“Holy shit,” Stella laughs. Yes, she laughs.
I lower my hands and watch as she throws her head back and laughs. Waves of blonde silky hair spill over her shoulders, her eyes dance with humor, and her full, peachy lips are so utterly kissable that they make my balls ache. The ball ache is secondary, though, so I ignore it for the time being, which means all the time. I might think what I think—Stella might be gorgeous—but facts are facts. I do have a plan of sorts, which came about after Sam left my office a few days ago, but there’s no way I’m going to reveal it to Stella yet.
She walks over and calmly sets the pot down on the prep table. It thunks noisily, making the same dull sound my skull probably would have made had that pot come down to crush it. “What did you think I was going to do? Bash your head in? Bake you into a cake to hide the evidence? Turn your bones into cupcakes and your blood into icing?”
“It looked like it. And that’s a really gory description. Are you sure you haven’t done all that before?
She ignores me. “You’d poison everyone who ate you. Plus, you’re not worth me going to jail for the rest of my life. You gave everyone else who works here tons of money, so this is what I want. I want you to sign over your share of the bakery to me. I want to be the sole owner. And it’s going to be called a mother fluffing bakery until the day I die.”
“Did you read my email?”
“Always you and your dumb emails. Yes, I read it, okay. I read it last night while you were plotting to steal my employees so I would have no one here to help me. Well, guess what? I can keep up on my own. I’ll do it because I have to, and I’ll hire new staff. I’ll make them sign restraining orders against you so you can’t get in touch with them and bribe them into leaving.”
“I could always send more emails. Or calls.”
“I’ll make them sign something that says if they talk to you, I will shove them into the ovens and leave them there.”
“That’s quite terrifying. Have you seen anyone about the violent urges you’ve been having lately?”
Stella crosses her arms, which pushes her breasts up nicely, even in the oversized t-shirt, but I keep my eyes away from the dangerous level of her chest. If she caught me looking, she’d probably use the pot on me for real.
“How many times has one of us threatened the other with bodily harm?”
“Are we including Sam in this?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s probably an uncountable figure.”
“Yes, so you know the urges aren’t violent. Or at least, they’re not new, and I’m not alone in feeling them. Even your best friend probably wants to bash your brains in half the time.”
“Jesus.”
“Well, you’ve fucked up my day, so I better get to work. The only email I want to see coming into my inbox is one that tells me when you’re signing this place over.”
I prepare myself for another round with the pot. I edge closer, so I can snatch it away from Stella if I have to. There are probably others, though—brothers and sisters, pot mates. “I’m not going to do that.”
Stella’s eyes drop to my mouth, and it makes my lips tingle. Unfortunately, she’s not looking at them because she wants to do sinful things to them. Instead, she’s looking at my mouth like she can’t believe those words really just came out.
“As per my email, I’d like to close the shop until it can be renovated. I didn’t think you’d agree to that, so I wanted to find a new location. I checked your calendar on your office computer this morning for orders, and you’re right. You can probably handle them. I’ve already taken the liberty of having your website designer put out a notice that the bakery is temporarily closed for expansion. If that means relocation, I’ll have him update the wording. I also took your phone off the hook when I got here this morning.”
Stella practically belches out flames when she opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand, and she actually stops. Maybe it’s because she can’t coordinate all her rage into proper language at the moment.
“After a renovation, which would include all new equipment, a facelift to the exterior, a changeup to the storefront, a whole line of new products, and enough staff to cover foot traffic—or an expansion to a new building where all these things could be possible and far more easily done, I might add—then you can sign an agreement where you’ll pay me back my seventy-five thousand, plus the money I’ve put into the store, whatever it might be at the time. I’ve done some calculations, and I figured out that with the way you’re currently operating, you wouldn’t even be able to pay me back the seventy-five thousand for a very long time. Something had to be done. You seem unwilling to change, so I’m helping you make the decision to move yourself and the bakery forward. If you don’t want to do that, then maybe you should think about letting me buy you out because you’re not really in the right business.”