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“Did you try to speak to the tenant?” In my entire life, I’ve never seen my dad not get his way, ever.
“Of course, I did.”
“And…?” I prompt.
“And it ended with the cops being called and me being cited for trespassing and harassment.”
I hold back a laugh, imagining all this going down. “And you think I’m going to magically convince this person to break their ninety-nine-year lease?”
Dad scrubs his palms over his face, then leans over the desk and locks eyes with me. “Yes, I do. Because if you do, come December, you will be the new CEO.”
And now, he’s got my attention.
“Just like that? If I get this tenant to let us buy out their lease, you’re really going to retire and appoint me the new CEO?” Dad has claimed he’s going to retire several times now, but it never ends up happening. He’s too much of a control freak to hand over the reins.
“Yes, you handle this, and the position is yours.” He extends his hand for a shake, and I meet him halfway.
“Consider it done.”
Sucks for Gretchen, but her fuckup is my gain. And it will be my gain because at the end of the day, there isn’t anything I won’t do to ensure that I’m the CEO of Shea Real Estate Investments. I’ve been dreaming of this and working my ass off for it my entire adult life, and nothing will stop me from achieving my dream. The thought of one day taking over and finally being out from under my dad’s thumb—being able to run things my way—is the only thing that keeps me going.
After Dad sends the files over, I spend the rest of the day combing through everything, so I’m prepared. You never go into a battle without knowing your enemy, and since this tenant is the only thing keeping me from becoming the new CEO, she’s now my number one enemy.
I walk up, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the pastel pink and yellow awning with matching tables and chairs outside. Across the top reads Heart’s Coffeehouse and Bakery: Coffee And Treats Made From The Heart. There’s a line curving around the corner, and as the door opens and closes, I catch a whiff of the addictive aroma of espresso mixed with something…sweet.
I had planned to go in and speak to the owner, but since it’s so busy, I get in the back of the line to check the place out. The line moves quickly, and once I’m inside, a few people away from the counter, I assess the situation. The walls, a pink and yellow floral pattern with some green mixed in, remind me of visiting my grandma at Martha’s Vineyard when I was a kid. It’s clear the shop hasn’t been updated in years, yet it’s clean and inviting—also like my grandmother’s home.
Damn, I miss that woman. She was probably the only sane person in my family.
The tables and booths are occupied by people drinking coffee, eating sweets, and conversing. When I step up to the counter, an assortment of pastries, muffins, and cupcakes line the inside of the display—all of them looking freshly baked and mouthwatering.
When I glance up, bright-blue eyes meet mine, accompanied by a soft smile. “Good morning, what can I get you?” When I hear her melodic and mesmerizing voice, I forget where I am and what I’m doing for a second.
“Umm,” I choke out, mentally shaking myself out of the trance this woman—from her voice and smile alone—has put me in.
You’re here for a reason, I remind myself. To speak to the owner and convince her to let us buy her out of her lease. “Are you the owner?”
Her smile widens, and two dimples make an appearance. If I thought she was beautiful before, I was wrong. The woman is downright gorgeous.
“That would be me,” she says. “I’m Aubree Heart. How can I help you?”
I open my mouth to tell her I have business to discuss with her, but the words won’t come out. I’m too enraptured by her looks, by her smile, and by those goddamn dimples. It’s like some weird spell has been cast over me.
After a few awkward moments, she laughs, the sound hitting me like an arrow straight to my fucking chest. Holy shit, what the hell is wrong with me? Is the coffee laced with something strong enough that the smell alone is causing me to have some strange out-of-body experience?
“Have you been here before?” she asks. “If not, I can make some recommendations…”
Someone behind me clears their throat, and I realize I’m holding up the line.
“Can I, uh, get…” I glance at the display but can’t really focus. My head is fuzzy. “Uh, a dozen cupcakes…and…a coffee?”
“Sure. Any particular flavors?”
“Any is fine.”
As she rings me up—and I stare at her like a dumbass—I notice that she doesn’t have a ring on her finger, and from my research, she isn’t married. My gaze moves to her heart-shaped face. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss her, what her plump and shiny lips would taste like. Is she a quiet kisser, or would she make sweet little sounds as I nibble on her lips? Her blue eyes meet mine as she hands me the box of cupcakes and my coffee, and I get lost in their warmth. With my order in hand, I’m forced to move to the side, so I head out, wondering what the hell just happened.
