When I returned, they were standing beside the counter. Patrick was pointing out some of the machinery in the kitchen, and Gavin was listening with half an ear. He caught my eye as soon as I came back into the room. I eased them both aside, putting the dough and the fillings down.
“His name is Donovan Lancaster,” Patrick informed me. “He wants to run for mayor, and he thinks by helping struggling businesses, he can generate some goodwill. Or something.”
“Hmm,” I said noncommittally. “You’ll have to speak to Chad. This isn’t my place.”
“I know that,” Patrick hurried to make his case. “But Donovan is interested in you.”
“Why?” I asked, turning to face my brother. “I’ve never met him.”
“To be blunt,” Gavin moved out in front of Patrick, capturing my attention back, “you’re the magic in this place. I’ve tasted your pastries. They’re better than anything I’ve ever had before.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, dropping my eyelashes unconsciously. It was one thing to have a large, attractive man in my kitchen and another thing entirely when he lavished compliments on me. I didn’t know what to do or say next, so I turned my attention to the pastry dough.
“Patrick tells me you used to own your own place,” Gavin said.
“That’s right.”
“So you know all the ins and outs of running a business.”
“I do. Unfortunately, mine wasn’t successful.”
“Don’t say that,” Patrick objected. “It wasn’t your fault the landlord sold the property.”
“No,” I agreed. “I guess not.”
“We’d like to structure the deal to give you a lot of autonomy,” Gavin pitched, standing close enough to make me weak in the knees.
“How would that work?” I asked.
“We would make it clear that we’re working through you,” Gavin explained. “If the owner…”
“Chad,” I supplied the name.
“If Chad wants to get his hands on the investment, he’ll defer to you for any and all decisions.”
I snapped my head up, suddenly realizing what they were offering. If I was the person in charge, I could clean up the lobby. I could order more furniture and fix the menu board. I could order a new sign and maybe paint the walls and redo the floors. There were a dozen things I could think of right off the bat that would enhance the customer experience.
The idea was so appealing, I realized I wouldn’t have to job hunt. The bakery could go from a three-star review online to a five-star in a matter of weeks. We could bring more foot traffic through the door. That meant better tips for the front counter workers and possibly a new hire. I could get out from under that two-to-five shift and catch up on my sleep.
The possibilities were endless. I gazed at Patrick hopefully. He took my silence as a good sign, sending his friend an encouraging glance. I almost forgot that I was supposed to be working. It was a critical time during the day when the pastries got started and all the inventory we were going to sell was created. Shaking myself out of it, I began to move.
“Pat, if you can make Chad be less of a douche, I will love you forever. I love this place, but it's not mine. It’ll probably never be mine.” I sighed, confessing the truth behind my disappointment. “I’ve been looking for a new job.”
“Don’t quit yet,” Gavin said. “We have a plan.”
I looked from one man to the other, hope growing steadily in my veins. What they were proposing was almost too good to be true. Who was this investor who wanted to take a chance on a crummy little bakery? Had he tasted my pastries? Did he know anything about how hard I worked to keep the operation afloat?
“Who is the investor?” I asked.
“Donovan Lancaster,” Patrick supplied.
“Yes, I know,” I said. He had mentioned the name before, but it didn’t mean anything to me.
“He’s another former teammate,” Gavin supplied.
I tilted my head back in recognition. That made sense. If he was somehow connected to Pat, then their insistence on my being involved in the renovation was a foregone conclusion. Patrick must have suggested my place as the starting point for Donovan’s campaign. I was grateful beyond belief, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. It was enough right then to know that I had a way out. This wasn’t a dead-end street, but a narrow road that would connect me to the highway. It paid to have friends in high places.