Page 35 of Never Let You Go

“Jesus, Pierce. I need to teach you other skills than just baking.”

“I can read, if that’s what you mean.”

“Skills like not getting fucked over.”

“You didn’t read it.”

“I drafted it. Think I know what’s in it.”

Oh.

“Nah,” I shrug. “I trust you. How bad can it be? I need to work here every day for the next five or six months. Follow your instructions.” In the packet Barbara put together, there was a pretty clear description. I was going to have no personal life during this apprenticeship. Having the day off yesterday was a pleasant surprise.

I finish signing and set the pen back on top of the contract.

He huffs. “You’re handing me your ass for the next six months.”

“I’m fine with that,” I reply a little too quickly. “Metaphorically,” I add, feeling that darn blush coming back.

The air sizzles.

“Pierce, seriously. You shouldn’t be so trusting. No wonder Red Barn is walking all over you.” He seems genuinely pissed off. It’s cute in a hot kind of way.

I cup my hands around my mug. “It’s okay. They gave me the lowdown on how this was going to work. I’ll read the contract tonight, as part of my homework. How’s that?”

He comes closer to me, handing me the contract. I free one hand to grab it, and our fingers touch briefly, warmth spreading from my fingertips to my core. “If you don’t like it, we can discuss it,” he says, his body very close to mine.

“I think I’m going to like it just fine.”

His eyes dart between mine, hesitating between concern and amusement, making me all sorts of mushy. I could stand there for hours debating which is the most endearing—his frown line or his single raised eyebrow.

Or the heat of his body seeping into mine.

My mood goes up three more notches, but for all the wrong reasons. I need to stay focused in order to complete this apprenticeship. Swooning over my hot boss is not going to help me accomplish that. It’ll drive me away from the only reason I’m here.

Focus, Alex. Focus.

He lets go of the contract and returns to the pile on the table. “This here is your bible,” he says about the several booklets neatly stacked. “It’s the theory part. It normally takes a year, sometimes more, to go through it, but you’ll have to cram that in six months.” He sifts through the separate booklets, making annotations on their front pages.

“It’s totally doable,” he adds. “I’m dividing these in sections. There will be a test each week. We’ll start with the first section in a week, and so on. In two months, you’ll have covered the basics, and you’ll start work with me at four in the morning. Until then, I’ll see you here at six every day, except Mondays—our day off. I’m going to ease you into it. No point breaking you now.”

One year of training crammed into six months, with the basics done in two months?

Sure.

My goal of becoming Red Barn Baking’s next in command just reached a new level of highly unlikely.

But sure. I’ll do it.

“Next up. Work attire.” He rubs his hands and points to a pile of white clothes. “You can wear these on top of your clothes,” he says, eyeing my leggings and sweatshirt. “You might get a little hot. Tomorrow, wear only a T-shirt. And your shoes.” I’m wearing white Keds. “Get something with more support.”

Getting dressed in front of Christopher, even if that means adding layers to already existing clothes, is hot as sin. I can feel his gaze on every part of my body, every move I make.

I trip a couple of times trying to get into the pair of white chef trousers that tie with a string and fit kind of loose. Christopher’s gaze follows as I fasten each button of the white chef shirt in thick cotton with a mandarin collar. I finish with a long apron that wraps around my back and ties in the front, and a skull cap.

All the while, Christopher is standing in front of me, legs apart, arms crossed, hips thrust forward, frowning.

I’m melting.

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