Before Stella can unglue her tongue and wipe the stunned look off her face, I shed my apron and set it down on the counter, alongside Sarah and Marla’s resignations. I was going to help out today if Stella would have accepted my help in getting her orders out, but I know it’s a big fat never would I ever do that unless it’s over my freaking dead body, and not even then because I would rise from the dead as a cake-smashing zombie, and still, I wouldn’t need your help.
I figure I’ve done enough for today, and if I don’t want to wear that pot for real, I had better give Stella some space to think things over.
Which means walking away, grabbing my work laptop, and showing myself out.
Before I leave, I can’t resist the urge to be a real bastard. Salt in the wound has always been my specialty, but in this case, it’s all part of a master plan. A bigger picture. A Hal and Stella picture no one would have seen coming, not even Stella. Perhaps not even me, up until a few days ago when inspiration hit right after Sam walked out of my office.
“Remember, you have a date tonight. Seven sharp.” I tear through the back door and jump in my car, which I’ve parked out there. I do it quickly before Stella can come to exact her revenge and pot me to death.
CHAPTER 7
Stella
When I get to the bakery in the morning, I take care of two pressing things. First, I have a locksmith come and change the locks on the back and front doors, so the keys Hal no doubt got from Sarah and Marla won’t work. Second, I rearrange my orders, putting off the ones I can, rescheduling others, and bumping some up. It chafes under my skin like an infected sliver—the really gross kind—that Hal browsed through my computer when he was in here. I also set up a password on the machine, which makes me sad because I’m not a password kind of person.
But I’m not going to let a man, especially Halitosis Hal, railroad me like this. If he thinks he can just make decisions for my life, well, he’s got another thing coming. I’ve had enough of him and his bullying ways.
My phone goes off as the locksmith is handing me the bill. I know it’s a text, and since my phone is in my pocket, I ignore it and promise the older man with the dangling set of keys and a huge bushy salt and pepper beard that he’ll have payment tomorrow. He doesn’t look too worried, and when I offer him a few cupcakes on the house, he doesn’t refuse.
I slide the new lock in place after he’s gone, and since Halitosis Hal, which really should be changed to Meddlesome Mel or a more appropriate nickname, already infected my website with closure rumors, I keep the closed sign.
I pull out my phone, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end like a blast of cold air just whipped through the perfectly warm, contained, and closed-in bakery. I even have the ovens going and a batch of cupcakes and the tiers for a birthday cake baking, so I know it can’t be cold or windy in the place.
My stomach curdles when I see who the text is from.
Unfortunately, Hal must have received my number from Sam. My brother was probably paying me back for those butthole cupcakes. I’ll have to think of a way to get him back for this. That’s pretty much how we operate. Each of us, trying to outdo the other when it comes to revenge and pranks. The scales are tipped mightily in his favor since he is older and always has a partner-in-crime, Hal, while I am much younger and less capable of thinking up and executing good paybacks.
Until now.
Hal: Hey, it’s Hal. Your favorite business partner. Also, your only business partner, but if that jerkus Daryl were still around, I’d still be your favorite because I don’t think even you could dislike me more than you dislike Daryl.
Hal: Anyway, I wanted to know how your date went last night.
Hal: If you don’t tell me, I’ll get it out of Johnathan by means of bribery.
Ha. If only Hal knew I beat him to the bribery thing. When Johnathan rang my apartment’s buzzer at exactly seven last night, I came down with a freshly baked carrot cake slathered with my top-secret cream cheese icing and covered with real candied carrot shavings. Tucked up under the lid of the box was a hundred-dollar bill, which I flashed him quickly as I revealed the cake. He was uncomfortable, but I was ready to do battle. He kept adjusting the collar of his shirt, which was about eight sizes too tight because the shirt was approximately four sizes too small.