Page 2 of Cookies & Kisses

“Madeleine,” I reply. “Madeleine Sweet.”

He arches a brow. “Seriously?”

I shrug. “It fits.”

He nods and rifles through some papers, finding something else to occupy his attention. “So, why are you even interested in becoming a bakery assistant?”

At least that’s an easy question, and one guaranteed to get him curious about me. “Well, six years ago, after I graduated high school, I moved to New York City and attended the Culinary Academy. I fell in love with pastry and worked at Petit Fours in Manhattan for two years after that. I wanted a change of pace, though, so I moved to Canyon Cove, in Orange County, and spent some time working their high-end events with a bakery there.”

I don’t miss the way his eyebrows raise slightly with each piece of my story. But I especially don’t miss the way he perks up when I mention Canyon Cove.

He sets down the papers and leans in, settling his elbows on the desk. “Did you get to meet anyone famous while you were there?”

“Where, in New York?”

He shakes his head, an eager glint in his eyes. “Canyon Cove.”

I’m surprised by his interest in the small, coastal town in southern California. It’s about four hours south of here, and pretty much only known for one thing—the True Trophy Wives reality TV show. “Uh, yeah. A few.”

“Like who?”

“What, are you a closet Trophy Wives fan?” I ask.

He shrugs, then settles back in his chair, lifting his hands and folding them behind his head.Hello, biceps and forearms. Holy cow.“Maybe.” A sexy smirk dances across his face.

I swallow hard, then remember I’m on a job interview.What was the question again?Celebrities. “Yeah, we did the cake for Ethan and Thea Taylor’s wedding. It was pretty short notice, since they had a quick engagement. But his mom Rhonda was there, and so were Lucas and Amy Carter.” I don’t mention that my best friend is Luna Jones, whose sister, Ivy, fainted on one episode of True Trophy Wives, but he seems impressed enough.

“And why are you here, in Brookhaven?”

“My parents moved here after I graduated from high school.” I smooth my hands over the cover of my notebook, trying to find the balance between oversharing and giving enough information. “They heard about this storybook town and decided it was perfect for them.”

Mason nods, like this isn’t so unusual.

“They had me later in life, so they’re a little older. I wanted to come live with them, so I could spend as much time with them as I possibly could.”

He watches me carefully again, and I try to sit still and keep my composure. I don’t know what he sees, or what he thinks, and he’s not giving me much indication. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

I sigh. My one shot at baking in this town, and the interview was a bust. What a disappointing waste of time. “I know, and I’m sorry about the mixup—“

“No,” he says, cutting me off. “I wasn’t expecting someone who was actually so…accomplished. You seem so young.”

I shrug. “I’m twenty-four. And you’re only, what, early thirties?” I know exactly how old he is: thirty-one. I did my research before coming on this interview. But it would be creepy to say that. Just like it would be creepy to say that he smells like chocolate and has the physique of Chris Hemsworth.

“Something like that,” he says. And just like that, the smirk is gone, his hands are back on the desk, and he’s all professional again. “I suppose I could use someone to work the front. But I don’t want anyone messing with my baking.”

I frown. I’m not here to be a receptionist. I want to help in the back, learn what I can from his experience, and maybe show him how much I know. I really want to hone my skills and take my baking to the next level.

Instead, he’s treating me like I have zero baking experience and need to run a cash register for him.

But maybe I can slowly convince him that I’m worth more than that. If I can just bake a couple things for him, or take over small things in the kitchen, then maybe he’ll slowly trust me more.

“Do you accept?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.

It’s my turn to study him now. This gorgeous man in front of me is about to be my boss. Is that a good idea?

But what other option do I have?

“I accept, under one condition.”

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