Chapter 6
The next morning, sitting in his office suite at the Fulton Foods corporate office in downtown Memphis, Eliot considered everything he’d seen and learned about the Mayfield Bakery the day before. And most important, what he’d learned about Sophie Mayfield.
After she’d settled into her new living space, the afternoon had pretty much taken off at twice the speed of the morning. She was like a general directing troops. As he watched her throughout the day, she coordinated delivery schedules for the weeks to come, assigning task and duties.
Eliot was surprised to learn that in addition to the few contracts she’d stolen from him, she had been busy getting other large contracts, as well.
His first order of business this morning had been to call his lawyer, Steve, and have him make another offer to purchase Mayfield. Now knowing what he knew, Eliot was certain he could custom-design a package that pretty little Sophie would find irresistible.
The door to his office swung open and slammed against the wall. Eliot sighed. He knew that eventually he was going to have to have that wall repaired and a stopper placed behind the door.
“Morning, Uncle Carl.”
“Where were you yesterday?!”
Eliot sat back in his high-back leather chair, resting his elbows on the padded arms. “Out.”
“Don’t be coy with me, nephew! Where the hell were you? I tried calling you all afternoon and you didn’t answer your cell phone.”
Eliot narrowed his eyes on his uncle. “I haven’t accounted for my whereabouts to you since I was twelve. So, what’s this really about?”
“Got another damn e-mail!” He shook his fist and Eliot saw the crumpled papers for the first time.
He took the pages and pretended to be interested in what he was reading. He already knew it was for the Willows Day Care. He’d seen the requisition for their order yesterday. He considered warning his uncle that there would be one coming from the Thumbelina Nursery, as well, but decided that was only asking for trouble.
“Here we are sinking, and you’re out gallivanting around.”
“I told you I’m taking care of it.”
“How? By spending the day doing whatever the hell you do, instead of finding a way to get rid of this little pain in my ass!”
Eliot picked up his pen and twirled it between his index fingers. “What if I told you I spent the day working in the kitchen of the Mayfield Bakery and now know a lot more about them than I did two days ago?”
For one of maybe three times in his life, Eliot realized he’d managed to surprise Carl.
“What?”
“I went there to speak to the owner. They all assumed I was the new baker, so I played along to get the feel of the place. Do you realize they are still using a recipe book?” He shook his head, still stunned by that fact. “The owner is a woman named Mae Ann Mayfield, but the real brains of the operation is the granddaughter, Sophie. She’s the real threat.”
“How big an operation is it?”
“It’s just what we thought it was—a small-town bakery. But I could see they were improving their equipment and processes, and with Sophie in charge they will be able to really compete soon enough.”
“They are already competing, that’s the problem. But…you were inside the store, huh?”
Eliot nodded slowly, not liking the look in his uncle’s eyes one bit.
“Did they discover who you were?”
“No,” he answered softly, knowing he was about to regret having said anything to Carl.
“You have to go back there and get that book.”
“I can’t.” Eliot was a little spooked by the fact that his uncle had automatically come up with exactly the same idea he’d originally had.
“Why not? You said they didn’t figure out who you were. Did you officially quit or just leave?”
Say you quit. Say you quit.
“I just left.” Truth be told, Eliot himself wasn’t sure why he didn’t quit. That would’ve been the best way to close any loose ends and have no additional questions asked.
“Well, there! You see?”
“Uncle Carl, I will not—”
“Yes! You will.” Carl leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk. “Take as much time as you need. Move in if you have to, but get that book.”
“Why this desire for their recipe book? Yesterday all you wanted was to put them out of business.”
Carl stood straight. “That was before I actually tasted their product. I was out at Centerfield yesterday to talk to the head-mistress and try to get the contract back. She let me sample one of their pastries.”
“And?”
“Andit was damn good!” he snapped.
“Why not just let me deal with it my way, through negotiation? I’m sure we can come to some kind of an agreement with them.”
“Why should we, when we’ve got an inside man? You can just stroll out the door with the recipe book.”
Eliot could only imagine what his uncle would say if he knew he’d had that opportunity already and passed it up. “I don’t know, Uncle Carl.” He thought, refusing to admit how appealing the idea of seeing Sophie again really was. “The first time was a fluke, and I got away with it. But this time…if I’m caught, we are opening ourselves up to all kinds of legal repercussions.”
His uncle’s eyes narrowed in a familiar way. “Not if you do it right.”
Eliot steepled his fingers on the desk. “You’re asking me to stealfrom these people.”
A nasty grin came across Carl’s face. “Like you haven’t thought of it already. Don’t play with me, boy. I know you too well.” He huffed. “I’m just surprised you haven’t done it already.”
Eliot felt the slight trace of shame wash over him at the truth of the words. “I’ll think about it,” he said, eager to be rid of his uncle.
“No, you’ll do it. If you ever expect to sit in my chair, you’d better grow a pair and be prepared to do what must be done.” Carl turned and started to leave. “I expect updated reports of your progress.”
When Eliot was alone again, he turned to look out the glass window overlooking downtown Memphis. His stomach twisted in knots as he considered how low he was willing to go to sit in his uncle’s chair.
Carl knew how to get to him. He’d always known. Everything from the most effective ways to punishment a sensitive boy to all the many evil ways to tempt a man. Carl knew the most coveted prize in his possession, as far as his nephew was concerned, was control of Fulton Foods.
It was the goal Eliot had spent his whole life working toward. Every aspect of his life had been built around the expectation that one day his uncle would turn over the reins. In his mind, it was the perfect vindication for the childhood he’d lost the day he moved into his uncle’s home.
He’d always thought of himself in two parts. Just as history was divided in two parts—B.C. and A.D—his memories were divided into life Before Memphis and After Memphis.
And until today he’d held the Before Memphis part of himself well under control. But something about that small-town bakery and the people there called to that young boy. He knew part of it was Mae and her warm and generous spirit. But part of it was Sophie and all the contradictions she presented.
She was a sharp-minded businesswoman, but she was still trusting enough to let a total stranger walk out the door with their recipe book. She was professional and a fully capable manager, but the woman in her had instantly responded to the man in him. She made him think of what he could have been if he’d continued to be raised by his loving parents.
But despite the way he felt when he was with her, Sophie Mayfield and her bakery were nothing more than a bump in the road on his way to the top. That was all he could allow her to be. He’d worked too long and hard to turn back now.
As much as he hated to admit it, Carl was right. If he ever intended to run Fulton one day, he would have to learn to do things that at the time might seem unpalatable. As the old expression went, You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.
After careful consideration, he made his decision. Eliot picked up the phone and called the agency.
After a few minutes of conversation with Tom, he understood why the real Alberto Montagna had not shown up yesterday. Apparently Sophie wasn’t the only one in the hospital.
Alberto had been caught once again by the husband of his lover, and this time the man had tried to finish what he’d started before. Alberto was in critical condition. Eliot knew he should feel some sympathy for the man, but all he could feel was repulsion for his stupidity.
“Okay, Tom, thanks for the update. I would still like to offer him a position, so when he recovers please contact me. And for your assistance, I would like to pay you whatever you would have made from the Mayfield commission plus ten percent. How does that sound?”
Eliot smiled to himself as Tom eagerly accepted the offer. Wise man that he was, Tom didn’t ask any uncomfortable questions about why a representative of Fulton was trying to steal a
baker from a much smaller shop. Nor did he ask why Eliot did not want him contacting Mayfield directly anymore.
Later that afternoon, Eliot received a call from Steve and finally got all the dirt and history on Sophie Mayfield. The third and oldest daughter of Barbara Mayfield-Reynolds, she was born Sophia Riana Reynolds, and was a bit of a family black sheep. In honor of the grandparents she adored, Sophie had taken her mother’s maiden name when she was eighteen, much to her father’s fury.
By some strange twist of fate, Mae and Earl Mayfield, the adventurous family icons, had produced a family of ultraconservatives. With the exception of the eldest daughter, Sharyn, all their children—Kevin, Tobias, Barbara and Tina—were married and in stable relationships. Among the five, they’d produced twelve grandchildren. Two of them—Sophie and Lonnie—were close to their maternal grandmother; the others had all moved away.
Apparently, a few years ago, shortly after Sophie had graduated from college, where she majored in marketing, the family pushed Mae to sell the bakery and move into an assisted-living facility. Sophie and Mae had pushed back and won. Sophie had turned down a lucrative offer to work for a large marketing firm in New York, choosing instead to stay in Selmer and help her grandmother run the bakery. That move had apparently been enough for her parents to call it quits and break ties with her.
And the rest he’d pretty much witnessed yesterday. The bakery had never really taken off the way the pair had hoped, and were still hoping. But Sophie was still completely dedicated to her grandmother, and after meeting Mae, Eliot understood why.
He and Steve discussed the new offer for Mayfield, then he left for the day to do some shopping. If he was going to be a baker for however long, he would have to look like one. He couldn’t afford to keep going through four-hundred-dollar suits.
If he’d been an outside observer, Eliot realized he would have had nothing but respect and admiration for Sophie and her grandmother. Going up against Fulton, they were truly a modern day “David and Goliath” story.
But, he wasn’t an outside observer; he was the heir to the Fulton Food conglomerate. But heir or not, if he wanted the seat at the top of the heap, he would have to earn it. Even if it came through deceit and dishonest means. As beautifully inspirational as the original biblical story was, Eliot thought, this time…David would lose the battle.
Chapter 7
The next day, Eliot was back at work in the bakery. He tried not to think too closely about how good and natural it felt to be there, despite the discomfort of working in a kitchen on a hot June morning.
He’d been welcomed back warmly, and no one seemed to suspect anything out of the ordinary. It was a little awkward at first because Sophie insisted on directing his efforts from her wheelchair. Eliot had never been responsive to being micromanaged. Even as an underling in his uncle’s factory he’d resented it, and he certainly wasn’t responsive to it now years later and at a much higher pay grade. It didn’t help that he hadn’t actually done any serious baking in years. His skills were rusty. He needed some time and a couple of practice batches of dough to get a feel for it again. But that was next to impossible with Sophie watching his every move.
After about an hour and a half, he wiped his hands on his apron and squatted down next to her chair. “Sophie, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you riding me like this? Did I do something to make you think I’m incompetent?”
“No! of course not!”
“Then why are you watching me like a kid fresh out of culinary school?”
Her wide brown eyes watched his for a few moments, and then she burst into laughter. “Boredom.”
“What?”
She exploded in frustration. “This chair is driving me crazy! I can’t go everywhere I want to, or do everything I want to. I read through all my magazines by ten last night and still couldn’t sleep. I just laid there staring at the ceiling. Wayne is out gassing up and washing the delivery truck, and I have no idea where Lonnie and Dante are, and Grandma is up front with a customer. But, you’re here.”
Eliot hid a smile. Her frustrations were real, but it was such a relief to realize it wasn’t what he’d feared: that she’d somehow discovered the truth. “So that’s it? You’re just bored?”
“I’m freakin bored out of my mind!” She laughed again. “And unfortunately, you work in the kitchen, so I guess I’ve kinda leeched on to you.”
Eliot stood again. “Tell you what.” He walked over to the mixer and pulled out a blob of dough. Bringing it back he flopped it down on the table in front of her. “If you want to work, I’ll put you to work.”
He pushed her up to the table, then reaching into the large bowl that took up half the table, he sprinkled some flour on the blob.
“What am I suppose to do with that?” she asked, eyeing the blob warily.
“Make a pie crust out of it.”
She glared up at him. “If I could do that I wouldn’t have hired you.”
“My, my, my, how the tide changes. As long as you were sitting there doling out orders like a little dictator you were happy. I actually try to get you to do some work, and suddenly you’re all attitude.”
She chuckled. “Fine.” Eliot watched her reach for the blob as if afraid it would bite her at any minute.
Eliot returned to his task of making crescent rolls. He only hoped they came out even and crusty.
A minute later, he looked over and she was still pulling hesitantly at the blob. With a soft laugh, he came up behind the wheelchair. “Here, like this.” Covering her hands, he squeezed the soft dough, feeling it mesh through their combined fingers. “Don’t be afraid of it. Think of it like modeling clay.”
“But I never planned to eat it.”
“Then you missed out. Yum.”
She laughed, as he hoped she would. “You’re not serious? You didn’t actually eat clay?”
“I sure did. But in my defense I was only four or five. At that age, all kinds of things taste good.”
“You could’ve been sick.”
“Nah, why do you think toys go through so much testing? They’re all eatable, really. The scientists make sure if any of it accidentally goes in one end, it comes out the other.”
“Ugh, we are baking here!”
“Sorry.” He smiled, enjoying the feeling of their combined fingers squeezing the bread. “See how it’s starting to take shape?”
She glanced down at their hands together, the lighter color of his against the deeper brown of hers. She liked the way it looked…too much.
His hands were smooth—unlike Wayne’s, whose hands had rough calluses. Which reminded her of the differences in the two men. She wondered if El had ever done a hard day’s work in his life. Although she had to admit that in his white T-shirt and jeans, he looked like any other workingman. The only sign of his wealth were his expensive designer loafers.
He leaned closer, his soft musk cologne drifting into her nose. She tried to focus on the dough they were kneading, but her eyes drifted to his profile, as his face was right beside hers now. She looked up at the newly formed locks and could see his soft hair was resisting the style.
She watched with a dry mouth as he leaned forward to collect more flour from the big bowl, his bicep stretching with the motion. When did they start building bakers like this?she thought.
Pounding the dough with more flour, he wrapped his hands around hers again and continue to knead. “See? You’re getting the hang of it…that’s it.”
Sophie tried to focus on the dough and not the man behind her. Beside her. Surrounding her.
“Push…pull, and turn.” His soft breath moved the hairs closest to her ear. “There you go.” He spoke like a patient coach, and she wanted to form something wonderful out of the dough just to satisfy him.
“See, I knew you could do it.” He turned and looked at her, bringing their lips within inches of each other. His minty breath was warm, and she found herself licking dry lips, which brought his eyes straight to her mouth, which made her mouth dry again.
They continued to stare at each other; neither seemed able to look away. Unable to stop herself, she licked her dry lips again, and it seemed to be some kind of a signal to him, because he leaned forward and gently touched his lips to hers.
Sophie released a sigh of relief, as if she’d been waiting for that soft kiss her whole life. He pulled back a little to look in her eyes and apparently he saw what he was looking for because he kissed her again and this time more deeply.
His mouth opening over hers, their lips meshed and tongues swirled together. Sophie reached up, wrapping her arms around his head, and he came to her. Kneeling beside the chair, he took her face between his hands and deepened the kiss.
The noise of people coming into the kitchen startled both of them, and they quickly broke apart. Eliot stood and returned to his place by the table, once again forming crescent rolls.
Sophie poked and prodded at the blob Eliot had given her, still not completely sure what to do with it.
Both of them thought they’d done a good job of giving no sign of the kiss they’d shared. Neither realizing that the flour fingerprints they’d left all over each other’s face and hands served as a road map to any curious onlookers, like the two who had just walked by.
That Saturday Sophie had scheduled two weddings. She had been contracted to cater two weddings that weekend, and the
orders were so large she’d decided to lock up the front of the store so that everyone could work on the wedding cakes and assorted desserts. What they would make from the two weddings would more than compensate for any loss from walk-in business.
By the afternoon, the kitchen was like a boiler room, and Wayne had propped the back door open to let in some air.
Sophie scooted around the area, trying to do her part and stay out of everyone’s way at the same time. But they needed every hand they could get. Even Lonnie was helping out where she could.
Eliot was completely engrossed in his task, showing Mae some complicated twist design, flipping and turning dough and filling multiple trays with bread, but leaving the actual baking to Wayne. Dante was gently packing up box after box of desserts, using boxes Lonnie built.
Once Eliot was confident Mae understood what he wanted, he moved across the room to finish decorating a tray of tarts, then truffles. The preparation tables were already filled with trays of cookies, minicakes and little chocolate mousse cups. And then there were the smaller cakes, which came in all varieties—tortes covered in rich, dark chocolate with sweet strawberry topping dripping over the sides, gateau with hazelnuts and a cinnamon chocolate mixture, pavlova with sweet marshmallow centers topped with assorted berries, and little banana and chocolate soufflés. Sophie had never seen such a varied collection of delectable foods in her kitchen. She was surprised by El’s eye for design. It was understated and elegant. Then again there were a lot of things about him that Sophie found surprising.
The twin towered wedding cakes were already packed in portions to be put together on arrival at the receptions. They were given a preparation table in the far corner, out of the way of traffic.
She watched as sweat rolled over his sinewy biceps as he worked tirelessly, moving from one task to the next. His white T-shirt clung to his copper skin. Everything about him was divinely masculine, and yet his glove-covered fingers moved over the delicate desserts like a surgeon at work. Sophie realized she could have contently spent the evening watching him work.
A little after six, the van pulled away from the bakery loaded down with boxes of desserts. Wayne, Lonnie and Dante squeezed into the front seat. While Eliot and Mae stood on the sidewalk, watching them pull away, Sophie sat in her chair just inside the door, wishing she were able to go with them to double-check the setups.
Once the van was out of sight, El held the door open as Mae reentered the store. She smiled up at him and laughed. “It’s been a long time since we’ve hustled like that.”
Sophie noticed how bright and cheery her grandmother’s face was, considering the day they’d had. She looked as bright and eager as a schoolgirl. Maybe the activity is good for her,Sophie thought.
Feeling El’s eyes on her, Sophie looked up at him. “I really appreciated what you did today,” she said. “I don’t know how we could’ve done it without you.”
“Just doing my job,” he said, but it sounded more regretful than anything. And he just continued to watch her in that unsettling way of his. “I’m going to go out back and get some air.” He wiped his hand over his face before passing between the two women heading toward the kitchen.
“That’s a good man, and a fine baker,” Mae said with a satisfied nod. “When you first told us you’d hired a new baker, I didn’t know what to think. I was a little hurt at first. But the truth is, I could never have gotten out those orders today. Not like he did.”
Sophie just listened. The reasons Mae had just named were indeed a part of her decision to hire the extra help, but she wouldn’t insult her grandmother by acknowledging it.
“I’m going to head on home,” Mae said. “I’m starting to get a little tired, and tonight my show comes on.”
Sophie smiled. “Ah, yes, supersleuth and mystery writer Jessica Fletcher. Doesn’t it kinda bother you how she alwayshappens to be nearby with someone is murdered?”
“Oh, hush.” Mae laughed, moving behind the counter to get her purse. “I don’t try to ruin your shows, so why are you trying to ruin mine?”
“Sorry,” Sophie said with a laugh. “Didn’t mean to spoil your fun.” She glanced out the window, glad to see there was plenty of sunlight left, enough for her grandmother to get home safely.
Mae kissed her granddaughter on the forehead. “Love you, pumpkin. Don’t forget to lock up the shop after El leaves.”
“I won’t. See you in the morning. Drive safely.”
“Sophie…” Mae reached out and touched Sophie’s cheek in that way she did when she had something important to say. “That’s a good man.” She nodded toward the back. “He’s got some demons he’s fighting, not sure what they are, but…you could do worse.”
Sophie frowned, wondering where this had come from.
Mae only smiled. “I ain’t so old I can’t remember what love looks like.”
Sophie was startled out of her confusion. “El? You think I’m in love with the new baker? I’ve only known him two days.”
“I’m not trying to speak for your emotions.” She shrugged. “Just saying, that kiss earlier didn’t look like it was being shared by two strangers—that’s all I’m saying.”
Sophie was mortified from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, realizing her grandmother and Wayne had witnessed more that she’d thought. Deciding there was no use in denying it, she said, “I’ll admit I’m attracted to him, but that’s all. It’s not love.”
Mae only smiled in that knowing way of hers as she turned and headed out the door. “At least, not yet,” she called back just as she went through the door.