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It's the next day, around one in the afternoon. Denise texts me that she's outside the building with her refrigerated van.
Lucky for me, Bash isn't around to snoop on this. He didn't come home last night, instead spending the night at a friend's house for poker. And while I miss him, I'm glad he can't see me moping.
I don't want him to question my relationship with Denise. I've been doing that on my own for hours.
If Bash finds out what I'm doing with the owner of the Sugar Breeze? If he discovers that I'm stringing her along like this? He'd get that look in his eye, the one I don't want to see. The one that tells me I'm doing something wrong.
Until yesterday afternoon, I would have told him it was just business between me and her. Business is neutral, a way of life. It's not wrong to want to succeed.
But after yesterday I'm not so certain anymore.
I've stepped over the line, that's for sure. I've never done anything like this with any other client. Helping them with their business before I take it from them? And flirting with them? It's definitely against protocol.
It doesn't help that I also received an anxious email from the client this morning. Querying about my progress.
I'd sent him the same old spiel I've been giving Harris—the "I promise, it's coming soon. We've just run into some unexpected delays" routine. But that, I feel less guilty about. I'm not fond of this client. Better Horizons Realty or "A. L." or whatever impersonal signature he wants to give this time.
I've never liked working with A. L. before. I consider myself passionate about my work, but he's an absolute hard ass. Maybe that's part of it, though. Seeing him be so impatient has reminded me of the pace of the business I'm in and how things should be going with Denise.
It's reminded me that maybe I should try being a little less personal, too.
I remember what's at stake here. Partner at WestRock. The thing I've been building toward for twenty-five years. The title that will finally make my name worth something.
I have to tell her the truth and stop stringing her along.
I have to acquire the Sugar Breeze Bakery. Now or never.
But my resolve wavers when I meet Denise out by her van with the first of her cakes.
"You okay?" I ask, peering down at her shaking hands.
She spots me looking at them and quickly shoves them into her pockets. Her eyes are trained on the ground, avoiding mine. "I'm fine," she says quickly. "Just a little nervous."
She takes the cake box from me and loads it into the van. And as I help her load the rest, she avoids looking at me, making my heart sink into my stomach. Feeling less close to her should be helping me tell her the truth. But every time I open my mouth to say it, I lose my nerve.
Once all the cakes are loaded, she slams the door shut. Then, she extends a hand for me to shake. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Cooper," she says softly.
I swallow, then take her small hand into my much larger one. "Of course, Denise. Anything."
She blinks, slowly. "One second." And before I can stop her, she dashes around the van and opens the passenger's side door.
I take another deep breath. I can't let this go on anymore. I have to tell her. I have to say that I'm—
But when she comes back around the corner, and I see what she's holding, the remains of my resolve shatter completely. Instead, it's replaced by awkward, nervous laughter. "Cookies?" I ask.
She's holding a big sealable plastic bag full of them. They're shaped like crescent moons and covered in a tangle of chocolate and little marshmallows.
"Well, you said you didn't want to be paid," she says, a little breathless from her sprint. "So, I found a good alternative. Old family recipe. My mom was famous for them."
My fingers close around the bag, and that hardened clot of guilt pains me anew. It's thick and heavy, like oil in water.
"Thank you," is all I say. "Thank you, Denise."
"No. Thankyou." Finally, she looks up at me, straight into my eyes. And even with her eyes darkened with sadness, she gives me a soft smile. "You didn't have to help me, but you did. Not everyone would have done that for me."
The guilt grows heavier. "Well, I hope that's not true."
"Well, it kind of is. No one else did help, so…." She trails off. "Anyway… see you later."
