Page 5 of Unwrapped

“I wasn’t scared of her,” I clarify, feeling a touch defensive. “She was best friends with Tessa, whom I thought had a crush on me, so I wasn’t about to fuck that up.”

It’s a lie. He knows it; I know it. The truth was, I was terrified of a girl like Ivy in high school. The smart ones who had their shit together always saw through my facade and, sadly, not much has changed.

At twenty-eight, I thought I’d have my personal life just as figured out as my professional life, but to date, that couldn’t be further from the truth. The last three dates I’ve had ended with zero promise. One ended with me dropping the woman off at a club to meet up with her friends and the other two… I let my dick do the thinking—one turning into afriends with benefitsthing and the other telling me she thinks she’s in love with me after two hookups which left me having to break her heart that the feeling wasn’t mutual.

His movements pause, his gaze still focused on the paper in his hand for a few more seconds before he chuckles. “Whatever you say, little brother.” Then he just shrugs and heads back to his office, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and that uncomfortable flicker of anticipation I can’t quite shake.

“Michelle,can you send me the report that shows how we did Q4 last year?”

I’m in the middle of a conference call, going through the latest financial reports, when I hear a knock on my office door.

“Of course,” Michell replies, “I sent them over to Zane last week but I’ll forward them to you as well.”

I glance at my watch—time completely getting away from me.

“Your three o’clock is waiting,” Keri, my assistant, whispers, tapping her wrist. It’s not often she has to walk in and physically remind me to hang up the phone but with year-end right around the corner, business never sleeps.

“Sorry, everyone, I have to drop. Thanks again for your time.” I hang up, standing from my chair and buttoning my suit jacket as Keri steps aside, widening the door.

“He’s ready for you now.” She smiles toward the person behind the door, then steps aside, ushering for her to step in my office.

“Good afternoon,” I say preemptively, “I’m sorry I ma?—”

I expect to see Tessa, with her bright smile and easy demeanor, but when the door swings open, it’s not her.

It’s Ivy.

For a second, I just stare. She’s changed—or grown up rather. She still has that alternative edge, but there’s a subtle confidence in her stance that wasn’t there before. My mind instantly flashes back to her in high school, her shoulders up to her ears, her eyes cast down as she practically scurried down the hall to her next class. She was shy, that was obvious, but there was always something so much more behind those eyes, some far off look like she was already planning out her life five years ahead of the rest of us.

Her hair, once kept just beneath her chin, is long, dark, glossy, and straight, falling over one shoulder, and she’s dressed in a sleek dark-green coat that brings out the warmth in her hazel eyes. Those eyes, the ones that always seemed to see morethan anyone gave her credit for, flick up to meet mine, and I’m caught off guard by the way my heart stumbles in my chest.

I clear my throat, pasting on my easygoing smile. “Ivy, hey. I-I—” I chuckle at myself stumbling over my words. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. It’s been a long time.” I extend my hand toward her. “Where’s Tessa?”

She hesitates, then steps farther into the room, and I catch the faintest hint of vanilla and cinnamon as she moves to clutch my hand with her own. Her skin is warm, her touch so gentle I look down to make sure she’s actually touching me.

“She had a last-minute meeting with our real estate agent, so I’m here instead.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing her neck. “I hope that’s okay.” Her voice sounds familiar, it’s definitely still Ivy’s somewhat monotoned cadence but there’s a maturity to it now, an almost whisper like rasp to it.

“Of course. Sorry, I just meant that I was expecting to see her—I’m pleasantly surprised that it’s you.” I gesture to the chair across from my desk, trying to ignore the way my pulse kicks up a notch when her fingers gently pull back from mine. “Have a seat, please. So, you two are starting a bakery?”

Ivy sits down, smoothing her hands over her coat, and I notice the way she bites her lip before answering, like she’s weighing every word. “Yes, technically. We’ve actually had this baking business for some time. So taking the next steps of getting a brick and mortar bakery, well, it’s been in the works for a while now.” She smiles hesitantly. “When Tessa mentioned speaking with you and your brother, we both thought it could be beneficial. So, thank you for taking the time.” Her fingers nervously tap against her leg. She is wearing black tights beneath the coat, her feet encased in Dr. Martens boots.

“Happy to.” I smile back at her. Her eyes shift slightly away from me, then bounce right back. There’s still a hint of thatshy young girl from days past, but she squares her shoulders, clearing her throat like she’s fighting it. “How far are you along in the process?”

“Pretty far. We have a building we’d like to put an offer on and we’re in the final stages of the pre-approval process.” Her movements are rigid, her answers sounding programmed.

“Hmm, pretty far is right, then.” Her fingers stay interlaced in her lap and I can’t help but wonder if she’s excited at all. “Tell me more about it, Ivy.” I settle my eyes on her, hoping my openness will allow her to feel more at ease. I lean back in my chair, my posture relaxing as my tone becomes more engaging. I want to know everything about her, what she’s been up to the last decade, if she’s happy, what she’s doing after this. But I don’t ask those questions, instead I keep it professional. “What made you want to open a bakery? What’s your specialty? Is baking your passion?”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relax a touch, a smile starting to spread across her lips. “Actually, it’s been a dream of ours since college. We—er, I started baking as a hobby, a way to channel some energy into something other than school and it just grew from there.”

“I can’t imagine needing other things to keep me busy in college,” I share. “I was lucky to get the bare minimum done between parties.” I laugh at the confession, then suddenly feel immature. Ivy doesn’t strike me as the type that ever partied. I think I was saw her at one, maybe two in high school and that was only because of Tessa, I’m sure.

“I was usually in the science lab.” She blushes. “Chemistry major.”

“Chemistry?” I whistle, “I knew you were smart but damn.”

“It was fun,” she shrugs with a small laugh, “plus it translated to baking very well.”

“So, you’re the baker?” I ask, changing the subject. She nods enthusiastically, her natural demeanor peeking through more and more. “What are you going to call it—the bakery?”

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