“Maybe I’ll put this down and we can get started? It’s for you.” I set the robin-egg-blue box on the kitchen counter.
“What is it?” He kinda scowled at it. “A bribe?”
“Uh, no. It’s a gift. It’s lemon wedges.”
“The fuck are lemon wedges?”
“Oh. Uh, pastries.”
Well, that was rude. He’d seemed nicer before… didn’t he?
Shit, was I sweating?
It was kind of hot in here. He could really open a window. It was May, for Christ’s sake. Felt like a vampire lived in here, and so far, he’d been about as welcoming as one.
Maybe he was just angry about my sister being such a bitch to him. And since she wasn’t here to be a dick to, I was the next best thing?
If so… could I really blame him?
When he said nothing, I added, “They have a light, flaky bottom and a creamy lemon filling.”
“You made them?”
“Oh, no. I’m not that talented. My aunt Mireille owns a bakery. I bring them for all my potential clients.”
Truly, Mireille made exceptional pastries. It made me happy to support her business and at the same time put a smile on my clients’ faces. Generally, people raved about Mireille’s treats. The lemon wedges were usually a hit with men in particular.
This man, though? No smile in sight. I’d never had someone so… suspicious… about pastries.
“Um, they’re gluten free, but you’d never know it. She only uses top-quality ingredients. I promise you, they’re quite good.”
He stared me down.
Anddamn, his eyes were sostunning… even with that semi-scowl on his face. Whenever I made eye contact with him, my stomach twisted into sparkly little knots.
“Anyone ever tell you you sound like a commercial?” he said.
“Must be my sales training.” I laughed a bit, nervously. “Um, actually that’s a joke. I don’t have sales training. Madeleine is always telling me I should get some. I prefer to just be honest. The lemon wedges are delicious, by most accounts. If you don’t like them, though, don’t feel bad. It’s definitely not a bribe or any kind of… um… test.”
He just stared at me.
Awkward.
I cleared my throat and dug out my phone. “So… you’re allergic to dogs?”
“Nope.”
I looked at him again. What the hell was the thing about the dogs, then?
Maybe hewasnuts?
Crazy-eccentric rock star with people issues? Like a total lack of social skills?
He looked me over again, incredibly slowly. His perusal went all the way down to my bare toes—which I’d hastily re-polished this morning with a light-pink shade when I’d realized they were red—and back up my bare legs to my knee-length cream-colored pencil skirt, where his gaze lingered. Then it flicked up to my pale blue blouse, tucked into the skirt. Or more specifically, my boobs. Then to my face again, lingering on my lips.
I’d worn no red, even though my sister told me I should, just to see what happened.
Honestly, she would’ve.
