“I’ll be out of town this Valentine’s Day weekend. If there are any emergencies, please contact your landlord Sullivan West directly. He will be handling things in my absence.”
“Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath.
Thelastperson I want to call is my grumpy, pain in the ass landlord. My body shivers, but it’s not in dread. Oh no. That traitorous bitch remembers the way his tongue expertly brought me to my fucking knees. It’s been years since I’ve entertained the idea of a one-night stand, but a couple of months ago, I was feeling stupidly optimistic about this move to Daisy Hills.
I got the distinct impression that, while this mysterious stranger I chatted up atJax’s Bar & Grillwas a local, he rarely visited town. He looked every bit the reclusive mountain man type who probably spends more time chopping wood and building things with his hands than having conversations with real life people.
When he invited me back to his cabin in the woods, Ididhave a moment of hesitation. I’ve seen horror movies with less obvious plotlines. But since I’m the queen of bad decisions and I wanted a place to sleep that night that wasn’t my car, I went anyway.
I have no regrets.
Well, I have some regrets.
But having the best sex of my fucking life? Yeah, that’s not one of them.
I stupidly thought it was a good omen of things to come. That maybe this fresh start was therightfresh start for once. Until Sullivan met me outside the building that now housesThe Boozy Bakerywith a lease and a key.
If Grandma Val ever caught wind that I slept with my landlord, she’d ensure I never got my hands on the lavender lemon cupcake recipe. She might even cause a boycott for my business. That recipe is the best chance my business has to thrive. Without it, the fate of my bakery is shaky at best.
I don’twantto call Sullivan. But thanks to Roxi here, I don’t have a choice.
CHAPTER 2
Sullivan
It’s early. Too fucking early to answer my phone. Which, if I hadn’t approved my property manager’s time offandoffered to cover for her rather than having someone else fill in, I wouldn’t have to.
If not for this overhyped day of commercialized love that apparently is an entire fucking weekend this year, Jane would’ve intercepted the call from Lila Hamilton. Instead, my property manager’s spending the two nights and three days at some romantic beach resort with her fiancé with her phone turned off while I have to face the woman I planned to indefinitely avoid.
Next time, I’m putting aside my stubbornness and allowing Jane to find someone to fill in—anyoneelse.
“This better be important,” I grumble.
“Do you answer your phone like this all the time?” Lila says, her sunshiny voice stirring feelings inside me I swore to keep buried for good. It’s pathetic how one fucking night of no-strings-attached fun has turned my world upside down.
That’s what I get for picking up a woman at a bar and thinking it would simply scratch an itch. In my defense, I was never supposed to see her again after the sun came up. With the way she talked about traveling the country, I expected her to befifty miles down the road when I ventured into town to meet my newest tenant the next morning.
Instead, Lila was standing outside my building, waiting for the keys.
“Is this an emergency?” I press.
“I thought you were a morning person. Did you run out of coffee, Sull?”
My dick twitches at the way she shortens my name, as though she’s always called me that. It makes no fucking sense. We haven’t talked since she signed the lease. “I’m on my first cup,” I grumble.
“Ah, that explains it. Well, can you put that in a to-go cup and get over here? I need you.”
“I thought we agreed to one night?—”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says flatly.
I hate that my chest tightens at the flippant way she dismisses my misunderstanding. Seems as though I’m the only idiot who went and fell right into some fucking feelings after that passionate night we spent together—a secret I will take to my damn grave. The last thing I need in my life is a complication of the female variety.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” she continues. “One of the busiest days of the year for a bakery like mine in case you didn’t know. And I have an issue that needs immediate addressing so I can get back to work and keep my business from going under before it even officially lifts off the ground.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, imagining a leaky pipe under the kitchen sink or an unresponsive outlet. I’m certain it can’t be as dramatic as she makes it sound.
“Someone broke into my bakery.”
