Page 36 of Between Love and Loathing
Clara stood there, fussing with her dress before she admitted, “I don’t care so much about Valentino.” Thank fuck. “But can we discuss changes to the bakery? And actually agree on them?”
“Of course my little fighter wants to raise the stakes. Fine. Give Rita three changes. Nothing big. No discussion necessary.”
“You don’t want a say?” she questioned, like she couldn’t believe it. Yet, in the past twenty-four hours, I’d seen her love and drive and now understood she cared for the bakery in a way I thought she hadn’t. This wasn’t a business her mommy and daddy gave her. She wanted this like I wanted what I worked for.
“My say is you get three changes, and I’ll approve them as long as Rita can deal with it.”
“Only three? How long am I dating you for?”
“Five months gives us a bit of time for the resort to be up and running. It needs to be public. You need to tell your friends and family about us. My ex—”
“Are we talking about Natya Fitch?”
“So you read the tabloids?”
“Like a fiend.” She shrugged and when I scoffed, she just chuckled. “It’s fun and relaxing, okay? So how much of that is true?”
“Enough of it.” I cracked my neck, not wanting to go into details. “We need it to be public enough that she doesn’t mention our resort anymore. We have partnerships that would disintegrate if she’s involved. So, tell your friends, family. Even Noah.” His name sounded like acid on my lips.
“Well, three changes seems a bit light if I have to fake it with everyone. Plus, people at work are going to think I’m getting favorable treatment.”
“Well, you already are.” I shrugged. “I don’t let people change designs here.”
“Five changes. One a month.” Her voice was small but firm. Why was I bargaining with this woman? She was going to give me hell for five months, and even so, my damn dick was hardening just thinking about it. “And I get to keep the wall.” Her smile was saccharine.
“Pushing your limits, baby. The edges of it have to be cleaned up and we might need to pull the color just a bit.”
“Deal.” She stuck her hand out to shake mine, but I slid my fingers through her hair and pulled her close.
“I don’t shake hands with my girlfriend.”
Then I took her mouth. I devoured those bare pink lips in the way I’d been wanting to all morning. She opened up with a whimper as soon as my tongue swiped over her bottom pout. She tasted of strawberries and chocolate, maybe a hint of that mint just like the truffle she had. I was going to crave chocolate for the rest of my life after this woman, I already knew it. Still, I kissed her without reservation, because I wanted to explore every taste she might have been hiding.
When I pulled back, she was staring up at me in question, and then she peered behind me to check to see if people were outside. “You said you don’t kiss women, Dominic.”
She was right. I’d never wanted to be involved with anyone since Natya, but I found myself wanting to now. “I kiss mygirlfriend.”
“Fake girlfriend,” she corrected and then said, “And no one’s watching.”
“Sure they are,” I said and ducked down to taste her again. We might have been fake dating, but I was going to kiss her for real every fucking time.
CLARA
He came to sit there every day in my bakery, not saying much of anything. I don’t know if Dominic Hardy was a man of few words or if we just didn’t have much in common. Still, either way, I found myself nervously blabbing to him half the time.
“I don’t know why the caramel isn’t folding into the chocolate well enough,” I scoffed.
He hummed but didn’t look up from his laptop.
I continued the one-sided conversation throughout the day. “And if the mint is going to be withered when it comes to my door, why even send it?” I continued on about how my macarons weren’t fluffing, how the coffee seemed to heat a bit too hot and then grounds tasted sort of burnt. I even offered him truffles and cupcakes.
He declined while he hummed along with my commentary the whole day.
Each day, I walked in at the same time, and every morning, he showed up like clockwork to find me fighting another recipe on my menu. One day, suddenly, he glanced up. “Do you have a final menu for opening week yet?”
I glared at him through my kitchen window. “Remind me why you’re here again?”
“All for show,” he replied and went back to his laptop.
