Another tense, heavy pause. He stared at me like he couldn’t believe an ant suddenly spoke up. I was sure he expected to roll right in here and get whatever he wanted—and I was equally sure that whatever was happening right now, Lady Fluke had a fuckton of explaining to do.
Guys like this didn’t just appear. He tasted blood, that was for sure, and he was here to hunt—but that didn’t mean his claims were baseless. He seemed intelligent enough, and his expensive suit suggested that he had money and connections. This wasn’t some two-bit con man out to try and get a quick payoff.
This guy was going to play for real, and I had to start off standing up to him, so he didn’t think he could take whatever he wanted.
“All right,” he said, speaking quietly. “I’ll wait outside out of respect for Lady. But if you think I’m going to disappear, I’d prepare to be disappointed.”
He turned and walked away, his shoes making an echoing clack with each step. When he turned through the door and was gone, I whirled on Jude, my heart racing up my throat so fast I thought it might smash into my skull.
“He called her Lady,” Jude said, frowning deeply, a look of confusion etched into her lips.
“What?” I asked, taken aback. I didn’t expect those to be her first words.
“Lady, like a first name and not a title,” she said. “That’s really weird, right? I assumed her title was Lady and her last name was Fluke. But what if her first name is Lady? Does that mean she’s Lady Lady Fluke?”
“Jude,” I said, staring at her with an open mouth, unable to help it. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” she said, and let out a breath. “Sorry, I’m a little shaken.”
“I need to call Fluke,” I said, suddenly not sure if I should call her Lady Fluke at all anymore. “Stay close. If he comes back inside and I don’t notice right away, yell.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” she asked, like she were just realizing that was a possibility.
“Just make sure I notice if he comes back in,” I said, and walked off a few feet, taking my phone from my pocket.
I dialed Lady Fluke’s personal cell number. I was told to only call under an extreme emergency, and only if there were no other options, and this definitely felt like one of those situations. As the dial tone buzzed, I wondered if maybe I was overreacting—if maybe that guy wasn’t as bad as he seemed.
But then I remembered the look in his eye, that dead, horrible stare, that hunger at the corners of his lips, and I knew this was going to be trouble.
“Yes?” Lady Fluke sounded angry and tired, and it occurred to me that I didn’t know what time it was in England.
“Lady Fluke,” I said, “this is Bret. We have a serious problem.”
“What in the world could possibly be so important?” she asked, her tone sharp.
“A man named Zeke just came to the factory. He says he was married to you. He says he owns the patent to your cookies.” The words tumbled out and I felt almost silly saying them. Jude shot me a nervous stare, her arms crossed over her chest.
Lady Fluke didn’t reply right away. I thought I’d lost her, until I heard a soft chime in the background at her end—a clock, ringing in the distance.
“Zeke, you said?” she asked, and sounded almost frightened.
I felt the blood drain from my extremities. My fingers were cold, my toes frozen. “That’s right,” I said. “Zeke Kettner.”
“I see,” she said, and her voice sounded small and very far away. She cleared her throat, then coughed, and the sound was muffled as she covered the receiver on her end. Then: “I’ll be there shortly. Do not speak to him again.”
“I’m sorry, you’re coming to America?”
“Yes,” she said, “on the first flight. I may have to come private, but we shall see. Do not speak to him again. Do you understand?”
“Lady Fluke,” I said, trying to come to grips with what was happening. “Is this guy for real?”
“Do not speak to him again,” she said, and hung up.
I stared at my phone as Jude drifted over. “What did she say?” Jude asked.
“She’s flying in,” I said, and laughed once at the absurdity of the moment. Some man appeared out of nowhere, claimed to be her ex-husband, claimed to own an important patent to her company’s most famous biscuit—and now she was flying in without an explanation.
I wanted to punch something, it was so insane.
“What are we going to do?” Jude asked, panic rising.
“We’re going to slip out the back,” I said, nodding toward the baking room. “There are exits out that way. We’ll grab an Uber.”
“What about that Zeke guy?” she asked. “He’s still waiting outside.”