Don't Call Me Cupcake by Tara Sheets (7)

Chapter Six

Hunter groaned and cracked open one eye. He blinked against the floral pillowcase wedged under his face. Where was he? Head pounding, tongue like sandpaper, he groped on the nightstand for water. The plastic bottle bounced off his fingertips and landed on the floor with a hollow thunk. Empty. He was in hell.

This had to be one of the worst hangovers he’d ever had. He dragged himself to a sitting position and flinched. The rented room was like a heavyweight punch to the face. Dusty florals and crocheted ruffles were splashed across every surface. The corner table held a vase of fake roses, and the only chair was covered in some kind of lace doily thing. It all needed to die. First chance he got, he was searching for a furnished rental house close to the waterfront. Preferably something not decorated by Norman Bates’s mother.

For several minutes, he sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the room to stop spinning. How much did he drink last night? After Emma left the party, he had gone back inside to mingle with Sam Norton and several of Pine Cove Island’s business owners. This meant drinks, small talk, and more drinks. By the time Mrs. Mooney introduced him to a snarling little dog with pink painted toenails, his head was swimming in a lake of Jack Daniel’s.

The phone rang and he slammed his hand over the receiver, fumbling for it. Anything to make it stop. “Yes.”

“Good morning, Mr. Kane.” The lobby receptionist’s voice felt like cymbals crashing against his temples. “Ms. Andrews would like to see you in her office when you come down to the lobby.”

“Who?” He didn’t know any locals well enough for them to call. Not for the first time, he was reminded how cozy everyone on Pine Cove Island was with everyone else’s business. The small-town lifestyle was nothing like he was used to. In Seattle, you could be truly anonymous if you wanted. And right now, he really wanted.

“It’s Bethany Andrews,” the cymbals crashed. “The owner.”

Hunter remembered the woman from when he checked in to the B&B. Impressive cleavage, attractive, a little too eager to please.

“She says she wants to discuss island tours with you.”

“Not at this hour.” What the hell time was it, anyway?

A slight pause. “Ms. Andrews says she’ll be available whenever you’re ready.”

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and swore under his breath. It was already ten and he was supposed to meet Emma Holloway at eleven. By nature he was an early riser. He never slept in this late. “Tell Ms. Andrews no, thank you.”

He hung up and gripped his skull with both hands. An hour wasn’t nearly enough time for this hangover to disappear. He was tempted to cancel, but he had to play his cards right with the locals. Emma wasn’t happy about sharing the summer festival contract. If he backed off now, there was no telling how she’d react, and he needed her on his side. Small-town people were quirky and unpredictable, and he had to make a good impression. His future business plans depended on it.

Swallowing hard, he picked up the phone and endured the crashing cymbals one more time. After the receptionist had called Emma’s shop to confirm their meeting, Hunter swallowed some Tylenol and dragged himself into the shower.

Forty-five minutes later, he stood in the B&B’s shared kitchen downstairs, searching the cupboards for a water glass.

“Good morning, Mr. Kane,” someone purred. He had heard that voice before when he checked in. It had to be Ms. Andrews-of-the-Impressive-Cleavage. No one spoke like that for real. Not unless they were on the other end of a questionable 1-900 number.

He turned and wished he hadn’t. Bethany Andrews, owner of the B&B, was wearing a leopard-print top in an unforgiving shade of fluorescent pink. It was so bright that it made the backs of his retinas burn. She had to be in her late twenties, but the spackled-on makeup and overdone hair made her appear older than she was.

“Ms. Andrews,” he managed.

She waved a perfectly manicured hand and laughed as if they shared a private joke. “Please, call me Bethany.”

Hunter didn’t want to call her anything. What he wanted was to go back to bed and sleep for another fifty hours. Once he finished his meeting with Emma Holloway, he was planning to do just that. He filled a water glass and drank.

Bethany watched.

He kept drinking. When he was finished, he set the glass on the counter and asked, “Did you need something?”

She put a hand on her waist and ran it slowly down her hip. “Oh, I just wanted to touch base with you. See how you were liking the place.”

“It’s fine, thanks.”

“That’s good.” She flicked a lock of hair off her shoulder and beamed up at him.

Even with a roaring hangover, Hunter recognized a lure when he saw one. Bethany Andrews was dangling a carrot right in front of his face. Just the thought of getting involved with someone like her made his head ache even more than it already did. He braced against the counter and leaned away.

“Well, let me know if you need anything.” She stepped a little closer but didn’t look him in the eye, just ran her hand lightly over the granite counter next to him. Stroking it. “Or if you want someone to show you around, I’d be happy to do it.”

Hunter swallowed. Subtle as a billy club, this one. He considered what she was offering. She was attractive enough, and obviously willing, which had always been a perfect combination for him. But he knew from experience exactly what was at stake if he jumped into something with a person like her. It would be fast and furious, and maybe even fun. For a while. At one point not long ago, that type of relationship was fine with him. He had reveled in it. But it was always empty. And after everything that had happened this last year in Seattle, Hunter wanted something different. He didn’t know exactly what, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

“I’ve got everything, thanks,” he said.

“I’m sure you do.” She flicked her eyes briefly to his groin, then back up to his face. “But I’ve lived here my whole life, so I’m a really good tour guide if you change your mind.”

She turned to go and “accidentally” dropped a napkin off the counter. Slowly she bent at the waist to pick it up. The jeans strained over her curvy backside as she rose, smiling over her shoulder. “Think about it.”

Hunter refilled the water glass, shaking his head. The woman had mastered her act. That sashay out of the kitchen was Hollywood gold, baby. But for the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t buying.

* * *

“Okay, he’ll be here any minute.” Juliette pushed a strand of hair away from Emma’s face. The morning rush had finally died down and the shop was empty except for the two of them.

For the past ten minutes, Emma had felt like a prized cow going to slaughter. “Remind me again why I’m doing this.” She was wearing a navy sundress and silver sandals. Juliette had insisted she wear her hair down, and Emma felt more like she was dressed for a date rather than a simple business meeting. Just the thought of going on a date with him made her heart do a slow somersault in her chest. She shoved the inexplicable feeling aside. No matter how good-looking he was, no matter how charming, she couldn’t forget he was the enemy.

“We’re doing this because you need to soften him up. He has to think you two are friends, or he’s never going to go for it when you walk up to him on summer solstice with a mysterious cupcake and say, ‘Hey, what’s up? Eat this.’” Juliette whipped a huge blush brush out of her bag and began swiping it across Emma’s cheeks. “Remember the last time you gave him cupcakes?”

“Like I could forget.” Total disaster.

“You stomped after him and practically bit his head off. He’s not going to trust you, Em, and you have to change that. Everything will go much easier in the next few weeks if you just act civil. No, better than civil. Friendly. Flirty, even. Besides, with the summer festival contract you now have to share, this will make it easier for you. You can keep an eye on him. You know, keep your enemies close, and all that.” Juliette finished and stood back, eyeing Emma critically. “Needs pixie dust.”

“Pixie what?”

Juliette took a pot of sparkly pink powder out of her makeup case with a flourish.

“Oh, absolutely not.” Emma backed away. “I’m not going to a rave, here, Tinker Bell. It’s just a business meeting. No glitter.”

Juliette pouted. “It doesn’t make you glitter. It imparts a soft, luminescent glow.” She dusted some of the iridescent sparkles across her own cheeks. “See?”

With her glowing skin and lavender blouse, Juliette was as radiant as the dawn. Emma smiled. “You’re beautiful, Jules.”

Juliette spun Emma around to the mirror over the kitchen sink. “Look who’s talking.”

Emma stared at her reflection in mild surprise. Her usual messy curls were smooth and glossy this morning, and her eyes looked brighter and bigger, thanks to some magic Juliette had done with her eyeshadow brushes. “Not bad,” Emma said slowly. “You think he’ll believe my act?”

“I think,” Juliette said as she tossed her things into her bag, “he’ll be marshmallow fluff in your hands. Just remember, you have to be nice.”

“Nice,” Emma repeated.

“Yeah. And charming.” Juliette lowered her voice as if she were imparting some secret wisdom of the ages. “Bat your eyes a lot. And laugh at his jokes. Make him feel all manly and stuff. Guys really go for that, no matter how sophisticated they think they are. Besides, it’s only for a few weeks. How hard can it be?”

That was really the question. For the next few weeks, Emma had to feign friendship with the man whose very presence meant doom and gloom for her future. She glanced around her tiny cupcake shop, the shop her grandmother had left to her. It had a shabby chic vibe, with whitewashed tables and chairs, and soft floral tablecloths. It was as much a home to Emma as the beloved Holloway house with its weathered edges and dilapidated roof. She would do anything to keep them, even if it meant befriending the devil.

As if on cue, the front door opened and Hunter stepped inside. He had a slightly rumpled appearance and a smile that was more of a grimace. With his bloodshot eyes, all he really needed were a pair of horns to finish off the look. But even disheveled, he was darkly, dangerously attractive. Emma sucked in a breath. Hello, king of the underworld.

Juliette poked her in the back and hissed, “You’re on.”

Emma smoothed her hair one last time. Befriend the devil. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” He clutched at his temple with one hand. “Sorry, I had a late night and I’m not feeling that well.”

Juliette slung her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Emma can fix you up. She’s good with stuff like that. I’m Juliette, by the way. Her cousin.”

Hunter murmured a greeting and they shook hands. Juliette sidled behind him toward the door, then fanned herself, mouthing, So hot.

Emma ignored her cousin and pasted a smile on her face. Some smiles showed happiness. Others just showed teeth. She’d work on it later. “Come on in and I’ll get you some coffee.”

Hunter winced as Juliette shut the door. He took the table closest to the coffee maker.

Emma studied him from beneath her lashes as she prepared the espresso machine. His features seemed sharper this morning, the hollows under his cheekbones more pronounced. He was much paler than usual, and his full lips were drawn tight. Even though he had managed to make their meeting on time, it was clear he felt terrible.

A knee-jerk wave of sympathy hit her, but she shut it down fast. This man was the enemy. He should feel terrible. He was going to ruin everything because she had been too stupid to see him for what he was. If only she hadn’t given him those magic cupcakes. But he had seemed so charming and genuine, and she had wanted to help him.

She grit her teeth and banged the portafilter a little louder than was necessary. When would she ever learn? Her ex-fiancé, Rodney, had seemed charming and genuine, too. Emma had been devastated the day he stole all her savings and ran off with another woman. She forced back the painful memories and took a deep breath. Things were different now. She knew how to take care of herself, and whom to trust. No matter what happened, she was never going to be manipulated again. Making the “Go Away” cupcake on the summer solstice with Juliette was going to fix everything. She just needed to stay focused and stick to the plan.

Emma began making a double shot of espresso. “So what did you drink last night?”

Hunter rubbed the back of his neck. “Just punch, mostly.”

“Not Mrs. Mooney’s Hawaiian Punch Surprise?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Emma tried not to laugh. Served him right. “That stuff will knock anyone flat.”

“What does she put in it?”

“You mean, what doesn’t she?” Emma grabbed a small espresso cup from the shelf above the machine. “If Jack Daniel’s and Jim Beam threw a frat party on the beach, and then Captain Morgan crashed it? That would be her punch. Just a big wild party full of Jell-O shots and Goldschläger confetti.”

Hunter grimaced. “I wondered about those little sparkly things.”

She handed him the espresso and pulled a fluffy white cupcake out of the case. The crisp scent of peppermint and ginger floated between them. She placed it in front of him, but he was already shaking his head.

“Have just one bite.”

He held up a hand. “God, no. I’m not even sure I can handle coffee right now.”

“I promise it will make you feel better.”

“Look, I already took a swim in that fruit punch last night. The last thing I need right now is more sugar.”

Emma pushed the china plate a couple of inches closer to him. “Just trust me.” She batted her eyes. Juliette would be so proud.

He eyed her solemnly. “Maybe later.”

Emma crossed her arms and fixed him with a hard stare. According to Juliette, the eye-batting thing was a slam dunk. He was a stubborn devil. “Look, if we’re supposed to be working together for the next few weeks, then there’s something you need to know about me. There are a lot of things I’m not good at. Organized sports, for one. Pretty much any sport. You’re doomed if you’ve got me on your team. And don’t ever ask me to give you a jump if your battery’s dead because cars—actually most machines in general—are a complete mystery to me. I also can’t hang a picture straight if my life depended on it, but I know what I’m doing when it comes to baking. If you’re going to be a local here, you need to accept that. Now”—she picked up the cupcake and held it out—“just one bite.” She batted her lashes a couple of times for good measure, then lifted her chin and brought out the big guns. “I dare you.”

With obvious effort, he sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. She had him now. Didn’t it just figure? A guy like him wouldn’t take a challenge lying down. Too much pride.

His face was ashen, but Emma had to hand it to him. The devil was going for it. He pressed his mouth into a thin line and took the cupcake, stared her straight in the eye, and took a huge bite, chewing forcefully. She watched as his green eyes widened and he blinked, then swallowed. He took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Already his complexion seemed less gray.

Emma nodded. “See?”

Hunter stared at the cupcake in amazement. “What’s in this?”

“I call it ‘Be Well.’ It’s very popular on New Year’s Day.”

He lifted the espresso cup and took a sip. “Whatever you put in that thing, it’s a miracle cure.”

She shrugged and went to pour herself a cup of coffee. “It’s just what I do.”

“I like it.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the bistro table. Emma ignored the way his shirt strained across his broad, muscular shoulders.

He shot her a lazy smile.

She ignored that, too, taking the seat opposite him. He was so tall he dwarfed the little round table, and their knees knocked together for a moment. She scooted back. Focus, Holloway!

Sipping her coffee, she let the rich, earthy flavors ground her. “So, Mr. Kane—”

“Hunter.”

She took another gulp of coffee. “What do you want to know about the summer festival preparations?”

“I understand you’ve been the head of the operation for the past several years.”

“Three. My grandmother and I used to run it together before she”—Emma swallowed—“passed away. For the last year and a half, I’ve been in charge.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Emma bristled. “I think I’ve managed just fine.”

“No.” He shook his head.

How the hell would he know? “For your information—”

“No, I meant I’m sorry about your grandmother. That must have been hard.”

“Oh.” He seemed pretty sincere. Crud. “Thanks. She was important to the community. Always helping people.” Emma cleared her throat and added, “It was difficult.” Understatement of the century. But what else could she say? That losing her grandmother had been like losing a piece of her own heart? That the one person in the world who truly knew her and loved her, faults and all, had gone and left a gaping hole inside her that she feared she’d never be able to fill?

The silence stretched out for too long. This was getting weird. She needed to stick to business. “So we basically have a list of festival vendors that gets updated every January. Once we review and approve the applicants, we help map out where the booths are staged. We also do a routine cleanup around the wharf area a couple weeks or so before the festival. The town committee has an annual budget they designate to fund it.”

He listened intently, his arms crossed as he leaned back in the tiny bistro chair. Emma could almost imagine him at the head of a conference table in some high-rise office. He just looked comfortable in charge.

“What system do you use to keep track of vendor applicants?” he asked.

“We just keep files. It’s usually the same vendors every year.”

“But what program are you using to file the information? QuickBooks, I’d imagine.”

Uh-oh. That would be a big fat nopey-nopesters. “We don’t use QuickBooks.”

“Something more manual then? Excel spreadsheets are fine. Just send me what you have so I can familiarize myself with the different vendors. It might be the easiest way for me to acclimate.”

Emma thought of the stack of file boxes she kept in her office at home. At the moment, they served as a makeshift table for a vase of roses from Juliette’s garden. The only “spreadsheet” was the tablecloth draped over them. “Um, why don’t I just bring the files in sometime next week and you can take a look?”

He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “E-mail would be much easier, and more efficient. You don’t have to send me anything confidential. Just a database of names and types of businesses would help.”

Database? Crap. Emma took a deep breath and let it out fast. “We don’t use databases and Excel spreadsheets here. I took the job over from my eighty-year-old grandmother.”

His expression was blank. Emma forged ahead. “She wasn’t big on QuickBooks or computers, okay?”

Hunter blinked. “But . . . surely you use a computer?”

“Of course I use a computer. I just didn’t have a whole lot of time between taking care of her and running the business to change anything. And now that she’s gone, I’m still working things out.”

He looked as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying.

Heat swept up the back of Emma’s neck and across her cheeks. He made her feel old-school, and she wasn’t. Just because her laptop at home was mostly used for e-reading her favorite novels and browsing Etsy and Pinterest, it didn’t mean she was archaic. Besides, who the hell was he? People on the island did things their own way and it worked fine. “Look, I’m sticking to this filing system right now because it works. Do you want to see the lists of vendors, or not?”

A small crease formed between his eyes, but he nodded.

“How about we, uh, schedule a time to meet and go over them next week? We could meet here. . . .” He glanced at the little round bistro tables, each barely large enough to hold two plates and cups. “Or we could meet somewhere with more room. Do you have an office?”

“A home office, but that’s not an option.” The house would have a field day with him if she ever let him inside. It was very protective. “We’ll figure it out next week, okay? What else do you want to know?”

“I’d like to check out the wharf with you. I’ve donated some funding to the cleanup project and I want to see what’s been done in the past. Maybe we can walk down there sometime today and you can show me.”

“Today won’t work. I’m here all day and I have to stay late to fulfill a catering contract.”

“How about Friday?”

“I can’t. I’m helping Juliette with a project after I close the shop.” Technically, eating popcorn and watching old reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer wasn’t really a project, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Saturday, then?”

“I close at six o’clock.”

“Why don’t I come by at six-thirty, would that work? There will still be plenty of light to walk the wharf, and we could grab dinner afterward.”

Emma considered his request. It sounded easy enough, but dinner changed things. She stole a glance at him, sitting there in a stray sunbeam. He looked like sin on a stick. Did he really have to keep doing that? She could almost hear Juliette urging her to play nice.

“All right, fine,” Emma said.

He nodded and sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup.

“I have to get back to work now.” She scraped her chair back and stood.

Hunter rose and gestured to the remaining crumbs of the “Be Well” cupcake. “Thanks for that. No idea what you put in it, but I do feel a lot better.”

“No problem.”

“See you Saturday at six-thirty, then?”

“Yup.” Emma watched him go. A flutter of nervous anticipation caught her off guard. She felt like a teenager who had just been asked to the prom. Get a grip, Holloway.

Hunter shut the door behind him.

He stepped onto the sidewalk.

He glanced back and winked.