“No,” I tell the woman standing in front of me. She’s been in here every morning recently, and now with her request to help Camden, I’m wondering if that sneaky asshole has been drinking my coffee.
“I think it could be really great exposure for you,” she continues, seemingly unfazed by my answer.
I wipe at the table in front of me, trying to get all of the surfaces clean before closing up the cafe for the night. It was another busy day, and all I want to do is get home, take my shoes off, make some dinner, and sit on the couch for the rest of the night. There are multiple new episodes of some of my favorite TV shows tonight, and I’ve got a bottle of wine I’ve been dreaming about opening all day long.
“I’m sorry, I’m really not trying to be rude, but the answer is no,” I tell her again. I’m often terrible at names, but I think she said her name was Trisha and she was the assistant to the owner of the gallery next door. Considering there’s only one gallery next door and there’s only one owner as far as I know, I’m pretty sure the sweet woman behind me has to work for Camden Hunter.
“Camden told me you’d say that,” she says. This catches my attention. I look at her from over my shoulder, my interest piqued.
“He did?”
“Sure did. In fact, he told me not to come over here at all. But there’s probably only one more person on this Earth more stubborn than him, and that’s me.” She shrugs, a grin playing on her lips. “So here I am.”
“He seems like the kind of man who would fire an assistant for not following his requests.”
This makes her laugh. A long, high-pitched laugh that takes me by surprise. I make eye contact with Bri, another one of my employees, trying to figure out what’s happening here. “He truly comes off like a pompous asshole, I know. But he’s not so bad. A lot of bark but very little bite.”
“Now, I think that comment would really get you fired,” I mutter under my breath.
Why does this woman seem to be so fond of him? Surely there are better people to work for.
The woman sighs, her eyes drifting around the room. We don’t close for another hour, but we typically don’t get many customers this late in the day. We’ll get a few stragglers wanting to pick up bread to go with their dinners or a dessert for the night, but for the most part, we stay pretty empty once the late-afternoon fades into evening.
“We’re really in a bind.” Her voice gets softer, but there’s still a hint of worry to it.
I set the rag on the table behind me, turning around with a large sigh. “Look, even if I wanted to help, there isn’t enough time. I’m sorry.”
She nods, already looking at the door with a sad look on her face. “I’ll tell Mr. Hunter you’re sorry.”
“Oh, I’m not sorry for him. I’m just sorry you’ll have to deal with him.”
“He’s really not so bad.”
I laugh. “Yeah. He’s worse.”
“What if he came and asked you personally?”
“He wouldn’t be caught in hell coming to ask me for help,” I point out. I hardly know the man, but I’ve gathered that much from him. He seems like the kind of person that doesn’t ask for help, let alone ask for it from someone he said he never wanted to see again.
“But if he did? If he came over here and begged for your help, would you help us then?”
I smirk, trying to get the mental picture of him in my head. It would be pretty nice to hear him beg and grovel. Maybe I could find a way to make it work if he just got down on his knees…
“Sure,” I say, mostly as a joke. There’s no way he’d come over here and beg. He’s too good for it, but it gives me an excuse to not feel like I’m being rude to this nice woman. She reminds me of my mom in a way. There’s a quiet kind of confidence to her. One that doesn’t accept bullshit but is still one of the nicest people you know.
Trisha holds up one finger in the air as she begins to back up. “Don’t move.”
“Not going to hold my breath,” I call after her. There’s no way he’s coming through the door, but I don’t burst her bubble.
“He might just surprise you.”
I try not to roll my eyes at her statement. Camden could never surprise me. What you see seems to be what you get. And what I see is an asshole.
With Trisha gone, I turn to face Bri. “Now with that over with, I’m going to go finish a few things in the back.”
I’m busy preparing a tub of icing for tomorrow when the door to the kitchen is thrown open. “What the f—!” I yell, accidentally dropping a bottle of food coloring. It splatters on the floor, red dye exploding at my feet.
“I truly don’t think I’ve met a messier human.”
I scowl, giving him my dirtiest look. “What are you doing here?”
Camden looks at the floor. It looks like a murder scene with the amount of red dye all over the tile. It goes up my jeans, ruining the pair I just bought a few weeks ago. I groan, wondering if I’ll be able to get the stains out. My size is always sold out online, and these fit my body better than any pair before.
“I’m here to ask for help.”
“You would’ve been a lot more help if you hadn’t ruined my brand-new pair of jeans.”
“I’ll buy you a new pair if you help me out tonight.”
I wipe at the food coloring with a rag, but all it manages to do is further spread it everywhere.
“We have a deal?” he pushes.
I scoff, looking at the red splotches all over the light denim. “No, we don’t have a deal. They take forever to come back in stock.”
“I’m in a real fucking dilemma right now.” He seethes, his voice tight and low, the grit to it sending shivers down my spine. “I’ll find the jeans. I’ll buy you ten. I just need food at this opening, and I need it now.”
Camden Hunter sounds vulnerable.
What alternate universe am I in?
I sigh, slamming the rag on the counter. It used to be beige. Now it’s almost red, truly looking like something they’d keep as evidence in a murder case. “What time is the opening?”
He clears his throat and looks down at an expensive watch on his wrist. It’s so shiny it catches the light from the ceiling, almost blinding me when he turns his wrist a certain way.
“Technically, the artists are arriving within the hour. Guests will be here in a few.”
“And what happened to your fancy caterers? Clearly, I wasn’t your first choice.”
He laughs. It seems a little less cold than the times I’ve heard him laugh before. “No, you weren’t, shortcake. Yet here we are.”
My eyebrows raise as I grab the edges of the counter. “I’m waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For you to tell me that maybe fancy, uppity choices aren’t always the best option.”
“Not going to happen.”
I shrug, going back to my earlier task before he scared the shit out of me. “Then it seems like you don’t need help that bad.”
“I’m not going to stoop that low and tell you that until I at least know you have the time to create something suitable for the night.”
“It isn’t stooping low when it’s the truth.”
“Just because one business from New York has shitty business principles doesn’t mean that everything here in this dingy town is better than Manhattan.”
“Call Sutten dingy again and you’ll get a knee to your manhood.” I smile sweetly at him, remembering the second time we ever ran into each other—literally. I’d joked about his size and how it felt like he was overcompensating. He didn’t take it well.
The look on his face tells me he may not take my threat very well now either.
He lets out a long, aggravated sigh, even going as far as to drag his fingers down his perfectly sculpted face.
It’s really a shame he’s such an asshole because he’s easily one of the best-looking men I’ve ever seen. Everything about his features is perfectly proportional. Eyebrows are supposed to be sisters, not twins, yet his are clones of each other. Straight eyebrows with a slight arch at the ends frame the clearest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. To top it all off, the man has thick, dark eyelashes.
I hate him. For so many reasons. For being an asshole. For buying the space I wanted to expand my business. For ruining my jeans. For being blessed with such good looks when he has such a terrible personality.
“I don’t have the time to go back and forth with you,” he confesses. He sounds agitated, but not necessarily at me for once. More like at the circumstances.
“Sounds like you don’t have much time for anything, considering you might need to borrow an apron and cook some food up for your guests.”
“That won’t be necessary if you help me.”
“Big emphasis on if. The shop closes soon, and I have a date with a bottle of wine and some reality TV.”
“Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Just say yes. Help me. I’m begging.”
“Anything I want?” I ask, my mind filling with so many terrible things I could make him do if I agree to this.
One single piece of gelled hair falls into his face, making him seem a little more…normal.
“Yes, anything.”
