When he turned to go back into the building, he found Wayne standing at the glass window watching him. He considered what he must look like to Wayne in his expensive suit, standing next to his expensive sports car. There was a mistrust in the depth of those brown eyes that would not be easy to dismiss. His intuition was right as usual. Wayne was going to be a problem.
Chapter 4
Four hours later, and still no word from the agency. Eliot was beginning to suspect that Alberto Montagna had ditched his new job. Given the man’s reputation as a self-important womanizer, Eliot had no trouble imagining what type of distraction could’ve come up.
As he poured the ingredients into the mixer, he kind of hoped the man wouldshow up. It had been years since he’d mixed dough, and he’d forgotten what hard work it was. He wiped sweat from his forehead, feeling ridiculous for working in his suit clothes. The only saving grace was that it was summer and he’d chosen a linen suit and lightweight silk tie. After this day of manual labor both would be ruined, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t exactly leave to change. He might come back and find his cover blown. Although, in truth he didn’t really know why he was still there.
“Strange that a baker wouldn’t bring a set of work clothes with him on his first day on a new job,” Wayne commented behind him.
Eliot pretended to ignore the remark and started up the mixer. Mae was up front serving the walk-in customers, of which there
were surprisingly many. The glass counters were constantly being refilled.
The teenagers had disappeared into the back somewhere after returning from their deliveries, and Eliot was starting to doubt the possible implementation of his original plan.
There was no way he could slip into the back office, not with Wayne watching him like a hawk. Then there was the problem of Mae. In just a couple of hours, she had him completely wrapped around her little finger.
Being in her presence had the strange but sweet sensation of being home again. Not his uncle’s mansion in Memphis, where he’d spent the majority of his growing years, but the little brick house in Nashville. The only real home he’d ever known. The one he’d shared with his parents until they were killed in an auto accident when he was ten.
Mae felt like his mother and the women of her breed. Strong, yet gentle. Loving yet stern. All four of his grandparents had died before he was born, and he’d been cut off from his father’s family from the time he was given over to Uncle Carl. He’d had a childhood filled with the luxuries of life but none of the warmth. Mae, or Mama Mae as everyone called her, was pure sunshine, and he enjoyed basking in it.
There was no getting around the fact that he’d come here for a reason, and that reason still existed, but Eliot was finding the idea of stealing that sweet old lady’s recipe book becoming more distasteful by the minute.
A loud banging noise came through the wall. Unable to resist, Eliot asked Wayne, “What are they doing in there?”
“Cleaning it up. Sophie is going to be staying here for a few weeks until her ankle heals.”
“You mean, here in the store?” Eliot suddenly had a bad feeling.
“No, the parking lot,” Wayne answered sarcastically.
Eliot ignored that remark. He did note with interest, however, the news about Sophie staying in the store. That sounded like something an owner would do. That type of dedication was unheard of in a paid manager.
If Sophie was an owner, why had her name not come up in
any of his research, Eliot wondered. All his focus had been on Mae, and after what he’d seen today Eliot was almost certain he could custom-design a retirement package that would satisfy her. But what if selling the store is not her decision alone? What if she has a silent partner, one so determined to see the business grow she’s willing to dedicate herself twenty-four hours a day?
All the pieces began to click into place. Sophie was the one who’d been seducing his customers away. Sophie was the reason for all this new equipment. Sophie was the one who’d rejected his generous buyout offer. Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.
That morning, as he was wiping down the mixer, Mae placed a perfect BLT on the countertop near him. “Thought you might be hungry.” She smiled, and Eliot had an eerie vision of his mother’s face superimposed over Mae’s. The thin lines at the corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled, the sign of a woman who laughed a lot.
“Thank you,” he said, before pulling up a stool to the preparation table. “That was very thoughtful.”
“It’s no problem,” she said. “I love to cook.” They noticed Wayne carrying his sandwich out the back door.
“I’m going to pick up Sophie, Mama Mae. I’ll be back in about an hour.” He paused and glanced at Eliot, and Eliot could see how troubled the other man was about leaving her alone with him. It was hard not to like a man that concerned about a woman he wasn’t even related to, Eliot thought.
He concentrated on his sandwich, trying to appear as harmless as possible. It must have worked, because Wayne finally turned and went out the door. Eliot smiled at Mae to let her know how tasty the sandwich was. And it was indeed.
But, the smile was also an expression of his satisfaction that soon he would finally meet the mysterious Sophie. The woman behind the sultry voice. The powerhouse behind the new and improved Mayfield Bakery. And hopefully Eliot would be able to fill in the last few missing pieces of the puzzle.
Sophie was more than ready to go when Wayne arrived to pick her up. Despite the painkillers, her ankle still throbbed. But even
the pain could not distract her attention from the call she’d received earlier that morning.
Her new baker sounded like something straight out of a wet dream. He had such a smooth, deep baritone voice. Just remembering it sent a chill down her spine. There was no way he could be as fine as he sounded, she thought.
Still, she was eager to get back to the bakery to confirm or deny the fantasy she’d built up in her mind. And then there was that subtle challenge—at least, it feltlike a challenge. Eight simple words: I look forward to meeting you, as well.It felt like he was saying so much more. But then again, the whole thing—the voice, the supposed challenge—could all be the sum-total effects of being without a man too long. Sophie chuckled at her own ridiculousness. All this over a two-minute conversation.
Just then Wayne came through the door. “Hey girl, you ready to go?”
“In a minute. I have to wait for the orderly with a wheelchair. Hospital policy. So, what do you think of our new baker?”
As if he’d been waiting for the opening, Wayne exploded in frustration. “How the hell you gonna hire a baker without telling me or at the least Mama Mae?” He began pacing in front of the bed, where she lay with her leg propped up on a pillow. “This guy shows up looking like he stepped out of the pages of GQ—”
“Really?!”
Wayne suddenly stopped and turned slowly in her direction.
Sophie cleared her throat quickly and tried to tamp down her enthusiasm. “Really?”
Wayne just watched her with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, really.”
“But what do you think of him, Wayne?” she asked, leaning forward. “I trust your judgment.”
“I don’t like him.”
“Why? Did he do something?”
Wayne shrugged. “Nope. Just don’t like him.” He started pacing again. “Although, I must admit he knows his way around a kitchen.” He glanced at her shyly. “I’ve had him doing grunt work all day.”
“Wayne! This man is a premier chef and I have the offer letter
to prove it. Please don’t tick him off.” She looked him directly in the eye. “Whether you like him or not, if we are going to compete with Fulton we need him.”
“I know.” Wayne pouted. “After I got over being mad that you didn’t even consult me, I thought about it. I know why you hired him. I just wish you had hired someone else.”
“There was no one else, and if he hadn’t been on hard times lately, we wouldn’t have gotten him. So play nice.”
He sank down in the big guest chair, frustration radiating from his pores. “He did fix the oven and help us get the Centerfield order out on time.”
“See? He’s already proven his worth. The old oven acting up again?”
“Yeah, we’re gonna have to get that taken care of, now that we are doing all these big orders.”
“I know,” Sophie answered, wondering where the money was going to come from. “Did Dante get that back room cleaned up and livable?”
“Yeah, he and Lonnie have been in there all morning. Have you noticed how closely Lonnie’s been sticking to Dante lately?”
She chuckled. “He’s about the only one of us with the patience to answer all her questions.”
“I don’t know. I think it’s more than that. I think you may need to say something to Dante, let him know that Lonnie’s not like other girls. He might misunderstand her attachment, know what I mean?”
Sophie hid a small smile. It always surprised her how protective Wayne had become of them over the past few years. When he’d shown up looking for a job four years ago he’d been a recently released convict, and the hardness of prison life still clung to him. After he got over the initial surprise that he’d been hired despite his background, he’d worked like a demon. At the time, it had been only Sophie and Mae. Wayne had filled in all the blanks. He was the deliveryman, the fix-it guy, the heavy lifter and whatever else the job required, and he did it all without complaint.
It hadn’t taken Sophie long to realize that there was an equally big brain to go along with that brawn, and she quickly put it to work, as well. Now, four years later, Wayne knew as much about
the business as she did, and she knew he could easily go somewhere else and make more money. But still he stayed with them, loyal to a fault.
“Okay, I’ll talk to him,” she said, just as the orderly rolled the wheelchair into the room. As she was loaded into the chair and rolled along the corridor, her busy mind was racing. Sophie knew much about their new baker’s situation, and how he’d happened to become available at a price she could pay. So her mind kept telling her not to get excited. Of course he probably looked like he stepped off the pages of a magazine, and of course his arrogance in his skill would rub Wayne the wrong way.
But even though she knew there was no rational reason to get excited, her heart was still racing in anticipation, and she was more anxious to reach the store than she cared to admit.
Eliot wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced at his watch. Apparently lunch had come with a price, because as soon as he’d taken the last bite, Mae had put him to work and stayed to supervise.
A delivery truck had arrived filled with huge bags of flour and sugar. He and Dante had been put to work unloading it. Lifting and moving the heavy bags made his expensive silk shirt cling to his torso.
He’d completely given up on the idea of stealing Mae’s recipe book. There was no way he could take a book that she’d spent a lifetime building and protecting. Now his attention was completely focused on Sophie. Eliot had a feeling that stealing her would be just as crippling as stealing the recipe book.
But what would happen when Wayne returned with her? Sophie would know, wouldn’t she? That he was not the man she’d hired? And then he would be exposed anyway. So why not just take the book and run?
As he watched Mae carry in a small box, he rushed to take it from her. “Here, Mama Mae, I got it,” he said, having already picked up on the nickname the small staff called her by.
She smiled up at him with gratitude and brown eyes full of trust. “Thank you, El, that was starting to get a little heavy.” She
chuckled, reaching back to stroke her lower back. “These old bones can’t do what they used to.” She glanced down at his clinging shirt. “El, do you usually work in these kinda clothes?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t.” He laughed. “I just rushed off this morning without a change.”
Eliot realized this was the problem. This woman, who reminded him too much of his mother. Her blind trust and acceptance of him was like a fragile glass vase that he was contemplating smashing on the floor. He had to do it. Uncle Carl would expect him to do it. But somehow he could not bring himself to do it, he thought.
He was restocking the box racks in the front of the store when Eliot saw Wayne’s old pickup truck pull up. The moment of truth had arrived.
He climbed down from the racks and he waited inside the door, surprised by his own nervousness. It wasn’t like Sophie Mayfield was truly his employer, after all.
As Eliot watched Wayne open the passenger door and help the young woman inside position herself on her crutches, he was surprised by her youth. She was petite, with long, brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. At first glance, she didn’t seem to be much older than Dante and Lonnie. Listening to the others’ descriptions, he’d expected something akin to a force of nature.
Using the crutches, she limped toward the front door, and Wayne walked at her side before holding the door open for her. Glancing up, Wayne’s eyes met Eliot’s for a moment, and it was clear to Eliot that Wayne was expecting him to be instantly rebuked. Eliot’s mouth twisted, as he considered what the other man might have told her about him.
She limped to the entrance as the crutches bunched her shirt beneath her arms and Eliot found himself temporarily distracted by a smooth expanse of brown-skinned tummy revealed.
She stopped beside his car, looking at it for a long moment. Eliot would have paid anything to know what she was thinking. Then she continued limping toward the door.
In a way, she was almost as fragile as Mae, he thought, sighing heavily. These were no greedy moguls hungry for money and power. What had he wandered into here? he wondered.