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I wonder if it’s bad that I like him calling me a good girl, because it makes me feel weak-kneed. Probably, but I smile sweetly at him anyway. How many switches can one man flip?
“Don Black loves cherries in everything, especially his sweets. He discusses this weakness at least once a week.” I tap my chin in thought. “A cherry pie is too predictable. I vote on bringing him a cherry tart.”
“Perfect.” Mr. Hammond reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a Gucci wallet. What is it about that designer and the hot men working at this place? He opens it up, removes a black credit card, and hands it to me. I take it, of course, though I have no idea why. “Run across the street to Sweet Nothings and pick out a cherry anything.”
“Okay.” I can’t say no, but my answer is less than enthusiastic. I’m wearing a borrowed coat, that exposes too much of my legs, and I need to wait a couple hours for my clothes. This entire interaction feels like a comedy of errors.
“Mrs. Mackenzie, when will Miss Holly’s clothing be back from the cleaners?” Mr. Hammond stuffs his wallet back into his pocket, the card matter and my assignment a thing of the past.
“Two hours, tops.” Mrs. Mackenzie clicks away on her phone, deep in concentration. The woman’s fierce. “Driver is secured. He’ll be here in twenty minutes. It’s the black sedan. Escalade’s in for service.”
“Thanks.” Mr. Hammond walks behind his desk and shuffles a few papers on it. Then he glances up and scans me from head to toe. I swallow a breath. If only I knew what he was thinking.
Do I leave for the bakery now? It’s all so confusing.
“What are your plans today, Miss Holly?” Mr. Hammond’s commanding voice makes my mind mush. But, oh my God, why is he asking about my day? How should I answer him?
I do have plans to continue my job search, but those can change on a dime for a CEO like him—or just him in general. After all, Hammond Press is my first choice, though he has no idea I even dropped off my résumé. I need to use my limited acting skills and play it cool. I don’t want to appear overanxious or nervous.
“Well …” I pull my cell from the trench coat pocket and pretend to scroll over my screen. The thing isn’t even unlocked, but he’ll never know it. “Let me see.” I pretend to scroll some more. “I can rearrange things so I’m free.” I place my cell back in the pocket.
“Great. You’re going with me to Black’s house.”
“I am?” I squeak out in total shock, my eyebrows skyrocketing.
“You are.” Mr. Hammond lasers his eyes on me. I nod, because there will be no denying him with that look, as if I would anyway.
“She is?” Mrs. Mackenzie shakes her head. “But—?”
Mr. Hammond interrupts her before she finishes. “I need to talk with Black. Today. A cherry tart delivered by her in a trench coat is a sure bet for him opening his door.” He rounds his desk and walks toward me, but my mind is still spinning. “Now, run along. Meet me in front of the building after you finish at the bakery.”
“Yes, sir.” He gives me this huffed smirk, and small bumps rise across my skin.
Overwhelmed by this entire interaction, I manage to exit the office suite and throw my hands up in the air. How is this my life? I have to call Maggie. She’s never going to believe what’s happening to me.
9
Tessa
The baker assures me he has the city’s finest cherry tart hot out the oven, and while I wait for the treat to cool down, I find my phone at the bottom of my bag. A rundown on my current situation with Maggie will take more than a few texts, so I call her instead.
When I give her the details of the entire morning, she hardly interrupts my flow or asks a single question, which shocks me. Finally, I have a story so exciting and crazy, Magnolia Talbot is speechless. I need to mark this day in my calendar and celebrate it annually.
“So, the hot CEO wants you to be his cherry tart and take you for a little drive. Sounds like he has a food kink.” Maggie loves teasing me and making me uncomfortable, so I keep my feelings about how much our sexual tension filled his office to myself. If she finds out how attracted I am to him, she’ll overnight condoms to replace the ones I found in my suitcase.
“Stop it. I was in his office with his assistant. There’s nothing going on like that.”
Or is there?
I remember how he let his eyes browse over my entire body. The intensity on his face was scorching hot. The memory gives me a rush, but we are leagues apart, not to mention years. He was likely learning how to drive at the same time I was starting to walk. Talk about a sobering slap in the face.
