Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
“You know I hate people.”
“Not all people. Did you lose your…last night?” he asks like the asshole he is. I will choke him when I get a chance, but for now, all I want to do is find her.
“Mind your business. I’m coming.”
“I hope you did as well last night, and I’m not talking about a solo job.”
“Shut it, George. I’m on my way down. Also, we need someone who’s willing to get me information on a guest staying at the hotel,” I say.
“Stop focusing on her and get down here. That’s what you got my ass down for in the first place when I have so many other better things to do.”
I grumble and end the call, tucking my phone in my suit jacket pocket. After fixing my tie, I gather my keycard, my portfolio case, keys, and wallet, and step out of the room. At least this time I’m dressed.
The entire elevator ride seems to take forever as people step on. Still, it gives me a chance to see if she gets on. Unfortunately, by the time I reached the lobby, she hadn’t climbed aboard. I exit with a scowl that sends people running in the opposite direction.
“Ah, Mr. Beaumont. The bakers have already arrived at their stations and are set up to bake several treats of their own preference with the limited ingredients given,” Gretchen says, walking up to me. She’s the receptionist for the office and here on behalf of George to take notes.
I step inside the kitchen setup that is larger than I expected. The room is packed with ten different employers looking for the best along with their staff and the hosts of this special event, the local culinary school. Still, none of that matters when I see who I’ve been thinking about from the second she slipped from my arms this morning. Marilyn is standing behind one of the working stations.
A young man is speaking with her, and he’s a little too close for my liking. Doesn’t he realize that she belongs to me? Ma marguerite screamed my name all night long after I ripped through her innocence. I walk past all the other potential employers, seeing my brother standing there with a smirk on his smug face. I wink at him and then walk straight up to her station.
“Ma marguerite, so what will you be making me today?” She gasps and nearly stumbles backward, but I grab her by her elbow, catching her. It’s clear that my identity takes her by surprise.
“Julien, you’re one of the employers.”
I shake my head because there’s no way I’d let her work for anyone else. “No, I’m now your employer. You may finish your dessert, but you will be working alongside me.”
“You don’t even know if I’m a good fit.”
A grin spreads over my face. “That is a lie. I know you are. I believe we were a great fit.”
“Excuse me, but she’s trying to bake here.”
“Who is he, Marilyn?” I growl, staring down at the thinner young guy who is clearly trying to insert himself between Marilyn and me. That’s not going to happen because not a soul will come between us.
“This is my classmate Damon.”
“Then shouldn’t you be at your own station and away from her?” I snarl at him. He backs up.
“Watch it, Lynny. He’s after more than just your cookies.” I shrug, and she smiles while shaking her head as Damon walks back to his station.
I lean in and whisper, “I’ve had your cookie, and I want more. So is this why you disappeared?”
“Yes, but can we talk about this later?” she insists.
“I suppose, but this doesn’t mean you’re going to work for anyone else but me.”
She waves her hands toward me, shooing me away, but it will do her no good. “Well, let me do my thing and you can go back to your busy schedule. It will take me about forty-five minutes.”
“I’ll stay and watch.”
“Okay. The pressure’s on.” She smiles and then gets to work, doing her best to ignore the hovering I’m doing. I can’t help myself. It has nothing to do with the fact that she’s trying out for the job. In fact, everyone gets a simple baking task. A simple peanut butter cookie or a brownie recipe from scratch, and if they present it as I expect, then I give them a chance—but I simply want to watch her in action.
She moves delicately yet rapidly, effortlessly mixing, and I see she’s making cupcakes. “Do you have any allergies, Chef Beaumont?”
“Julien. And no, I don’t have any,” I remind her. After all, I’ve eaten more than just her baked goodies.
“Good. I think you’ll like these. It’s been a long time since I’ve made these, but depending on how fancy the event or what other desserts or dishes are served, it can be revised.”