Page 55 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

His sensual lips formed an inverted U. “I can’t kiss you until the bidding war is settled?”

“Looks that way,” I said, but Jesus Christ, he was so fucking hot. And he wanted to kiss me so bad, and I wanted to kiss him.

“That’s disappointing,” he said as our mouths seemed to move inexorably toward one another.

“Yes, terribly…”

Then I tasted his lips on my own, and everything else slipped away. For a moment there were no bakeries, no corner lots, no worries about the future or what it all meant… there was just our kiss, the feel of his body pressed up against my own, and the gentle rhythmic dance of the sea.

I pulled away, my hands on his chest. Our eyes met and I favored him with a soft smile.

“Good night, Jonathon.”

“Good night, Amelia.” He winced. “Sorry. Amy.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I kind of like the way you say my full name.”

Then I turned away from him and got in the car, because I really didn’t want things to tip too far in the wrong direction. We’d managed to reach a kind of accord, and I didn’t want to mess that up. The whole drive home I thought about Jonathon, my fingers brushing my lips on occasion. I almost imagined I could still feel him kissing me.

The next morning, I woke up extra early so I could help my aunt with her laundry. She was doing better with her knees every day, but there were some things she still needed help with.

I reached up to knock on the door, when I heard something I hadn’t heard in a very long time. Crying. My Aunt Petunia was crying.

“Aunt Petunia?” I rapped on the door. “Is everything okay in there?”

“Everything’s fine, dear,” Petunia called in a cheerful tone that was almost convincing. I heard her wetly blow her nose before she spoke again. “Come on in, the door’s open.”

I pushed open the door and found her sitting at the kitchen table, a newspaper spread out in front of her. I frowned at the sight.

“Petunia, you’re not supposed to sit somewhere that you can’t put your feet up.”

“I was only sitting here while I read the paper,” she said, still sniffling.

“No excuses… did you hurt your knees? Why are you crying?”

Petunia’s lips twisted into a miserable grimace. She grasped the newspaper in her gnarled hand and offered it up to me. It wasn’t front-page news, but on the third page of the A section I found a headline titledBeloved Greenwich Bakery Hides a Dark Secret.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I gripped the paper tightly, bringing it closer to my face as if that would dispel the illusion. “What dark secret…”

My mouth fell open as I read on. I devoured the article from start to finish, growing more upset by the moment. Finally, I turned to stare at Aunt Petunia. “Is this true?”

She started crying again, and I rushed to her side. “Hey, don’t do that, come on.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Petunia said, hugging me and patting my back. “I was in a bad way financially. Your uncle had just died, and the medical bills and funerary costs were too much to take the scandal.”

“So you had rats, big deal. You had six months to deal with the problem—”

“Yes, but the law was back then—and still is for all I know—that health department inspection results be made public. If we’d lost even a little bit of revenue, then the bakery would have gone under.”

“So you bribed the inspector to keep it off the books.” I sighed. “Well, considering the asshat just spilled his guts, you’d better ask for a refund.”

“I’m afraid the damage is done.”

I was worried as much as she was. That kind of bad press was the last thing we needed during the bidding war for the corner lot.

“We can minimize this, though,” I said suddenly as I was struck with inspiration. “If we have a charity bake sale, we can mitigate the damage to our rep and prove that our products are safe. Not to mention we can put out there that our last thirty inspections have been flawless A ratings.”

“Why, that’s a wonderful idea,” Petunia said. “We could have it at the Senior Center’s cafeteria. It’s huge.”

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