Chapter 12
Dexter
I hate him and his mammoth fucking sweet tooth that has me lying through my teeth.
“Amazing. You must be as big a fan of these treats as I am,” he says with more of that smarmy, layered charm that makes me want to slug him.
“More than a fan!” I lie smoothly. The sweat on the back of my neck seeps lowers, wetting my collar. It’s like my body senses where this is going before my brain does. “The Sugar Bowl has been around since before I was born“-though I’m fucked if I can remember when, even if she told me
–“so you know it’s good. I’d be a fool to leave them out of the spotlight.” “It’s rare when something lives up to its hype, yes.” His gaze flicks to
me, more curious than ever. “Can you really make that happen with all your properties, Rory? It’s a tall order for such a small local shop, isn’t it? You don’t have to exaggerate on my account.”
But I do.
The sensible thing to do would be to back down or walk back the promise to just the Mill as soon as it’s in our hands. But I’ve never been that sensible.
When I go all in, it’s balls to the walls. I need him to believe me.
My eyes search the room frantically, staring at the paintings on the wall.
A man on horseback and his white dog, gazing into a hundred–year–old red sunset.
A woman at work, what looks like a maid prepping a tall cake in a butler’s pantry.
An abstract wedding scene, a century out of style again, the happy couple embracing in front of a faceless crowd.
It’s the last painting that sticks in my brain and immediately short–circuits it.
“I wouldn’t dare overpromise, Mr. Haute,” I say. “I have my ways. It’s easy when my lovely fiancée runs the Sugar Bowl these days.”
Fuck, fuck.
What are you doing?
Digging my own grave in grand style, I guess.
I stare at him, waiting for a scolding the second he catches the lie, but he just raises his thick eyebrows.
“Fiancée?”
Dry–mouthed, I nod.
“That sweet redhead from earlier?” My teeth grind together.
I’m sure she’s anything but sweet once you get to know her, but I can’t tell him that when I’m busy shoving my entire foot in my mouth.
So I nod again like the jackass I am and say, “She’s a firecracker. Really puts her passion into everything.”
I hope it’s enough to shut him up.
“She certainly brought a little fire today.” Haute mimes spanking something in midair, and amazingly, it’s possible to despise him even more. “You’re a lucky man, Dexter Rory.”
Yes, a very unlucky, stunningly stupid asshole.
What sort of idiot claims they’re engaged to a woman they’ve met once
-a woman he doesn’t even like–just to close a sale?
This guy, apparently.
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Love Betrayed: A Journey of Sevaraka
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Chapter 12
And it’s so fucking asinine I almost laugh hysterically at myself right here. Who knew signing my own death warrant could be so amusing?
“Yep,” I grind out. “Couldn’t be luckier.”
What’s one more lie on the pile? The funeral pyre? Whatever else happens, I better seal this deal.
“I can’t wait to meet her when the time comes to iron out details,” Haute says, extending a thick hand. It’s an oddly limp shake for a man who’s bralt like a rhinoceros, but I don’t give a shit when we’re shaking over the Mill. “You’ll have to introduce us. Certainly, keep bringing me more of these delicious desserts.”
There’s no way in hell he’s ever meeting her, but that’s a tomorrow problem.
Now, I just have to figure out how much I’ll need to spend on these damn sugar licks masquerading as desserts, on top of whatever it costs to un–fuck my life.
Which means more run–ins with that insufferable woman. My fiancée.‘
Proof that I’m in the running for world’s biggest idiot ass–clown.
There’s nothing better than a good barbecue sandwich.
This one has everything: coleslaw, roasted peppers, sautéed mushrooms, caramelized onions, and of course, enough meat to put
me into a mini coma.
I might be a bakery girl, but there’s no denying I love a good chunk of pulled pork. In this city, good barbecue is practically a religion.
Put a spatula in my hand and turn me loose over a grill and I couldn’t be happier. It takes me back to the old days, back when my dad showed me how to grill. I was the son he always wanted.
Before he snapped and left, I mean.
But that’s a whole boatload of trauma for another time, so I focus on the way the barbecue sauce runs down my cheek as I take a nice big bite.
“You’ve got a little something…” Emmy breaks away as I look at her. “You know what? Never mind. You look perfect.”
“Good answer, Emmy.” I toss my hair back in an exaggerated gesture that makes her laugh while I blot my face with a napkin Jake’s too busy stuffing his face to smile, but he’s definitely happier ever since I announced lunch was on me today.
All thanks to Mr. Dexter Rory and his fancy credit card. Dealing with his rotten attitude paid off, for once. The tip he left-
Sweet baby Jesus.
I shake my head at my sandwich in memory.
I hate to admit it, but the guy was generous. The order left me enough money to take the van in with plenty left over for other disasters.
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Chapter 13
Chapter 13
