Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
“Great to meet you,” Dakota says with a friendly smile I’ve never seen on that face before.
“The pleasure is all mine, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to sit back down,” Lucy tells her.
“Of course,” Dakota says.
My turn.
I suddenly have a horrible need to see how far this punk-ass prank goes.
Slowly, I push past Lucy and extend my hand.
Raven chick looks up with the guarded expression of someone meeting their life’s gatekeeper.
Our eyes connect. I wait.
Then comes grim realization.
Her breath hitches, a gasp so tiny I think the women miss it.
She corrects her reaction immediately, but not before I see the way her eyes go wide and round when my face clicks in her memory.
Goddamn, that feels good.
I bet she regrets stealing Wyatt’s Regis roll now.
Is she hearing a record scratch? Are the bitter words she said to me this morning playing through her head right now like a cheesy comedy film?
I’d like to help, but...
Because they’re damned sure on repeat in mine.
I’m half expecting a laugh track to go off from nowhere and to see Seinfeld’s Kramer come skidding through the door next.
Poe fidgets with her hands and stands on the other side of the table with her lips trembling. The red, defiant anger I’m used to seeing looks drained from her pale face, her eyes whirling with confusion.
How does it feel to be cornered, Nevermore?
“Have a seat,” I bite off, forcing a too-wide smile and gesturing to the table.
Her hands fall to the chair closest to her.
I point to the end of the table.
“We’d like to have you closer. Try over there,” I say again, slowly and darkly.
Dakota stares at me in horrible silence, then nods and moves to the end of the table, where she’ll be right next to me.
Looks like my sweet revenge could gag an elephant.
Lucy, Anna, and Ida all look at me, tossing curious looks around the room.
“Just sit wherever you’re comfortable,” Anna says as Miss Poe lingers without quite sitting down.
“She’s comfortable there,” I say matter-of-factly.
She nods—too briskly—and pulls out the chair at the other end of the table.
I turn my head to Anna again. “Miss Patel, would you kindly bring Miss Poe a cinnamon roll? I believe we have a few left in the box outside and I’m sure she’d enjoy one for visiting us today. Everyone in this city is practically ready to go to war over those rolls.”
Anna nods at me and stands.
Dakota throws up her hand, finally showing me a hint of the hellcat I’m used to. “No, Miss Patel. Thank you, but I’m good. The roll looks lovely, but I had a huge bear claw on my way in. I really can’t eat another bite.”
Anna nods again with a polite smile and sits.
“From Sweeter Grind?” I ask.
Dakota looks at me like she’s drilling a hole in my head.
“Is there anywhere else in Seattle worth the calories?”
“I believe there are many places in this city where you can get delicious pastries,” I tell her. “Of course, the Regis rolls are their signature creation. People will fight over them.”
“I suppose that’s true,” she says awkwardly.
I shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe someone in front of you buys the last pastry in the whole place and refuses to sell it for a stupefying profit. Then you have no choice but to go somewhere else to satisfy your sweet tooth.”
She holds my gaze. “Sounds like you value availability over quality, Mister—Mr. Burns, was it?”
“Lincoln Burns,” I say harshly, giving a name to the sneer she won’t forget for the rest of her natural life.
Such a shame.
She has the right backbone to work long hours on a luxury line. Too bad I have a policy against hiring deranged pastry thieves who put pride over commonsense profit. Even if it’s not in the HR handbook, it’s my policy, made up right here.
Still, I’m not above making her squirm like a worm on a hook for the next half hour.
Anna and Lucy sit quietly, watching this baffling tennis match of words with muted, wondering looks. Finally, Anna clears her throat.
“So, Miss Poe, I checked out your website,” Anna says. “You’ve done some excellent work. The project I was most interested in was the campaign you did for a local florist last year. That’s exactly the kind of creative edge we’re looking for. Can you tell us about it?”
For a second, Poe looks at me. The eyes live up to her namesake, at least. A whole army of ghosts and nineteenth century killers dance in her gaze.
“You heard Miss Patel. Can you?” I whisper slowly when she’s quiet for too long. “Expiring minds want to know,” I say, deliberately swapping out inquiring for expiring.
I’d love to think I threw her off her game. Knocked her flat with the sheer shock of seeing me here, a hate note from the universe that what goes around comes around in spades.