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“Of course. What’s the flavor?”
“Lemon with blueberry mousse filling and buttercream frosting.”
“Sure,” I say, recalling Saoirse mentioning that flavor to Scotty when I was there the other night. “We can do that. Send me his email, and I’ll sort everything else out.”
“Thanks, Sammy. For everything.”
We say our goodbyes, and things go well for the next hour. No distractions, and I chalk it up to the Do Not Disturb feature on my phone. It’s only when I’m closing my laptop that I catch Declan’s email response.
I’m good.
Dec
He’s good? What the fuck does that even mean?
Good evening, Mr. Murphy,
Can you please elaborate? You’re good as in, you have your phone and will take notes? You’re good as in it's all printed and ready to go?
Kindly,
Samira Cullen.
Ms. Cullen,
It means I don’t need to take notes, but thank you.
Yours Truly,
-D.
D. He’s signing it D now. I slam my laptop closed and begin plotting how to get away with murder. So much for my weekend at the farm.
Chapter Twelve
Myhandfallstothe back of the empty chair beside me, and I grip it with force. This is what I wanted, right? Here Samira is, standing before me in a closed bakery, only open after hours because she had Saoirse pay an exuberant amount not to have to deal with a crowded room.
I knew what I was doing when I sent her the email, when I told her I wouldn’t be filling out her stupid flavor notes sheet. I didn’t need the sheet, and if she wanted it filled out, she could come and do it herself.
A part of me had hoped she wouldn’t call my bluff, that she wouldn’t show up.
Samira is a gorgeous woman. Surely, she could be out with a man right now. Instead, here she is.With me.Part of me is shocked, but another part of me is eager to prove to her we can have whatever professional relationship she feels we have, while also exploring the tension brewing between us. Just because her client is my sister, it won’t affect the personal one.
I’ve made it clear what I want from her, and I won’t just walk away with my tail between my legs because she’s hesitant.
I want her to give all of herself to me. Her smiles, her laughs. Fuck, even the tears. And I desperately want to know how she feels beneath me, naked and tangled in the sheets. Still, I’ll take any part of her she will give to me, including this scrappy, angry little scowl she wears as she approaches.
I offer her a grin, pull back the empty seat, then pat it, beckoning her to sit.
Her eyes narrow in on me. “I don’t know what you’re after, Mr. Murphy, but just know that you won’t get it,” she says, her voice holding none of the conviction that her words are meant to. No, her voice is soft, yet raspy. It’s thick with a hint of sultriness that sends my cock jolting upright with anticipation.
“I’m just trying to help my sister out, Ms. Cullen.”
“Really?” She scoffs, as if that is the most outrageous lie I could tell. “Is that why you refused to fill out the sheet I sent you? You care so much you don’t need to remember which cake was the best? Which one you think will be the right fit for Saoirse and Scotty’s wedding?”
“As I said in our email exchange, I don’t need to take notes.”
Her lips screw up in distaste. “No?”
