ChapterOne
I’m going to kill her. My white Converse pump against the pavement as I run from my car to the tall glass building looming over everything else in its vicinity.Dead. She’s so dead for making me run.This body was not built to run. My breaths come out in small puffs of white as I rush, weaving through the crowd of people going home, hoping I won’t have sweat stains from this impromptu exercise session. Like a fish against the current, I’m the only one going toward the Frost Tower. What a pompous name for a pompous-looking building. Who names a building after themselves, anyway?
This Frost guy apparently does.
As if the gazillions of dollars he has in his fat bank account weren’t enough. Nope, he decided to build himself this obnoxiously tall monstrosity, right in the heart of Bourbon, Texas, then slap his name on it so we all knew who it belonged to, like we all didn’t already. Could the bachelor of the century—according to Nancy, my assistant—have a bit of a… complex?
Ugh. Probably not. I bet he’s hung like a horse. Either way, I’m not interested in some old guy with money.
Like the wind, I storm into the building’s lobby, nearly losing my teeth in the process, and come to a screeching halt in front of the security desk. Seriously? Security? This is Bourbon, for God’s sake, not Wall Street.
“Hi, I’m Tasha Collins?” I huff at the security guard, trying to catch my breath. His appreciative gaze drops to my heaving chest, ogling my breasts instead of worrying about the impending heart attack I’m about to have.Yes, sir, I have big boobs. And a big ass. Let me through, and you can stare at that, too.I lift the box I’m holding up and smile my friendliest smile, not feeling the least bit friendly. God, I hate people-ing. “From ‘Suga-Suga’ Bakery. I have cookies for the office party.”
He waves me in, and before I know it, I’m in the elevator, tapping my foot to “Livin’ on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi.
Now that I’m no longer running and have had a minute to catch my breath, the tension leaves my body. All I need to do is deliver this order, and then it’s a ‘sofa, wine and Netflix’ date for me. I can almost forgive my assistant for forgetting about the two orders I had to make today. The stress, the manic baking, it was all worth it. Baking is my life, and frosting is my love language. You want to seduce me? Cover yourself in frosting and ask me to lick it off.
As the floor numbers on the digital display keep climbing up, I lift the flap of the box I’m holding, deciding to take one last peek at the beautiful creations I rushed to get finished in time.
And my heart stops. Instead of little Christmas trees, I’m staring at a box full of…well, dicks. Cookie dicks that my assistant was supposed to take to a bachelorette party across town.
Cold sweat gathers at my temples as the elevator door dings open. Bon Jovi gets drowned out by Christmas music as my eyes adjust to a dimly lit office corridor filled with a crowd of people in ugly Christmas sweaters. The atmosphere seems merry, a huge opposite to what I’m feeling right about now. I slam my hand on the ground floor button to no avail. Close, damn it! But I’m too late, and the elevator is way too slow. Couldn’t that rich prick invest in top-of-the-range tech?
“The cookies are here!” someone shouts as I start praying for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
Nancy is dead. Or at least fired. As soon as I can find a decent replacement, that is.There’s no chance of escape as a woman who has never heard of personal boundaries wraps her hand around my arm and pulls me into the corridor, dragging me toward a huge conference room at the end of the hall.
“A glass of bubbly for my favorite work wife!” A guy in an elf sweater with dangly baubles where the elf’s privates should be slides in next to us, handing my captor a flute. She giggles and releases me from her grasp to take the glass from Dangly Elf Guy. I take the opportunity to take a step back, then another.
“Hey, where are you going?” the work wife shouts as I take off down the corridor.
In the wrong direction.
Can anything go right today? Desperately I try to find my way back to the elevator, but this maze is not for the fainthearted.
And clearly, I am of a faint heart because I’m as close to freaking out as someone holding a box of dicks at an office Christmas party can be.
There’s only one solution.
Hide.
Like a woman on a mission, I speed down the empty corridor, trying doors at random. When one finally opens, I rush in, closing it behind me and exhaling in relief.
“Can I help you?” A rich baritone tickles my senses as I slowly turn away from the door and face the music.
I don’t know about you, but a rich voice, a five o’clock shadow, and a suit that looks like it was weapons-grade tailored is my kryptonite.
And the vision in front of me? It’s all that and more. I can’t take my eyes off him. I physically cannot. I don’t think I blink or breathe as I take him in, all broad-shouldered, narrow hipped and toned. In fact, I’m getting lightheaded, so like the good girl that I am, I slowly slide down the door until my butt hits the floor. No one needs to be scraping an unconscious curvy baker with a box full of dick cookies off their floor. Ugh. The cookies. Just that mental reminder has me groaning and banging the back of my head on the door.
“Are you okay?” The wet dream of a man rushes to me and kneels beside me. Suddenly, I’m bathed in his tantalizing scent, dewy sandalwood and green grass—is there even such a thing as dewy sandalwood?—and I’m ready to faint all over again. Or salivate.
“Mmmhmm,” I reply coherently because I’m justthateloquent.
“Do you need some water?” He reaches out his hand to touch the side of my face. Is he going to check my temperature? As soon as his fingers connect with my cheek, my whole body goes on high alert, eager for more. It lights up like the Christmas tree in the town square on November first. His pupils dilate, and his breathing quickens as he quickly draws his hand back, staring at it in confusion.
Still staring, his gaze bouncing between his hand and me, he stands up, taking a step back, then another. His jaw is set, ticking, as his hands ball into fists.
That’s my cue to leave. Whatever the energy between us was, I don’t think it’s welcome, at least on his side, considering how rigidly he’s holding himself.