The women ended up working late, and surprisingly, had gone through all of the extra batches of brownies, cookies, and soft pretzels (both sea salt and her personal favorite, cinnamon-sugar) that Ellie had stress-baked. When Ellie asked her why she thought they had been so busy, Marcy confirmed her fears that it had been due to Trey. “Word got around town that he was here, and people were hoping for a glimpse of him, I guess.” Marcy shrugged her shoulders.

Ellie used the lookie-loos as another reason that she was smart to steer clear of any further contact with Trey. “I don’t need that kind of constant attention in my life,” she muttered to herself as she drove home and fell into bed, utterly exhausted.

The alarm seemed to come especially early and jarred her out of a steamy and delicious dream rendezvous with Trey. She normally woke up a few minutes before her alarm sounded, and she rarely remembered her dreams so vividly. Both were a little disconcerting.

She found herself being extra cautious on her drive to work. The memory of the icy fear sluicing through her veins when she hit Trey was still fresh in her mind. Her eyes kept wandering to the side of the road, searching for a sexy jogging billionaire. As much as she knew it was in her best interest not to see him again, she couldn’t stop wanting just that.

The crowd outside the bakery when she pulled up distracted her from searching for any signs of him. The line of people was wrapped around the building. There were far more customers here waiting on her than had visited her store on its busiest day, and those visits had been spread throughout the day…not waiting for her to arrive.

“What in the world?” she wondered aloud as she pulled to the back door, parked in her usual spot, and began the process of opening.

Deciding it would be best not to ignore the throng of people outside, she unlocked the front door and tentatively stuck her head out. “It’s going to be a while before anything is ready,” she warned them.

“That’s okay,” a perky woman towards the front of the line responded. “Trey Donovan tweeted that this place had the best cupcakes in the world. He can afford the best of everything, so if they’re his favorites, I have to try some. I’ll wait all day, if I have to.”

Ellie wondered what these people did for a living that they had the freedom to stand in line in the middle of the night to get cupcakes based on a tweeted recommendation. She felt like rolling her eyes at them, but refrained because this extra boost of business would be a huge help with the impending medical bills that she knew were coming.

“I’ll take a dozen of whatever flavor Trey Donovan likes best,” the tall, grungy looking fellow, who was first in line, informed her.

“Ohhh, what does he like the best?” the first woman who had spoken inquired of Ellie. “I want to have exactly what he had,” she announced dreamily.

Ellie had to remove herself from the situation before she decked the woman. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much to see the glazed-eyed, far-away expression that came over the lady’s face when she talked about Trey, but Ellie didn’t like it one bit.

“I’ll get things started,” Ellie told the crowd at large, which made them clap and whistle like she had just announced that she had found the cure for cancer.

Shaking her head and donning her apron, she decided to just dig into her work and not worry about Trey or his tweets. It had been kind of him to mention her shop, so she would do her best to live up to his recommendation.

Hours later, she and Marcy were both filthy and exhausted, but they had successfully filled everyone’s orders. They were just chiming together two mugs of English Breakfast tea when a tall and gorgeous, but prim woman in a smart business suit arrived.

“We’re closed,” Marcy informed her in a no-nonsense tone.

Marcy’s curt response to a customer would have normally bothered Ellie, but at this moment she was simply too tired to care. The customer ignored the rude announcement and proceeded to parade around the front of the bakery as if she owned it.

The woman dripped classiness. Everything from her neatly coiffed blonde chignon to her tailored navy business suit and obviously expensive pumps were understated and elegant. When Ellie caught a whiff of her light, floral perfume, she guessed that the woman was from the city. No one in town was so perfectly refined.

It wasn’t a huge surprise when she dropped a dark, thick business card on the counter that looked remarkably familiar. “Millie Parks,” she introduced herself to the two bedraggled bakery workers, “Executive Assistant to Mr. Trey Donovan.”

She said the words haughtily as if the other women should bow down before her. Ellie disliked her instantly and wondered if Trey had slept with her. How could he not have? she wondered. The woman was a stunner. Trey was a sexy, kind, funny, gorgeous billionaire. The two of them would make beautiful babies together.

Unsure how her mind had so quickly gone there and trying to refocus her attention on the woman’s words, Ellie asked, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said that Mr. Donovan would like to purchase this bakery,” she repeated patiently. “How much money should I have wired to your account?”

Ellie was infuriated that he was presumptuous enough to think he could buy whatever he wanted. “It’s not for sale,” Ellie told the other woman firmly, which made Marcy suck in a shocked breath.

“See how much he’ll give you,” Marcy whispered the suggestion out the side of her mouth as if the other woman wasn’t standing right there, hearing every word.

“Tell your BOSS, I said no thanks.” Ellie handed the card back to the surprised woman and sauntered back to the kitchen. Once there, she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

“Of all the nerve,” she said aloud as she paced back and forth. “He thinks he can buy my bakery…and probably me too, while he’s at it.” She was fuming at his gall. “Sending that woman here to throw money at me.” Pacing and muttering to herself were only serving to get her more worked up.

When Marcy rejoined her in the back, she gave Ellie a look that said, “What in the world is wrong with you?” without having to actually say the words aloud.

“What?” Ellie held up her hands, already feeling defensive.

“Umm, you could have named your own price tag and been set for life,” she informed Ellie as if she were the densest person alive.

“This place is my childhood dream. I’m not going to sell it to him. He’d probably tear it down and build a Starbucks or something.”

“You could take the money and open another bakery…an even bigger, better bakery, if you wanted to.” Marcy was speaking deliberately slowly as if Ellie were having trouble comprehending English.

Beginning to feel petulant, Ellie said stubbornly, “My bakery is not for sale at any price, and I’m going to tell Mr. Moneybags that myself.”

If she hadn’t been in such a huff to storm out, Ellie might have noticed the knowing grin that passed across Marcy’s face.