Page 7 of Between Love and Loathing
Her eyes closed briefly, and I felt a tinge of loss, which was surprising. I never felt bad about snuffing out color. People used it as a crutch to draw attention away from their flaws. “This is the last thing I’m giving up, Dominic.”
“Clara, it’s what’s best.” I shrugged. “I don’t want you to have to deal with the design critics. If you were down the street by our food trucks or out on the boardwalk, I’d let you do what you want.”
“Are you saying my design isn’t good enough?” I couldn’t tell if it was hurt or anger in her voice.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m saying you and I have different styles and they don’t exactly go together.”
“Oh, I’m well aware that nothing about you is like me and that we don’t go together at all.”
She grumbled it with such disdain I was caught off guard. I knew we were opposites but having her aware of it also suddenly sat wrong with me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” she snipped out before sighing. “I make desserts and you don’t even eat them. It’s like you’re allergic to sugar.”
There was no point in eating what was practically poison to the body when you could eat protein or something that was actually good for your health. I rarely went into her bakery in Florida, and I didn’t plan to walk into this one either. “You might want to consider what food you’re making within this bakery—”
The intake of her breath was sharp as she stepped back. “Do you think I’m so incompetent that I haven’t considered the menu?”
Well, I wasn’t so sure. “I haven’t seen a menu sent to Rita.”
“Because neither of you have asked for one.” I heard the anger now, noticed how fast she snapped the words out before she exhaled, likely attempting to dissipate the emotion. “Nor have you asked for the marketing strategy, the name of the bakery, or the—”
“Is that a problem? We’ve provided a list of staff that can work morning hours with you, provided you the contact for weekly produce vendor, and Rita has handled most of the design. If you want to send over the rest, fine.”
“No thank you,” she replied fast.
“No thank you?”
“You’ll just change it. I’m working with you on the design because it is required, and I want to be colleagues, not enemies. I’m set for produce and have hired someone from your list of staff—”
“Who?”
“Matt Connor will start training in two weeks.”
“Matt Connor?” I knew of him because he had worked at the resort down the street and Valentino had interviewed him. I hummed, not knowing whether I had an actual reason to say no to him working there.
“He was on the list.”
“Yes, I’m aware. He interviewed with Valentino’s team.”
“Why isn’t he … oh. So, you gave me Valentino’s leftovers?” Her hand was on her hip immediately. “I thought you wanted the best of the best throughout your resort.”
“I do. But I’m not sure your bakery is going to be a part of my resort for long.” My words were pointed and cutthroat. She needed the practice of dealing with bad reviews. She’d be getting them. This wasn’t her daddy’s hotel anymore. People didn't know her like they did in Florida.
“You really mulled over my future here, haven’t you?” Her words came out in a shaky whisper, and for a second, I considered whether I should back away now in hopes I wouldn’t have to stand there while she cried.
But then Clara Milton did something I wasn’t expecting. She bit her lip, dragged her teeth against the soft plumpness of it, and walked in a circle around me, slowly and with calculation. “You just sat there … creating my space and thinking about how my coming to town would go. I’m happy you were here to at least welcome me to your lobby, Dominic. I think I’ve been accommodating enough on changes, though, and maybe my bakery will be out of your resort soon. Maybe I won’t make it, just like you’re hoping. And then you’ll have the resort you dreamed of. For now, be happy I’ve been willing to compromise on some things. But the rest …”
Her voice drifted off like she didn’t want to say it. “The rest, Clara?”
We both waited in silence.
“It’s nonnegotiable, Mr. Hardy. It’s my bakery.” Ah, there was the spine I thought she didn’t have. She came alive with that comment—red stained her cheeks, power flew off her into the air as her glare held me hostage.
“You sure about that?” I’d conquered a lot over the years. People saying my designs weren’t worth it, fighting with other engineers, ruthless competition, failure. Still, the last few years without meaningful pushback and true competition because I’d finally made it had left me content but bored.
Pushing Clara’s buttons wasn’t boring at all. Not when I suddenly saw the fight in her eyes.
“Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
