Page 14 of Stuffed

Is that concern I detect, Mr. Mercer?

Me

Professional courtesy. Can't have anything happening to my investment.

Tessa

Our numbers must have impressed you more than you let on if you're already thinking of us as your investment.

I start to type several responses, deleting each one. Finally, I settle on one.

Me

We'll see. Have those raw numbers ready in case I change my mind.

Her reply makes me grip my steering wheel tighter.

Tessa

Yes, sir. Anything else you'd like me to have ready?

The suggestive undertone is impossible to miss.

I should ignore it.

I should maintain professional distance.

Should…

Me

Just the numbers… and you. And maybe wear those glasses again. They make the numbers easier to focus on.

"What the hell am I doing?" I ask my empty car the second I hit send, but I'm already thinking about the possibility of this meeting. About how she'll look in those glasses, breaking down profit margins with that fire in her eyes.

Asher's right—I am obvious. And maybe that's what scares me most. Not that Tessa might break through my walls, but that she already has, without even trying.

I finally start my car, loosening my tie where it suddenly feels too tight. As I pull away from the bakery, I catch one last glimpse of her through the window, bent over what I assume are those contractor estimates. She's tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing the curve of her neck, and I have to force myself to look away.

Because some temptations are too dangerous to indulge.

Even if they taste like dark chocolate and coffee.

Even if they come with blue eyes and reading glasses and the power to bring every defense I've built crashing down.

Chapter 5

Tessa

"You did not just send him flirty texts about financial projections," Ivy groans, watching me clutch my phone. "Please tell me you're not that much of a numbers nerd."

I sink down onto our new display counter, still warm from installation. "I panicked! He was doing that sexy storm out exit thing and I just… wanted to keep the conversation going."

"By offering to review raw data? Over coffee?" She snatches my phone, reading through the exchange. "Oh, honey. Although…" She pauses, a smile spreading across her face. "He did text back. Multiple times."

"Right?" I hop up, pacing our empty bakery. "And he took the cookies I folded up in the napkin for him. I watched him through the window as he stuffed them into his pocket."

"Creeper," she teases.

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