Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“It’s a cute place you have here,” I tell Bree, focusing my attention on her.
“Thanks.” Pink tints her cheeks. “It was my grandparents’ place before they passed away. Now, it’s mine.” I already know this since Hayden filled me in, but since she can’t know that, I go with it.
“Are they the reason for the no laptops signs?”
Bree nods. “She hated it. Died at eighty-two years old without ever owning a single piece of technology.” The way she smiles when she talks about her tells me they were close, and I wonder how the fuck Hayden thinks he’s going to convince this woman to walk away from here.
“So what do you do?” she asks, eyeing my suit.
“I run Fields Enterprises. We mostly find restaurants and clubs and renovate them. We help companies that are going under save their businesses and bring them to the next level. Sometimes, we buy and sell them. Other times, we’ll hold on to them when we think they’ll bring in a decent profit. Once in a while, the owner will take us on as a partner to help manage the establishment for a percentage.”
“Are you good at what you do?”
I bark out a laugh at her question. “I do all right,” I say nonchalantly.
She looks around her bakery. “What do you think of my place? Anything you would change?”
I wasn’t planning to talk business, but at this point, I’ll talk about anything she wants if it means I have her attention.
As I take in the place, as I would any other potential investment, assessing it as an outsider, the first thing that comes to mind is her food. “Do you make all of your own food?”
She nods.
“Sell it anywhere besides here?”
She shakes her head.
“If you were my client, I would suggest you get your name out there. A lot of cafes and bakeries get their products from third-party distributors and would be more than willing to support a small business, especially a local one. Not only would it bring in additional income but with your company’s name on the products, it’d also be free advertising.”
She sucks in her bottom lip and then lets it slowly slide out. “I never thought of that.”
“Most don’t.” I shrug. “It’s why eighty percent of restaurants and clubs fail their first year in business. But from what I can see, you have quality products, and your prices are reasonable. You have a prime location with a welcoming atmosphere. You’re already ahead of most of those places.”
“Well, I’ll have you know,” she says, her face lighting up with what looks like pride. “This coffeehouse has been in business for fifty years and has no intention of going out of business any time soon.” The passion and determination in her voice are such a damn turn-on. It also tells me that she knows about Shea trying to buy her out, and she isn’t having it.
Fuck, Hayden is in for a fight.
Good thing it has nothing to do with me.
“So tell me about you,” I say, shifting the conversation toward where I’m hoping it will go—with me asking her out again and her saying yes this time without it sounding like someone ran over her puppy. “When you’re not baking and running this place, what do you enjoy doing for fun?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it, and then laughs softly. “That should be an easy question.” She takes a deep breath as if to mentally prepare for what she’s about to say. “Honestly, this bakery is pretty much my entire life these days… aside from my children.”
It takes a second for me to wrap my head around what she just said. She has children. Not a child—children. Plural. As in more than one. I wait for the sirens in my brain to go off, for me to be turned off and no longer interested, but for some crazy reason, it doesn’t happen.
“Where’s the dad?” I ask, making her flinch. “Sorry,” I tack on. “I just don’t want to be encroaching on another man’s woman.”
My eyes go to her ring finger, and she follows my line of vision. “I’m not married,” she says softly. “Well, I was, but he died.” She sighs and closes her eyes. “Dammit,” she hisses, her lids opening and her blue eyes shining with emotion. “I swore I wouldn’t do this.” She shakes her head and laughs, but it comes out bitter and mockingly. “Feel free to run any time.”
Normally, had a woman spilled all that baggage at my feet, I’d take her up on that offer and run… fast and far. But once again, I have no desire to go anywhere. It’s clear the woman has enough emotional baggage to fill a 747, but the only thing that comes to mind is what it would take to help her organize those bags and maybe clear some of them away.