Page 33 of Desserts for Stressed People

Is he thinking it’s a place where he’d like to bake? I still struggle to believe Mr. Asshole is the same man who spends his evenings baking and watching old sci-fi movies.

As the woman talks—she has barely stopped since we arrived—he bobs his head yes, but his eyes ping-pong from one point to the other. When he turns to me, he studies me, as if waiting for a verdict. Funnily enough, I was expecting the same from him.

“Looks good,” he comments. “What do you think?”

Arms crossed, the woman’s mouth pinches as she shuts up. Hereallyneeds to stop interrupting people.

“This mansion is marvelous. Really, it’s one of the most gorgeous places I’ve ever seen,” I tell her with an apologetic smile. If Shane ever wondered what might have gained him his nickname, I have plenty of clarifications for him.

Before she can start talking again, he interjects, “We need to leave soon.”

“Yes. Can we get back to you with an answer?” I ask the woman as she steps toward the corridor.

“Of course. Take your time. And come visit us again whenever you’d like.”

We leave the kitchens and make our way back to the ground floor, where I take one more look at the stairs before we walk to the car.

Looks good.That’s all he said about this place, and I try to guess whether he thinks it’s suitable for the event. I’m half-convinced he’ll want me to decide what to propose to the clients, and I need to make the right choice. Damn. I shouldn’t be trying so hard to impress him.

“The next location is a twenty-minute drive from here. Would you like to stop for coffee somewhere?” He opens the car door, and when he notices my shocked expression, his brows rise. “We don’t have to.”

“No, no. Coffee sounds good. We’re booked for the tour forty minutes from now anyway.”

He slides inside the car. “Okay, then. Let’s get coffee.”

* * *

When I bringthe tray with our two coffees to the table, Shane is still on the phone, with a frown on his squared face, one fist clenched over his mouth and his dark brows bent over his eyes.

“Marina, wait.” He moves his phone down to his chest and whispers, “Do you know anyone who can design five different flyers today?”

Yikes.I sit and cross my legs. “Yes, I have a guy.”

“We have a guy too, but he laughed in our faces. We need more than one guy. We need a whole goddamn team.”

I pour some sugar into my coffee and stir. “If this week has taught me anything, it is that your guy probably hates you. My guylovesme,” I taunt, and even as he rolls his beautiful brown eyes, his lips lift upward.

“Does he, now?”

I blow over the dark liquid and sip. “Yet another perk of being nice to people.”

He stares at me for a few seconds, so deeply that goosebumps cover a good portion of my skin, then he moves his phone back to his ear. “Marina. Heaven knows someone who might help. Let me get back to you.”

It might be all in my head, but there’s a certain spark flickering from his gaze to mine. I can almost see the golden twinkles shooting between us.

“Oh, and...Marina?” He pauses. “Thank you.”

Did Mr. Asshole thank one of his employees? I wouldn’t be surprised if I got out of this café, and instead of the warm sun, I found a snowstorm.

Biting my lip, I call Nevil, a freelancer we often use for graphic materials and the only one I’ve worked with that always gets what I’m picturing without too much explaining. He’s some sort of sorcerer.

Shane sets the phone down and stirs his coffee. “I think Marina might have fallen off her chair.”

“I’m about to join her. This must be an alternate dimension.”

When Nevil answers, I explain what we need and pass the phone to Shane, but not before asking him topleasebe nice. I can’t make an enemy of the people I work with.

Ending the phone call, he inhales deeply, a relaxed smile on his lips. “Thank you. Second time today you’ve saved my ass.”

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