Page 66 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

“I wanted to apologize,” Jonathon said. “Regardless of what happens between us, I wanted to, well, atone for my mistake.”

I found it hard to stay angry at him, but that part of me that still felt betrayed wasn’t having any of it.

“If you think doing something like this, a grand gesture, is going to make me fall back into your bed, you can think again.” I poked a finger in his chest. “Got it? I’ll accept your help since you want to make up for what you did, but it’s not going to win me back.”

“I understand,” Jonathon said. His blue eyes were filled with hurt, but I stood firm. “Now, would you like to meet your pastry team?”

I allowed a smile to stretch my lips. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jonathon

Even though it felt like an ice pick to the heart when Amelia told me we were through, I tried not to let it show.

I rolled up my sleeves and asked to be put to work in the kitchen. Amelia gave me a dubious look, but she did her best to honor my request.

“If there’s one thing that nobody wants to do, it’s knead bread.” She slapped a huge wooden bowl in front of me. I peered inside to see a vast ball of dough with a light dusting of powder on it.

“You don’t have an automatic system for that?”

“Sure, we do, but it’s been going nonstop, and we could use a pair of hands to expedite the process. We only have one.” She shrugged. “You wanted to help? This is you helping.”

Her words held an acrid tang. Amelia hadn’t gotten over her sense of betrayal. I wasn’t about to try and explain in detail what had happened between Jack and myself on the phone. That would have made it seem like I was trying to weasel out of any accountability for the newspaper article. That was one thing I didn’t want to do.

If the Tiger shreds the upholstery on your sofa, he admits the fault and buys you a new sofa. At least, that’s how I liked to think of myself. Amelia had me questioning a lot of things about myself. I’d never realized how the vast global machine that was Acme Bread really influences the lives of people who aren’t even connected to it tangentially.

“All right.” I grabbed the big ball of dough out of the bread and threw it on the floured counter. I’d seen people do that before on TV. I grabbed the dough and started squeezing with all my might. I lifted it up and slammed it down on the stainless steel prep table with a puff of flour.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, stop,” Amelia said, laughing her ass off. “You’re killing me. Here.”

She took the ball of dough from me and sort of folded it over on itself with a deft movement that was every bit as refined as a ballet. “You want to fold and compress, fold and compress, over and over again. With most types of dough this is the best way to knead, and you won’t wear yourself out as fast. See how I’m leaning into it, and using my body weight rather than arm strength to get the fold and compression?”

I hadn’t realized the movements were so complex. It was almost like when I went through my martial arts phase. Something that seems simple can actually have many layers.

Sort of like Amelia herself. I felt myself falling into her soft brown-eyed gaze once more. I yearned to touch her, to kiss her, to make things right between us again.

In a way, it was a form of torture to be so near her, and yet be unable to have her. Like Tantalus, I was doomed to be forever just out of reach of my true desires.

I stubbornly shoved such thoughts away. I was about atonement, not getting back into Amelia’s good graces.

“Go ahead,” she said, tossing the dough back over to me. “You give it a try.”

I folded the dough and leaned against it. My greater body weight and height made me a bit more efficient, if much less pretty than Amelia’s technique.

“Not bad, not bad.” She nodded in approval.

I stopped a moment, as a long strand of dough had stuck to the center of my palm. The more I tried to pull it away, the longer it got.

“That’s no big deal. Just dust your hands with some flour…” she scooped some onto my hands for me “And rub it together.”

“What do I do with the scrap of dough?”

“Slap it back in there,” she said, patting the dough ball. One of the chefs appeared behind her with an urgent question, and Amelia favored me with a gentle squeeze of my shoulder before she went to accompany him.

I kneaded about a dozen balls of dough, I think, and believe me when I say the labor is far more intense than it looks. Even though I was using my body weight to flatten the dough, I still had to pick it up and flip it over, and these were huge balls of the stuff. I like to stay in shape with HIIT and weight training but let me tell you that I was a long way off from being able to hack it in a bakery. I garnered new respect for Amelia and the industry in general.

I stared around the prep kitchen at one juncture, as I gave myself a little break after the seventh ball of dough. The pastry chefs I’d hired as well as Amelia’s regular crew seemed to be getting on famously. Egos had been put aside for the sake of the charity bake sale, and everyone was sharing ideas and knowledge. ‘If you mix milk with the egg wash, it will spread more evenly.’ ‘A mix of brown sugar and granulated is best for peanut butter cookies.’ ‘Here, let me show you how to make a double boiler out of a pot of water and a mixing bowl.’

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