I take a step back. “A kitchen appliance.”
Without looking away from the thing, she rolls her dark blue eyes. “Yeah, but it’s a Cafe Professional Double Electric Oven. This is the crème de la crème for baking. Have you tried out the true European convection mode?”
I shake my head. Other than roasting vegetables or chicken, I don’t use it much. Sophie gave me an air fryer for Chanukkah two years ago, and that’s been my go-to for cooking since.
Giving the handle one final pet, she pushes up. “I’d literally donate an organ for this oven. Mine’s a standard conventional oven, and it’s fine, but it’s finicky. I have to watch it carefully in case the heating is off. That way I don’t overbake or underbake anything. Reason number 943 that it’ll be amazing to have the kitchen space.”
I stare at her, unsure of what to do with that information. “Okay.”
Not bothered by my lackluster reply, she perks up. “Oh my God. I almost forgot. As promised, I made you something.”
She reaches into the mammoth purse she slung onto the kitchen counter and pulls out a food-storage container. Popping the lid, she holds it out to me. “Extra gooey gluten-free brownies.”
The heavenly scent wraps around me like a warm blanket, nearly pulling a groan from deep within my chest. I rarely indulge during the season, and I can’t remember the last time someone baked for me. Maybe my seventh birthday? Sure,gluten-free snacks and desserts are relatively easy to find at grocery stores and even restaurants, but a homemade dessert is different. Personal.
I pick up a slightly warm fudgy brownie and take a bite.Holy fuck. When the taste of espresso and dark chocolate floods my senses, that groan I was holding back escapes. Without stopping to even breathe, I take another bite, this one bigger.
Kennedy lets out a small laugh at my eager face-stuffing and shakes her head. “Yep. I knew your eyes would sparkle.”
I eat two more before waving her over to my kitchen table. It’s less comfortable than the couch, but I figure if we’re signing documents and whatnot, a table’s the more professional setting.
I pass her portfolio to her, and she cradles it like a crown jewel. “So you think it’s good?”
I nod. “Yeah, I do.”
“You’re not just saying that because you’re desperate for a fake girlfriend? Because this is my livelihood, Cameron. I don’t want you to commit just?—”
“I’m not lying.” My tone is a little harsh, but I can’t help but take offense. Does she really think I’d lie just to get what I want? I can be a bit standoffish and rude, sure, but I’m not a manipulator. “If I said it’s good, it’s because I think it’s good.”
“Okay.” She smiles, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Tell me more. I have a praise kink.”
My cock stirs in my pants, and suddenly I’m thrilled that my own wood is covered by the table’s wood. I shift slightly, trying to focus on the conversation instead of the way her lips curved around the wordkink.
“Kidding, sort of,” she says with a giggle, tapping her pen against the papers. “You’ve invested in businesses before, though, so if I’m forgetting something, hit me with it. I can take constructive criticism. It won’t put you on my shit list.”
I clear my throat, forcing my brain back to the columns of numbers and projections. “Your market analysis is thorough,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “Most businesses fail because they chase trends instead of filling actual needs, but you’ve identified your target demographic and you understand what they’re looking for. That’s half the battle right there.”
She’s watching me intently, blue eyes wide and hanging on every word.
And that is doing nothing to help my situation under the table.
“The kitchen costs are well researched, too,” I continue, flipping to the budget breakdown. “You’ve accounted for things most people forget—licensing fees, insurance, the buffer for unexpected expenses. And this partnership structure you’ve proposed for catering companies and corporate contracts?” I tap the page. “It protects you while leaving room for growth. That’s smart thinking.”
“Yeah?” She leans closer, her mouth fixed in a bright smile. “What about the revenue projections? Be honest. I keep second-guessing myself.”
I study the numbers, grateful for the distraction. “They’re ambitious but not unrealistic. You’ve based them on actual market data, not wishful thinking. And you’ve got multiple revenue streams built in from day one, which means if one underperforms, you’re not sunk.”
She puffs out a breath, melting into her chair. “You think I can do it? I can really pull this off?”
The vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard. The Kennedy I know is always bursting with confidence, never faltering in her own talent. She’s not uncertain or unsure.
I nod once. “Not a doubt in my mind.” Opening a separate folder, I take out the printed contract my lawyer had delivered while I was traveling. “You have the business plan and you havethe clients,” I tell her, holding the small stack of papers out to her. “Now you have someone willing to bet on you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
kennedy
I scan the contract,skimming the legal jargon since it all swims together. Halfway down the page, I force myself to slow down and examine it word for word. This is too important to speed-read. I blink a few times to clear my vision and refocus.
