“One night, Wes. One damn night. This way, you’ll be doing a great thing and restoring your reputation, presently known as Cold Castile.”
I sat there for a moment and pondered everything she’d said.
“And you believe this could turn things around?”
“I do. You will be back in the graces of the board and your grandmother once this is over.” She grinned.
“Fine. Go ahead with the plan.” I waved my hand.
“You won’t regret it.” Kylie grinned, jumping up from her chair.
“I already do,” I sighed.
Chapter Four
Samantha
Sexy. Hot. Rude. Arrogant. Evil. The thoughts of that man swirled through my head as I walked down the street. Six feet three, short dark hair, blue eyes, and a five o’clock shadow that graced his perfectly sculpted jawline. He was dressed in a dark, tailored designer suit that hugged him perfectly in all the right places, while a fancy Rolex sat upon his wrist. It was a shame that his personality was that of Satan. Maybe he was the anti-Christ. He sure behaved like it. Poor Mr. Avila. If he lost his bakery, it would devastate him. He and his wife built it from the ground up over forty years ago. His prices were the cheapest of any bakery in New York City. He once told me he wanted to keep his prices lower than anyone else’s because he loved making people happy with his baked goods.
I hailed a cab and had the driver take me home.
“Can I ask you something?” I said to the driver.
“Sure.” He glanced in his rearview mirror.
“Are you familiar with Avila’s Bakery?”
“Yes, ma’am. Best donuts and cinnamon rolls in thestate. My wife goes every Saturday morning and picks up a dozen.”
“Would you be sad if Mr. Avila closed down?”
“Yes, I would be. I haven’t found another bakery in the city that even comes close. Why are you asking? Have you heard rumors? Because that’s not even funny.”
“No. I was just talking about it with someone at the coffee shop I was just at. It seems everyone loves Avila’s.”
I inserted the key and opened the door to my apartment. Zoey was still at soccer practice, which meant I had the apartment to myself for another hour. I poured myself a glass of wine and took it over to the couch. Before I knew it, the door opened, and Zoey and her friend, Maya, walked in.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. Hi, Maya.”
“Hi, Sam.” She smiled and gave a small wave.
“How was soccer practice?” I asked.
“It was good. We’re going to my room to study.”
“Study what?” My brows furrowed.
“Mr. Pipps is giving us a test tomorrow,” Maya said.
“Already? Today was only the first day of school.”
“He’s a jerk, and the whole school hates him. You haven’t met him yet?” Zoey asked.
“No. I can’t say that I have. Is he the short guy with a balding head, thick black rimmed glasses, and a scrunchy face?” I asked.
“That’s him,” Maya said. “We call him ‘the turtle.’ She laughed.
