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“Junie…”
“Relax, I’m coming, I’m coming.” I drag myself up from my chair and follow her to the front.
He’s standing by the counter with the same terrifyingmalenessas before.
It’s like every single thing about him is designed to shock and awe the primitive part of my brain, reminding me the customer from hell looks like a scary-hot man’s man.
And dammit, my very confused bodylikes itfor some unholy reason.
He gives me what might even pass for a smile as I take my place behind the counter.
“Hi,” I force out, not trying for the breezy placating customer voice I went for last time.
If he’s here and pissed off, he’ll know better, anyway. I sassed him before, after all.
I cringe internally.
“Juniper Winkley, is it?” he asks, reading my name tag. “Nice to see you again.”
Nice?Nice?
I don’t believe this guy finds anything about me ‘nice,’ but he delivers the line with such practiced sincerity, I almost believe it.
Then I come to my senses and wonder what he’s up to.
My eyes narrow as I clear my throat.
“Um, yes.” I fumble over what to say next and settle for, “Thank you?”
“I didn’t thank you properly before.” He smiles, this time wider than before and fake as hell.
Oh, man.
It doesn’t reach his eyes, but there’s something charming about it anyway. Even if he’s just putting on a show, it’s nice to see a face that handsome set to something besides perma-scowl.
He has good teeth, too, perfectly set and very white.
The better to eat you with, my dear.
“Anyway, I really appreciate the effort you put into the sampler.” He hands me a business card with Dexter Rory blazing across it in gold letters. Underneath, I see the wordsHigher Ends International. “My associate was especially impressed with everything you delivered.” There’s something actually warm in his voice now, and I straighten. Did he just sayimpressed? “I came by because I was hoping we could meet later, after the bakery closes.”
Meet? After close?
Oh, hell. Is he asking me on a date?
Then again, I’ve never had a man give me his business card when he’s asking me on a date before, but he doesn’t exactly look like he knows how it works in the real world.
“I have a proposal,” he says when I hesitate.
Like he can see the panic in my face, his jaw twitches and his smile dims a little.
“A business proposal for you,” he corrects, nodding at the card in my hand. “A lucrative opportunity for both of us.”
“Oh. Oh, right, a business proposition,” I murmur, giving myself time to think. “Okay. Yes. I can do that.”
“When do you close?”
Calm down, down.
