Page 33 of A Taste of Trouble

“I'm not saying no, just…give me two weeks.” She sighed. “This is the most important thing I've ever done.” And she wanted to make sure it was done right. “I need to know, at the end of the day, that I gave it my all. No distractions. No—”

“So, I'm distracting.” He grinned and leaned closer.

She smiled. “We can revisit the date.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

Liv walked him to the front door, but before he stepped over the threshold, he turned and leveled her with a heated stare.

“As for release.” He reached for her hand. “I think this finger right here will do the job just fine.” He kissed the tip of her index finger. “And you're going to tell me all about it.” He smiled. “In two weeks.”

Chapter Seven

Liv woke up with the sun in her eyes. She rolled over. “What the—”

Bracing herself, she realized she had no room to roll over. The couch. She didn't remember falling asleep here, but when she spotted the empty beer bottle and book on the coffee table, the memory rushed back.

Sighing, she sat up, swinging her legs to the floor.

The room was just as she had left it. No pillows strewn about, or clothes hanging on lampshades from a bout of maniac sex. No. She woke up this morning not with satisfaction, but with want. Vulnerability. And even more pathetic, disappointment.

She dove into this situation with Jake with her eyes wide open. She was using him. Probably just as much as he was using her. It hadn't worked out. More than once. And it seemed as though even three times wasn't a charm.

For the next fourteen days, she made good on their deal and fell off the grid. Hard at work at the bakery, she did her best to push away thoughts of Jake in between painting, cleaning, and re-arranging.

She rose bright and early Thursday morning fully expecting to start her day on a good note. With the exception of her longing for a certain green-eyed man who haunted her dreams, the bakery was coming along nicely. It was almost complete.

She slipped out of bed and powered up her laptop. She scrolled through her email, but the positive feeling she had started the morning with was crushed when she read an email from her website design company. Apparently the site wouldn't be up and running for opening day as planned. Just one thing to add to the list of things that had gone horribly wrong.

She hung her head. An online presence was crucial. Wi

th no website, it looked as if Facebook and Twitter were going to be her only means of online advertising for the first few weeks. She wouldn't be able to use her brochures or mailings until the website was running. It wasn't very professional to hand out material with an inactive website.

As if that wasn't enough, today was the day Cross decided to pay her a visit.

He worked from the front of the store to the back. He opened every cupboard, pulled out every drawer, and moved every item that wasn't permanently attached to the wall. He tapped his pen on his clipboard and wore the same stone-cold face as the first time she met him. But the way he inspected her premises, Liv had a strange feeling. Something about this man just didn't sit right.

He opened up the grate at the bottom of the showcase in the front of the store and inspected the cooling system. He flicked every switch and turned every knob. The contractors she'd hired turned out to be decent guys and helped her with a lot of the things on the checklist. But while watching Mr. Cross's inspection, she was in desperate need of a drink. Or an entire bottle.

When he stepped into the fridge, she relaxed. She had spent hours scouring that thing. There was no way he could—

“Ms. Crawford. The Code states that all food must be stored six inches from the floor.”

“They are. I measured them myself.”

“They are not.” He snapped his tape measure back into its holder. “They are five inches and twenty millimeters.”

“Five millimeters?” She fisted her hands at her sides, hoping it would prevent her from lunging at the man. “You want me to replace all these units because of five millimeters?”

“Five point four millimeters. And yes, you must always be in compliance, Ms. Crawford.”

You must always be in compliance, Ms. Crawford, she mimicked inside her head.

“Along with your shelving in the fridge not being high enough off the ground, your exterior door isn't weather tight.” He glanced at his clipboard then continued. “Also, your thermostat outside the walk-in fridge seems to be broken, and you don't have soap at your hand washing station.”

Liv wanted to smack his smug face. No, she wanted to stab him with one of her icing spreaders—one of the dull, thick icing spreaders. “I just…I just moved the soap to use it for something else.”

And didn't Nancy mention she didn't need to have a dedicated soap dispenser? An honest mistake. But this? Giving someone a hard time because of five point four millimeters, which probably resulted from the floor sinking, was not right. It couldn't be.

---