Chapter 19
Dexter
When i come back the next day, I notice several letters on the neon sign are burned out.
The whole place needs a makeover fast.
It’s perfectly clean, yes, but damned near everything except the bakery cases are worn and dated,
The Sugar Bowl needs real investment if it’s going to stay above water.
Sweet Stuff herself must know–and that gives me an idea.
I make a small mental inventory as I head to the counter, taking my sweet time. The lights are antiquated, the stainless steel appliances are dull and scratched, the overall aesthetic is old.
The floor needs some serious refinishing, too. The counter has a few ugly chips on its side. The whole color scheme looks like it was last updated bebre the turn of the century. It feels like a bad trip back to the nineties,
.
A few new tables and chairs would help while they’re waiting to renovate the rest of the space. The window also needs a facelift, if not replacement, judging by the mottled–looking glass.
That’s not even mentioning the back, which is–if the front is anything to go by–probably clean to a fault but extremely dated. Their equipment should be replaced before it starts a fire.
My jaw tightens.
Yeah, this is going to be one hell of a job, assuming they don’t have the capital. And considering they haven’t made a start, I already have my answer.
I reach the counter and don’t bother making small talk with Jake. There’s no point, considering he’s eyeing me like he wants to find out how to eviscerate me with a spatula.
He should meet Archer. They’d get along fine.
“Dude. She’s not here,” he says sharply before I say one word. “We told you, she’s out.”
“Okay, listen, dude.” I spread my hands flat on the counter. “I’m here to see Miss Winkley and I know she’s back there. I can see her.”
By the sound of it, she can hear me, too, because she grabs that beat–up door and mashes it shut.
Rather, she tries.
The door squeals like it’s being murdered and the latch pops right open again two seconds after it’s shut.
“Take a hint. She doesn’t want to see you,” Jake says, coughing. “Sorry.”
He’s not sorry. Not even close.”
The kid looks like he’s enjoying exerting some real authority, even if it’s by proxy for the most stubborn woman on the planet.
Fuck me.
“I want to place an order then,” I say. “For the office, delivery later today. Can you handle that?”
“Order? What for?” Jake’s nose wrinkles suspiciously.
“To eat, obviously.” I pull out my credit card, flashing it in the light to prove I’m serious. “Your products are delicious, even if your service is lacking”
The kid squints at me like he’s ready for a brawl.
“I know. Everyone says that about our stuff,” Jake says, a hint of a smirk in his voice, ignoring my service comment.
Everyone with a dozen cavities, I’m sure. Still, if I’m going to win them over, then I need to pretend these little globs of sugary death are God’s gift to
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Love Betrayed: A Journey of Separated
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Chapter 19
humankind.
“Guess they’re right. I know a man who’d crawl over broken glass for this stuff,” I say. “Let’s do another sampler scaled down, and this time go with the standard sweetness.”
Jake might be a kid, but he’s got a decent head on his shoulders. He negotiates the biggest deal he can, offering me one of those ancient card readers to pay at the end.
At least when the order turns up, Juniper Winkley should be there with that old van of hers. Then we can talk.
If I can just show her how much she’ll benefit from working with me, along with this store, I’ll have her.
“Bye!” Jake says, irritatingly chipper as he waves me off. It’s amazing what a few dollars can do.
Also, he’s not the only one feeling lighter. I actually crack a smile as I pass under the flickering sign and drive back to the office.
She doesn’t bring the damn order.
Emmy, the girl with the dark hair and glasses that slip down her nose when she’s driving, shows up and hauls it inside while I watch. Three boxes bulging with shit I can’t choke down to save my life.
Fantastic.
“Thanks for your order,” she tells me nervously, eyeing me like I’m about to bite her face off.
“Plan on another visit,” I clip.
Everyone in the office will love me, at least from Sylvia the secretary to the service reps and interns running on a steady diet of caffeine and pure
sugar.
So will Juniper by proxy. I fucking hope.
“Oh, wow, really? Okay!” Emmy says, her smile widening as I sign the receipt and write in a large tip. “Any idea when you want the next?”
“Tomorrow.” It’s not like I have much time to waste in the convincing department.
“Oh, great. See you tomorrow,
then!”
Dammit, I want the order, but not this bright–eyed kid.
“Actually, I hoped you might send Miss Winkley personally next time instea—”
“Bye!” With a quick flip of her hair, the door swings open. She bolts to the van like there’s a pack of angry Dobermans behind her.
I stand there with my jaw open, too slack–jawed and stunned to curse. There it is.
Proof positive that the universe means to pay me back horribly for my foot–in–mouth disease and nothing–absolutely nothing–is going to go as planned.
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