Page 3 of Dirty Arrangement

I have a mission,I remind myself, popping the door open. The sidewalk with all its cracks and dirt is a contrast to the pristine building in every way. Golden, sculptured letters spell out VOLT right over the glass entrance. I never imagined myself setting foot in a place like this. Maybe I'm crazy, but crazy is all I have.

My apron has been switched out for an emerald green ankle-length dress. It gives my figure soft curves, the color accenting my hazel eyes. With my hair free from its normal bun, curling loose over my shoulders, and my skin clean of sugar and flour, I strike a professional image.Let this Thomas asshole see how presentable I can get.Part of me feels ridiculous for trying to impress a guy I already hate.Just follow the plan,I remind myself.

I give the pink box in my arms a tiny hug. It's full of confections I'd worked incredibly hard to produce.If he tastes my food, maybe he'll agree to let me keep working at the bakery.I doubt he'll give the place back to me, but being allowed to continue running it is enough. For now, anyway.

My shoes click on the pavement, marching me into the building. There's a huge reception area, the windows pouring bright light into the room, highlighting the burbling fountain with its koi fish statues. I ignore it all and head to the elevator. The plaque next to it says that Thomas's main office is on the 12thfloor.

The ride up is too fast, I want more time to think, to plan, but the doors spread to reveal the wide room in front of me. Stepping out onto the glossy marble floor, I gape at the giant space that's been decorated minimally. There's a small waiting area, a curved white table and fancy leather benches. One entire wall is a window, giving a beautiful view of the city below.

My eyes drift to the reception desk. There's a woman there. Like everything else, she 's stunning; tall, blonde as vanilla cake, her tan skin flawless. She could be a movie star.These are the kind of girls a guy like Thomas gets to be around all day.It reminds me I don't fit in here.

Easing forward, I approach the desk, trying to sound confident. “Hello, um, I'm Alice Brighton. I was hoping to get a moment with Thomas Volt?”

The secretary looks me up and down, like I'm garbage someone had abandoned in her lobby. Her tone comes out too sweet. “Mr. Volt is very busy, let me see what I can do.”

I watch closely as the secretary presses a button, mumbling into a speaker. “Mr. Volt? There's an Alice Brighton here that would like to see you.”

We watch each other as we wait for his reply. I see her eyes dart to my hair, my dress, than to her nails. She's bored of me already. Suddenly a deep, familiar voice asks, “Is that so? Send her in, Violet.”

It's impossible not to smirk at the receptionist as she blinks. When she gestures to the door behind her, though, my smugness evaporates. I almost forgot that I'm about to be face to face with the man in charge of my future. “Thanks,” I say, taking a deep breath.You've gone this far. You just have to convince him.

The doors spread apart when I lean on them. Instantly the scent of bitter coffee and oranges hits me. The pleasant smell permeates the circular office as I walk over the pliant, marshmallow-like carpet. The far wall is made entirely of a single, curving window, and it gives a better view of the city skyline than the one in the waiting room. This place is gorgeous, and in any other circumstance, I might appreciate it.

Thomas Volt—my target—stands by a laquered brown desk. His hands are folded behind his back. He's wearing gray trousers and a light blue dress shirt. Just like the first time we met, the intensity of his green eyes makes my heart thud.

“Hello, Alice,” he says, tilting his head. “I see you've come to pay me a visit. Whatever for?”

“Thomas—”

“Mr. Volt,” he interrupts me, one fine eyebrow arching in disapproval. “You'll call me Mr. Volt.”

I stutter, my prepared speech vanishing in my mind at his demand. “Mr. Volt, I came by because...” I search for the words I'd carefully practiced but they don't come. Thomas moves closer, looking me up and down in that way of his. It thrills me, which makes it harder to focus on my speech.What the hell is he thinking? Why is he looking at me like that?

He stands a foot away, looking from my frowning face to the pink box crushed in my arms. “You brought me a gift?”

“Uh, what? Oh!” Shaking my head to find some clarity, I offer the container with a hesitant smile. “Sort of, yes. This is why I'm here.”

“You didn't need to do that. You could have mailed it, though I appreciate the personal touch.”

“No, no. Mr. Volt, you told me that you suspected my baking wasn't very good. I wanted to show you that you're wrong, and that the reason my bakery is...”

“Failing,” he suggests, crossing his arms with a sly smile.

My skin heats up. “The point is, I wanted you to see what I'm capable of.”

Thomas reaches out expectantly. I hand him the box, and when our fingers get close, a new flash of heat burns through my belly. He walks to his desk, setting the box down gently and speaking without looking at me. “You came here to try and bribe me.”

“Bribe? What? No, I...”

“Because,” he goes on, lifting the box's lid with deft fingers. “Idohave a sweet tooth.” His eyes run over the contents, taking in the cupcakes and eclairs with what I hope is appreciation. The heavy silence stretches until my anxiety makes my ears ring. Finally, he nods his head towards a small table where a coffee maker sits. “Grab me a cup, please. And one for yourself.”

Elated, I hurry to pour two mugs of the scalding drink, glancing at the bowl of sugar and other extras. “Do you like cream, Mr. Volt?”

“Do you?” he murmurs softly.

I dribble some of the dairy into my coffee. “Sure. I like it a lot, in fact.”

“Interesting,” he chuckles. “I'll take mine black.”

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