Page 8 of Christmas Treasures

Her stomach twisted. “And you didn’t think to let me know before I had menus printed with the winter special?”

“He’s local. Grew up with my boy, actually. Played third base together in Little League. I’m loyal to him.”

There was a pause. Charlie stared at the photo of her and her father in front of the country store back when they had visited on their hunt for the best cheeses. What a road trip that had been.

“So,” she said slowly, “Max got the full order because he’s local. And you didn’t bother to tell me because you think it’s funny?”

“Not exactly,” Earl said, chuckling as if she were being too serious. “He called first. And I know him. I trust him.”

The words hit harder than she expected. She gripped the edge of her desk, knuckles whitening. “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me.”

“Just slipped my mind, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Now she was sweating. If this guy thought he was getting any more of her business, he was delusional.

“I see. You can cancel the rest of my orders for the year. I’ll go elsewhere for my cheese.”

“Hey now, no reason to be dramatic.”

Dramatic? Her hands curled into fists. She would love to show this jerk what drama really was.

“I am a businesswoman. I had a deal with you, which you reneged on. Thus, I will change my cheese supplier. Simple as that. What did you think,sweetheart, that I would just accept a lack of communication from my major supplier like a good little girl?”

“Kinda. I guess.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not how it works with me. I’m no one’s sweetheart, good girl, or whatever other demeaning pet names you’d like to use to keep me in my place. I used to eat guys a lot smarter than you for breakfast. I sure hope Max Hayes orders a heck of a lot more cheese from you next time to make up for my loss of business because I’m out.”

She hung up before he could say anything else.

For a moment, she just sat there, fuming.

She didn’t know what she’d expected. Fairness? An apology? For him to speak to her with respect? She’d had that tone directed at her many times before. In boardrooms. At investor meetings. All her life, men had underestimated her. Other than her father. He’d thought she hung the moon.

But the rest of them? Not so much. Even though ForkCast was her baby, her invention, and her coding, men on her board had treated her like a silly child.

Look, no one’s questioning your talent—we just need a grown-up in the room.

We’ll circle back once we’ve heard from your CFO.

You remind me of my daughter—she’s sharp too.

How about we bring in someone with a little more…executive presence?

She hadn’t heard those exact words from Earl, but it was close enough.

And now she was going to have to find new cheese.

By the timeCharlie pulled into the gravel drive to her farmhouse, it was nearly dark. Her dad’s old Chevy, still bearing the faded sticker of his pizza joint, rattled to a stop in her garage.

She sat there for a moment, hands still gripping the steering wheel. The confrontations with Max and Earl had left her exhausted. It wasn’t such a big deal. Not like when she ran ForkCast and decisions literally meant millions of dollars to investors and stockholders. Why, then, was she so bothered? It wasn’t as though she couldn’t figure it all out, with or without Whitaker cheese. However, she didn’t like change. It made her nervous and off-kilter. All she wantedwas stability. Which is why she’d come to Vermont in the first place. Maybe the restaurant was too much for her. It wasn’t as if she needed the money. But it had been a labor of love. A way to pay homage to her father. Perhaps a way to feel close to him, even though he’d been gone for three years already. So many happy memories came from the time she’d spent helping out in her father’s neighborhood pizza joint.

But maybe it wasn’t worth the angst.

She was so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of being alone and without family.

Okay, enough of that. Her father had taught her to fight, not feel sorry for herself. Plus, Fig would be waiting for her and his supper. Mostly his supper. He was a cat after all. A very fat cat.

She exhaled, grabbed her bag, and stepped out of the truck. She traveled through the garage door to the mudroom, slipping out of her boots and hanging her coat. Figaro, a fluffy tabby, came bounding in to greet her. As always, she was delighted to see him. She knelt to scoop him up for a quick snuggle. The two of them were ride or die. Was it sad that her best friend was a cat? Or was she the lucky one? Humans were so much more difficult to understand.

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