You’re wrong,” I tell him, but even as I say it, I admit—at least to myself—that I’m not sure. After my parents died, I went to live with my aunt. She didn’t want me, and she didn’t make a secret of it. I spent the next few years trying to prove myself to the old hag. Nothing I did was good enough and I don’t know why I tried so hard. Maybe it was the verbal abuse, the crap she said about my mother, or just something inside of me that wanted to prove her wrong. Whatever it was, it’s stuck with me all of these years and I can’t seem to stop. Brad is right. I don’t need this contract. It’s about me still proving that I’m at the top of the game.

  I let out a frustrated breath, scratching the back of my neck, as I cast a quick glance toward the shop. Brad is right. I need to apologize.

  My brain is too all over the place right now, though. I’ll deal with it later.

  “You’re really going to leave?”

  “I told you, Brad. I have a meeting,” I tell him, not turning around, giving him nothing but my back.

  “Well, if you don’t have the balls to do it, I’m going to,” Brad says and that makes me want to stop. I want to tell him to stay away from her.

  What is wrong with me?

  “My balls are in pain, if you go in there, better wear a cup.”

  I walk off, refusing to think about Brad talking to the girl, and remembering how sweet she smelled.

  Sweet vanilla sugar….

  8

  Jane

  “Hey there.”

  I look up at the tender voice and see the guy that usually comes in with Casper. He wasn’t in the store when the chaos happened, but I did see him outside talking to Casper, so I’m sure he knows what happened. Plus, he’s approaching m
e and talking like one would to a wounded animal. That’s kind of a dead giveaway.

  “I’m sorry, I’m closing early today,” I respond, my voice hoarse. I look around nervously, not sure if his friend will come back for round two. I’m not up to it. I may have held my own against him in round one, but now that the shock has set in, I don’t think I can last through another one.

  “You can’t let him get to you.”

  I frown at him. The last thing I want to talk about is Casper Hartley. I know this guy isn’t going to give up, though. He keeps walking to the counter and he doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of me. He’s nice looking. He’s not sexy-hot like Casper, but he’s good looking and apparently a lot nicer.

  “Too late.”

  “Casper can be a jerk—”

  “I think I figured that out. I am sure you mean well, but if you’re just here to try and tell me that Casper Hartley is a good guy and not a complete asshole, you’re mostly wasting your time. If I never have to hear that man’s name again, I’m okay with that.”

  He studies me for a minute. I have the urge to look away, but I don’t. I don’t like that he can probably tell that I’ve been crying, but I don’t want him to think I can be intimidated or will back down either.

  “Okay, then go to dinner with me.”

  I blink, completely flabbergasted at his question. At first, I think I’ve misunderstood him.

  I had to have, right?

  “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

  “I asked you to go to dinner with me.”

  “Why?” I ask the only thing that comes to mind. I also look around for cameras, because I’m pretty sure I’m being punked.

  “Why?” he asks, and his smile stretches out into a huge grin, he tilts his head down and angles it at me, as if he’s amused. “Because I want to go out with you.”