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“I’m sorry we’re—”
He laid his hand against the door and shoved it all the way open. “We need to have a little talk.”
3
Cameron
“I don’t know who you are, but the bakery isn’t open.” I was proud my voice didn’t shake. My years at Legal Aid had mostly cured my fear of confrontation.
“I didn’t ask if you were open,” the man said. “I told you it was time for us to talk. I don’t intend to do that standing out there in the alley.”
For the second time that afternoon, someone walked right in without being granted permission. When Maria had done so, the worst I thought would happen was an unpleasant confrontation with the one employee I really needed to help me reopen the bakery. But the man who shoved his way in now had me afraid of far worse. There was a gun tucked into his waistband at his back. If he was trying to hide it, he’d done a terrible job. I scolded myself for staring at his ass as he walked by. Who was he, and what did he want?
He seemed to be taking stock of the place, but he wasn’t making any moves to take anything, not that there was much of value unless someone planned to sell it to another bakery. I doubted even a guy as big as this man could walk away with the giant Hobart mixer.
“There’s no money here. We haven’t been open in weeks.”
“I’m well aware of the bakery’s financial status,” he said, turning to face me and giving me a once-over that made me shiver. “It’s a shame there’s no money because without some you’re going to have a hell of a time paying my family back.”
Paying his family back? “What are you talking about? Who are you?”
He turned away without answering, and I realized I’d been so startled by the way he’d barged in and so captivated by his looks that I was behaving like the person clearly slated to die in a horror movie. I needed to get the hell out of there and call the police. I eased my way toward the door and slid my phone from my pocket.
The man faced me again, and I froze. “If you’re thinking about calling the cops, don’t. I’ve got friends in the department, but I’d hate to have to call in a favor for this. Put the phone down, step away from it, and pay attention to my words.”
I looked down at my phone, then back at him. His hand moved to his back as though he were reaching for his gun. “Don’t make me have to turn this into something ugly.”
I set my phone on the counter and stepped away, hoping he didn’t notice my hand was shaking. Not that it mattered. Any idiot could see he had the upper hand. He had a good six inches and a ton of muscle mass on me. I’d filled out some over the last decade, and I was stronger than I looked—mostly from all the kneading I did—but I wouldn’t be any kind of match for him. I didn’t own a gun, and even if one of my dad’s was lying around, I wouldn’t know how to use it.
The door was still standing open. Was there any chance I could make a run for it? He could easily gun me down as I ran, but would he? Maybe. If only I knew why he was here. “What do you want? And what do you mean about me owing your family money?”
He raised a brow, making himself look even more menacing. “You really don’t know? My brother left you several messages, and it’s hard to believe there was nothing in your father’s papers about how he managed to keep this place going.”
Was he talking about the odd threats I’d received? The ones about not making the mortgage payment? I thought those had gone to the wrong number. According to my father’s lawyer, the mortgage had been paid off decades ago by my grandparents. “There’s no mortgage on this place. Maybe you have the wrong person.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You’re saying you have gotten the messages?”
“I’ve received some threats both by phone and in the mail. I assumed they were for the wrong person. If they kept coming, I was going to go to the police.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“I really think you’ve got the wrong person. The mortgage is already paid. You need to leave. Now.”
“I’m not leaving, and you’re definitely the right person. Your grandparents did pay off the original mortgage, but, you see, your father wasn’t as good at business as his old man. He got himself into some trouble. He needed some money. We helped him out, but he couldn’t pay us back. We made a deal with him, let him do some work for us, but with the bakery closed that work can’t happen. Now it’s up to you to pay the debt, or this place won’t be yours anymore. It will be mine.”
