Chapter Eleven

 

MYRA

What on earth is happening here? James baking? The man is brilliant at brokering deals, not so much in the kitchen. In fact, he can’t boil, steam, sauté, fry, or bake. For heaven’s sake, he’s burned toast to a crisp, charred bit of coal more times than any man should.

Abby skips ahead of us with Simon at her heels as we enter the kitchen. James wheels his chair along behind them, while Alex and I take up the rear of this cookie expedition. Alex’s grin lights his eyes, and he’s all white teeth and enthusiasm that’s semicontagious. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it, Abby?”

“Uh-huh.” She pulls herself up onto a seat at the counter and swings her little legs. Simon perches on the stool next to her and butts its head against her arm until she throws both around its body. “I love cookies. Kitty does too.”

They’re both so cute, and maybe I do have a slight touch of baby fever, or perhaps toddler fever. Or James fever, after this afternoon. I certainly have gotten warm in the face and other places each of the million times it’s crossed my mind since.

“I don’t think it does. Cats don’t eat cookies.” James tells her, getting as close to the kitchen counter as possible. He lets go of the wheels with a humph. “Can I get a hand please, Myra?”

“This one does.” Abby giggles. “You’ll see.”

“There’s not really enough room for a competition in your kitchen, James.” I have no clue if Alex can bake, but surely he has the potential to show up his new boss. And that, coupled with how hard it will be for James to work in the kitchen with his injuries, is enough for me to try to put an end to this competition before it begins. What is he trying to accomplish with this display of bravado anyhow?

“I’ve got it.” Alex jumps to James’s aid before I have a chance. Wrapping an arm around James’s chest, he lifts him onto his feet.

“I asked Myra to help,” James gripes.

“It’s just as easy for me to aid you,” Alex continues to help him onto a stool.

“That’s not the point.” James scowls, deep grooves carved across his forehead. “I didn’t ask you to assist me. I asked Myra. Just because she thinks you can take her position doesn’t mean you can. Besides, I didn’t ask to be helped out of the chair.”

“Yes, but we can take the chair back into the living room and there will be plenty of room for baking cookies this way.” Alex wheels the chair out the way we came.

“He has a point. There’s not enough space for three chefs in this kitchen. How about I bake the cookies and you talk to Alex about his ideas?” There, maybe I can save him from burning down his kitchen and firing his new assistant all in the same day.

“Nope. Abby wants a cookie competition, don’t you, Abby?”

“Please.” She claps her hands, which makes Simon blink and meow since Abby’s little hands are so close to the cat’s nose.

“See. So let’s get to it. Winner has to buy the loser a drink.”

“All right.” If he wants to be shown up by his new assistant, who am I to get in the way?

“Okay.” Alex slaps and rubs his hands together as he moves to the pantry. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

While I collect bowls and measuring cups and wooden spoons, Alex surprisingly wrangles the ingredients we need for this crazy competition. Although maybe it’s not so shocking that someone as organized as James would have all the staples of his favorite cookie on hand, just waiting for me to put my hand to baking. We’re both so good at anticipating the other’s wants, we’re practically symbiotic. In everything except how I feel about him. But maybe that’s changing. He was jealous this afternoon. Is that why he’s putting himself through this baking ordeal?

“Abby.” James lowers his voice to a conspirator’s level. “Do you want to be on my team? I’ll let you lick the spoon.”

“Yay!” She bounces on her seat, beaming.

“Great,” he says, and then I swear I hear him mutter under his breath, “I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

An hour later, I’m done with the whole freaking rivalry between James and Alex. The range hood fan whirs loudly, sucking what’s left of the smoke out of the air. Two plates of cookies sit in front of Abby, who is now dressed in her pajamas. The third lot, James and Abby’s effort, lie in a charred, crumbly mess at the bottom of the sink as Alex whistles a funeral dirge under his breath. James is irked, his whole body vibrating with tension while he glares at his assistant. How the two of them are supposed to work together is beyond me. Worse, I can’t quite blame James for being irritated, even if he’s overreacting.

“Why don’t you try a cookie?” I push the plates closer to Abby.

“Two,” she says. “I have to try two.” Then she wrinkles her nose. “But I’m not going to try Uncle James’s because they’re burnt.”

“That’s right.” I smile at James, an attempt at sympathy I’m not sure he notices. “Which means that either Alex or I have to buy your uncle a drink.”

I hold my breath and purse my lips as the little girl bites into first one cookie and then another. Alex, it turns out, can bake, but I need to win to save James from an uncomfortable date with a man he doesn’t have the patience for in his current state. I’ve never seen him act like a testosterone-filled bull before, bumping heads and puffing up his chest like he wants to beat on it and remind us all that he’s the boss.

“Alex, you make good cookies.” Abby chews thoughtfully. “Chocolate-y.”

“Of course they’re chocolate-y,” James grumbles. “They’ve got chocolate in them. The same as Myra’s, and ours. If someone had been watching the oven, maybe we’d still be in the competition.”

“My fault entirely,” Alex agrees. “Myra told me you were progressive and would be open to my ideas. I was just trying to assist you to the best of my ability.”

“Mmmmm.” Abby’s eyes widen and light up as she chews on a bite of one of my cookies. “These are my favoritest. They taste like ooey gooey chocolate, but better.”

Both men drop their conversation to look at Abby and then snatch up a cookie each. James chews thoughtfully, while Alex takes a bite and then holds the rest of the cookie up to his face. “What’s different? I thought we made the same cookie.”

“Secret ingredient.” I pretend to zip my lip and stow the key in my pocket, which makes Abby giggle until cookie crumbs fall out of her mouth.

“Come on, Myra, tell us,” Alex pleads. “These are some of the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.”

“I don’t know how you expect me to survive without your cookies, Myra.” The rigidity with which James has been holding himself since his cookies turned to charcoal eases off as he chews. “No one makes my favorite like you do.”

“That’s it. You have to tell me what you did.” Alex flaps his cookie in the air. “For the boss’s sake.”

“No,” I say at the same time James does. I catch his eye and get a little lost in the way he’s looking at me. Does he like my cookie that much? My pulse flutters, and I slip my hand to the base of my throat as heat blooms under my skin. Is it wrong that I love the way he looks at me like I’m important to him, that I imagine I’m more than just an asset? 

“Your job description doesn’t include baking cookies, Alex.” There’s no irritation in the way he talks to the kid this time. It’s just matter of fact. “And your ideas aren’t terrible, but your delivery needs work. You’ve been with the company for less than twenty-four hours. How about we learn to walk before we fly?”

Alex chews thoughtfully then nods once. “Okay.”

“Now, I would like my chair so I can retire to the living room.”

Alex leaves to retrieve James’s chair, and I scoop Abby out of her seat. “It’s time for you to brush your teeth and go to bed, don’t you think?”

“Dad lets me stay up until midnight,” she says, resting her head on my shoulder and yawning.

James and I share a glance. Maybe this kid thing isn’t so awful, if you find the right person to share it with. Maybe if James and I... I push those thoughts right back where they belong. One step at a time. “I don’t think so.”

“Myra’s right.” James squeezes her hand as we pass him to say goodnight. “Bedtime for you.”

“Good night, Uncle James, good night, Alex,” she whispers as we pass him bringing in the wheelchair.

***

Abby talked me into reading a couple of bedtime stories before she fell asleep with one arm flung over the cat, who had curled up and started purring the minute I got Abby into bed. By the time I came back downstairs, Alex had left and James was on a call, so I headed into the kitchen.

The way James ordered me to drop my panties and then treated me to what might easily be the best orgasm of my life has been playing on my mind all evening. So has the fact that I didn’t get to hear what he was going to say before Garrett interrupted us. I desperately want to know what it was. Now we’re alone again. Pretty soon his phone call will end, and I’ll run out of dishes, and then what? How do I tell him something I haven’t been able to find the words for yet?

“What are you doing?” James asks from the entry to the kitchen while I scrub another plate and set it in the rack.

“Figured I’d clean up the kitchen while you were on the phone.” I dunk another plate into the hot suds and swipe the cloth over its surface.

“You were engrossed in those dishes. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about how much I’m going to miss nights like these. Not that they happen a lot.” I deposit the plate in the drying rack and reach for a mixing bowl. “Before I came to Frost Inc., I had this idea that I’d start my own cookie business.”

“You would have been great at it.” There’s something, a roughness, to James’s voice that isn’t usual.

“Not then. I didn’t know enough. Baking and business are not the same.”

“That’s true. They aren’t.” His biceps and forearms flex as he wheels closer. “But you would have made it work, Supergirl. You have the head for giving people what they want before they know what it is. I’m just glad you chose me instead. Well, Frost Inc.”

“You have Alex now,” I interrupt him. I don’t want to be told again about how much the company needs me.

“That kid is going to be the death of me. Six months from now, I’ll be front page news for jumping out of my office window.”

“Oh tosh.” I find a glass in the bottom of the sink and push the cloth into it to reach the bottom, use my fingers to swish it around. “He’s friendly and eager to learn. That’s all.”

“He’s eager like a puppy sniffing out a juicy bone. The boy is enamored with you.”

“Surely not.”

“He is, and I can’t say I’m really surprised.”

“I think he was just trying to make a good impression. With both of us.”

“He’s never going to replace you.”

“He’ll do just fine once he relaxes.”

“Maybe.” He scoots up beside me. “But I mean it. There’s no one who can replace you. Especially the cookies you bake and the way you look in my underwear.”

“It just wouldn’t have the same effect with Alex.” I snicker, imagining him wearing James’s underwear while holding a plate full of cookies. And while he’s a good-looking guy, it does nothing for me, except make me imagine all the ways he isn’t James.

“Can you please stop imagining my new assistant naked?” He drops his gaze to his hands, examining his thumbs and brushing imaginary crumbs from his pant legs. “It’s somewhat off-putting.”

“I told you earlier, you have no need to be jealous.”

“Hard not to be.”

“Oh.” My pulse gallops.

He shrugs before he picks up the bowl he and Abby used to make their cookie batter and scoops some of the dough onto his finger. He pops it into his mouth. “These might have turned out all right, actually. If I’d been able to get them out of the oven. Still, you owe me a drink when I’m back on my feet, so that’s something.”

What do I say to that? How can he pivot the conversation so quickly? He actually admits he’s jealous and then changes the topic before I can work out what it means. I flick soapsuds at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I can bake. Not as good as you, but still.”

Snatching the bowl out of his hand, I scoop up a chunk of batter and flick it at him. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Hey. Stop that.” He shields his face from the second lump of dough that crumbles against his shirt. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me off balance and I go down, mixing bowl and all. But not onto the floor. Somehow I end up on James’s lap, with my legs over one side of his chair and his arm around my waist, and cookie dough crumbs in my hair.

His eyes darken, his mouth curves but not into a full smile. My insides turn molten with the way he surveys his handiwork. “Perhaps I should get off your knee before I aggravate your injury.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He clamps his good hand to my waist and wriggles slightly underneath me until he’s balanced my weight. And is that his hard on? I’m pretty sure it is.

“Hang on.” His blue eyes crinkle around the edges, focus on mine. It would be easy to fall into his gaze, sink in it, drown. I pull in a breath as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze steady and unblinking. Then he carefully swipes a crumb of cookie batter from one of my eyelashes. “That’s better.”

I touch my face where his knuckles rested against my skin while he plucked away the crumb. I never want to leave his lap. “I really should get up.”

“You have dough between your breasts.” He groans, slanting his attention to the gaping collar of my shirt and carefully tugging until the top couple buttons come undone so he can scrape up the smear with a fingertip. He holds it up between us. “My favorite flavor of assistant.”

“The only one you’ve tasted.” My cheeks heat and still I can’t make myself move away.

He grips my chin, guides my attention back to him before he presses two fingertips to my lip. “I think I need more.”