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Daff sat with her chin in her hand—one fingertip absently tracing the rim of her warm coffee mug—and watched even more customers enter SC Sporting Solutions. They’d had a steady stream of customers all morning, and most exited the store with huge shopping bags. Daff sighed and scanned the boutique grimly. The place was neat as a pin, had beautiful couture clothing on display, and had attracted just one customer that morning—a window-shopper who, after one discreet glance at a price tag, had hastened back out.
God, she was so bored.
She looked out again. She had opened slightly after nine this morning, feeling groggy and a little hungover from lack of sleep, and had missed Spencer’s habitually brisk walk past the huge boutique window on his way to work. Daff usually arrived at eight thirty in the morning, a full fifteen minutes before Spencer. She liked to ease into her day—put on the coffee in the tiny back kitchen, start up the soothing ambient music, which she hated with an absolute passion, and then check her e-mails and inventory. As if there were any danger at all of running out of stock. She snorted at the thought. She should be so lucky.
Now she wondered if Spencer was at work already. More than likely. She had never seen him arrive late. Always eight forty-five on the dot. It was Monday, so he would probably be wearing the black sweat suit instead of the gray one. He looked good in both, of course, but she preferred the black one. It made him look sleek and less overwhelmingly brutish. He tended to alternate the colors every day. Monday was black day.
Daff would cut off her own left thumb rather than divulge how familiar she was with Spencer’s wardrobe changes. Her job was boring, she tended to notice things, and since she saw Spencer every day, of course she would start to pick up on silly details like that.
Such as the fact that he always carried a refill mug—presumably of coffee—and a doughnut box from MJ’s on Monday mornings. Every other day of the week he had only the mug, but Monday was doughnut day. The box was large enough to feed his entire staff of ten, so she figured it was a beginning-of-the-week staff treat. That was really nice of him.
Daff lifted her mug to her lips and took a cautious sip, wrinkling her nose when the bitter brew hit her tongue. Well, that was what happened when you rushed through the coffee-making process. The stuff was undrinkable. She sighed and put the mug aside. She’d have to brew another pot.
She considered going over to SCSS and apologizing in person, but she lacked the courage to face Spencer so soon. Maybe this afternoon. Possibly tomorrow morning.
She glowered across the road again. Oh look, more customers wanting sporting goods. She muttered something vile beneath her breath and dragged out a tattered secondhand historical romance novel. Might as well catch up on her reading. Would Duke Sexy rescue Lady Gorgeous from the Pornstache Villain’s clutches?
Chapter fifteen revealed all and yeah . . . no big surprise, he rescued her and she gratefully swooned into bed with him.
Daff was so absorbed in her reading that she didn’t see the figure approaching the store until the bell above the door tinkled. She dropped her book guiltily and plastered a smile on her face. A smile that faded seconds later.
“Spencer?” What was he doing here?
“Hey. What are you reading?”
“Why are you here?”
“Rude,” he admonished before dragging over an expensive, ornate, and purely decorative chair to the opposite side of the checkout counter. He sat down with a satisfied sigh. “Thought we could have lunch together.”
Seriously. What the hell?
“Why?”
“Give you the opportunity to apologize in person. I know you must be desperate to.”
“This is really weird. And it’s way too early for lunch.”
“How good is that book if you’ve lost complete track of time?” She checked the clock, and sure enough, it was after twelve. Retail people rarely took lunch at midday, but since Spencer was the boss and Daff hardly ever had customers, there was nothing stopping them from eating right now.
“I have plans for lunch.”
“Hmm?” He sounded way too skeptical for her liking. “Too bad, I have more than enough to share with you.” He lifted a brown paper bag to the counter and removed a cellophane-wrapped sandwich from its depths. “Smoked hickory ham, cheese, tomato, lettuce, and mustard on rye.”
God, that sounded delicious, and considering that she just had a small salad and an apple for lunch, it was also highly tempting.
“That barely looks like enough to feed you,” she pointed out. No way half a sandwich would sustain a man Spencer’s size.
He rumbled in agreement and lifted a second sandwich from the bag.
“Which is why I have two,” he said.
