Page 11 of A Very Daddy Christmas

I can’t help but scoff. “Sir, you blindsided us with your decision yesterday. We’re still processing the news here.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Eva adds.

“You’d better figure something out fast. I’ve got the city council folks coming in early next week for an inspection. They’ll need unrestricted access to every corner of the building.”

George laughs lightly. “I’m betting you wish you’d have done a more in-depth due diligence of this place before you bought it from the Selznicks, eh?”

“Tell me about it.” Orson shakes his head. “Had I known the contracts themselves were such a doozy, I would’ve had my lawyers comb through every damn page. But hey, that’s what you get when you rush into a good sale. You worry about the details later.”

Maybe we were lucky it happened this way. Orson saw an opportunity with the ailing Mrs. Selznick, who needed to move to Florida at the time. He clearly didn’t know what kind of landlord-tenant relationship he’d inherit. He does now, but he probably doesn’t think we have the money to buy the building from him.

Technically speaking, we don’t, but the more I listen to these two yapping about what’s going to replace the bakery, the more determined I am to produce that forty-eight grand from somewhere.

How many cookies and cakes do I need to make and sell in order for that to happen?

“Too many,” I mutter to myself.

“What?” Eva asks.

I shake my head. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

“You should start making arrangements,” Orson insists, still smiling in that irritating manner. “The bakery equipment alone is heavy stuff. I can hook you up with one of my transportation companies if you’d like. They’ll give you a generous discount.”

“Thanks, Mr. St. James, but we don’t need that just yet,” Eva replies.

“Oh, but you will. You’re three months away from the end of the year, ladies. You can’t leave everything to the last minute. I’m not giving you any extensions.”

“Mr. St. James, if you don’t mind—” Eva’s about to tear him a new one when to my astonishment, Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs walk into the bakery. My heart starts beating a thousand miles per minute while I struggle to breathe properly.

What are they doing here?

“Hi,” I manage.

The guys immediately notice the tension in the air. Sebastian throws one look around the bakery and gives Orson and George a single nod of acknowledgment before he shifts his focus entirely to me. “What’s going on here?”

“What are you three doing here?” Orson snaps, clearly displeased with their presence.

There seems to be some strained history between Orson and the guys, but I’m not aware of the specifics. What I am, however, is insanely curious.

“Are they bothering you?” Sebastian asks me.

Orson gets up, visibly insulted. “You have a lot of nerve!”

“What the hell is going on here?” Eva murmurs, giving me an alarmed and understandably befuddled look. All I can do is reply with an ignorant shrug as the tension and indignation rise.

“This is Sebastian. Waylan. Riggs,” I say, trying to keep the conversation somewhere in the civilized realm. “We met yesterday at the fair.”

“Cora saved our asses,” Sebastian laughs, offering to shake my sister’s hand. “Judging by the resemblance and noting that beauty clearly runs in your family, you must be Eva, Cora’s sister.”

That’s enough to make Eva giggle and blush. “You’re too kind, Sebastian.”

“What are you doing here?” Orson asks again, his tone clipped as he takes a few steps toward the guys. “Of all the places in this city.”

Sebastian is beyond amused, completely immune to Orson’s deathly glare. George lingers in the background, equally uncomfortable but nowhere near bold enough to look any of these men in the eyes. His silence speaks volumes of its own.

“Why don’t you and your lackey go somewhere else for your coffee and gossip? The titty bar opens at noon.”

My eyes bulge as I watch this exchange.

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