Chapter Eight
1202 Words
Chapter Eight
The bakery was empty except for a student perched in one of the booths in the corner. He had thick glasses and was hunched over his laptop, plugging away at the keys with a danish on his left and a half-empty cup of coffee on his right.
Adalia stood behind the register, enjoying the sunlight on her cheeks. Small pleasures were the key to a happy life.
The kitchen was empty and she’d finished the morning breads and buns hours ago. They were laid out for purchase along with the sweet treats. She stifled a yawn. She’d been up since 2:00am getting everything ready for the day.
She bent her head over her own laptop and surfed the internet, searching for new ways to market, to bring in some kind of business.
The bell over the door rang, but she didn’t look up – there was something about social media that called out to her. It might be an easy way to access more clients. Or a Google Business Listing.
“Got any of those cream buns in stock?” Trent spoke directly in front of her. Adalia jumped then cleared her throat.
“Only chocolate,” she replied, then pressed her lips together. Trent had that assistant bimbo with him, and a surge of humiliation flooded her. He talked the talk, but he sure didn’t walk the walk.
“Sir, are you sure this is the best breakfast choice?” Van Heerden asked, clicking her nails on the counter then bringing out her smart phone to check the time. “There’s a health bar a few blocks from here. How about a fruit smoothie?”
“Michelle, when I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” He said it with that cool edge he’d used on Adalia in the kitchen, and she flushed with heat.
This guy was a downright player. He really didn’t care about her.
“I’ll take a couple of chocolate buns, Adalia.”
“Sure,” she replied, without a smile and without complaint. The sooner he left, the better. There were too many confusing emotions associated with him. One second she wanted to hold him, the next she wanted to slap him and scream out loud.
It was too much to handle with everything else going on. She hung on by a thread, clinging to sanity for the sake of her strength, for the sake of the business.
Adalia handed him the brown paper bag and he grabbed her by the hand.
“I haven’t forgotten.” Trent flashed a winning smile.
She gave him a blank stare in return. “I have.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Montclair,” Van Heerden said, and Adalia turned to the slim blonde. “Do you have anything that isn’t pure carbs?”
“I’m sorry, but this is a full fat bakery.” Adalia said it with pride, eying the products, packed with calories, gluten and refined sugar. “If you don’t like it, I hear there’s a health bar a couple blocks away. Why don’t you try there?”
“A full fat bakery,” Van Heerden said, then paused and looked Adalia up and down, before continuing, “I can tell.”
Adalia didn’t respond, though her outrage at having the woman pushed into her face had peaked.
“Go wait in the car,” Trent said, and Michelle’s upper lip curled back.
“Trent,” she said, purring his name, caressing it almost. He turned those pools of blue intensity on her. Van Heerden drew her usually pouty lips into a thin line, then spun around and marched out of the bakery. She slammed the glass door hard, but it didn’t c***k.
“You’re a lucky man,” Adalia said. “She’s a real charmer.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t account for her behavior. She’s been a good assistant, but socially she’s totally inept and it’s becoming a problem.”
“I have no interest in your assistant.” Adalia bit her lip and lowered her gaze to the laptop screen again. Trent had chosen today to wear an open-necked shirt without the jacket. The cotton was tight over his torso, and she couldn’t handle witnessing the ripples of muscle beneath it. Too tempting.
“But you do have an interest in me.” Trent oozed that confidence again, as if he’d never dreamed for a second she might not want him. Unfortunately, he was dead on. She’d love to break that arrogance down a bit, but she was a terrible actor.
“Excuse me, could I get a refill?” the student called out from the corner, and she swept up the pot of coffee and hurried over to help him out. The interruption gave her time to gather herself.
She returned to the counter with a sigh. Trent was still there with his brown paper bag, waiting for her. He didn’t check his watch or tap his foot, at least.
“Sorry, you need to pay, don’t you?” She rang it up on the cash register and handed him his change.
“At least you let me pay for it this time.”
“Yeah, well you did me a favor by letting me cater your event. I figured it was the least I could do,” Adalia quipped, and he chuckled. This was nice, it was amicable, and there wasn’t pressure to –
“So, I’ll pick you up Friday around eight?” Trent placed the bag on the counter, and left it there. The bakery was silent but for the patter of the student’s fingers on the keys, and the tension between them heightened.
“What?”
“I told you, Adalia, I always get what I want. You’re coming on a date with me on Friday. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“That’s a great pity, because it’s the only answer I’m going to give,” Adalia grumbled, but she was tired of resisting him.
“Why are you so set on denying this connection? You don’t get what’s going on here.”
“I don’t get it? No, you don’t. I’m not the kind of woman who deals with men like you on a daily basis. Hell, I don’t deal with men like you at all.”
“Men like me?” The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.
The doorbell tinkled again and Michelle pranced in, carrying a smoothie.
“Looks like duty calls,” Adalia said, sweet as pie, then picked up his brown paper bag and shoved it at him.
He didn’t take the bag, but let it slide back to the counter. The really strange version of pass the parcel continued.
Michelle stopped beside them and slurped on the straw, pursing her lips in the most obvious way. She was built to seek attention, from her dyed roots to her revealing top to her stiletto heels.
“I thought I told you to wait in the car.” A muscle twitched in Trent’s jaw. He probably didn’t want her to know he’d propositioned Adalia, the creep.
“I got bored,” she replied with a shrug.
“Have a nice day, Mr. Dawson,” Adalia put in, by way of a dismissal. She’d had enough of his games and there was business to attend to.
“Give me your number,” he said, with a straight face.
Michelle’s eyebrows flickered upward.
Adalia opened her mouth to snap at him. He didn’t know when to quit, but the doorbell rang again and she rammed her mouth shut.
“Hey, baby.” DeShawn strolled in with his usual swagger, the gangster limp he’d adopted on the streets.
“Baby?” Trent’s head swiveled from DeShawn to Adalia. “You can’t be serious.”
DeShawn stopped in front of the cash register and adjusted his do-rag, then scratched his crotch. Michelle’s mouth turned downward, and she gave a sniff of disdain.
“What up, girl?”
- Writer
