Page 23 of Stirring Up Love
Goddess of barbecue?Simone steeled her own smile to remain in place. She’d never once referred to herself as a goddess of anything.She was an entrepreneur, not a teenager trying to launch a career as a pop star.
“If I may ...,” she ground out, mouth dry.
“You may not, Ms.Blake.” Constance cut her off before offering a smile, quick and fleeting. She played a tough game, a contrived persona Simone suspected she put on due to pressure from the producers, like Keith’s pretentious smirks. But this artificial setting was the only way someone like her would ever get a chance in front of heavy hitters like Rivera and Donovan. “Let me explain the unique circumstances of our show today.”
Unique circumstances?More like worst-case scenario.
Constance spread her hands wide. “Both you and Mr.Rimes applied to be on the show with a barbecue-centric business, so we can’t very well offer both of you a deal. It would be a conflict of interest, for starters. And while your bid to expand the scope of your restaurant is viable, Ms.Blake, your sauce business seems like an afterthought. We don’t need our entrepreneurs overextending themselves early in the game.” Ms.Rivera turned her sharp gaze on Finn. “You only sell sauce, is that correct, Mr.Rimes?”
He nodded once, the thick hair that had flopped over his forehead all summer trimmed around his ears and held in place with just the right amount of gel. Gone was his perpetual scruff, revealing a strong, dimpled chin other women might drool over.
Then again, other women probably hadn’t seen his snake oil salesman routine firsthand. The trespassing, no-good, stick-his-nose-where-he-doesn’t-belong—
“Just sauce, and it’s the best you’ll ever taste.” Finn’s voice had lost any hesitancy and regained its rich timbre, and Simone’s body turned traitor, her insides melting even as her heart remained a block of ice. “Right now, the bulk of my business is e-commerce, but I think Finn’s Secret Sauce would do well on grocery store shelves.”
“So you’re not in any brick-and-mortar retailers?” Mr.Donovan frowned, and Simone wanted to break in and inform them that several local grocers stocked her sauce, but Finn steamrolled her.
“Not yet. My expertise lies in the kitchen, but I’ve been working around the clock to learn the business end.” Other than the hours he spent torturing her with his presence. “I’m all in with this company. What I’d love is some expert guidance. Oh, and a little of your pocket change might help.” He winked, and a chuckle rippled through the audience.
Once again, Finn Rimes slathering on the charm, rich and creamy as fresh-churned butter, laying it on thick to win everyone over but her. Simone bit back a gag at all the verbal dairy. She wasn’t jealous he’d never turned his charisma on her.Please.His used car salesman schtick might work on the audience, but the investors wouldn’t be fooled by a pretty face.
Would they?
Doubt crept in, and with it, urgency. Finn was here for himself; she was here for Hawksburg. To win an investment and then win over a town full of people who thought she’d left them behind. She needed to quit hesitating and get down in the muck with him before he stole the biggest chance of her career.
But before she could speak up, Donovan clicked his pen. “That’s what we like to hear. A good product and a can-do attitude will take you far. Run us through your business plan, if you would, Mr.Rimes.”
And he proceeded to. Articulate and measured, he laid out his vision for his company, concluding with what had led him to come on the show.
“My original plan was to sell online and make the circuit of local farmers’ markets, but this summer, I realized to reach my goals, I had to think bigger. I have Ms.Blake to thank for the inspiration.” He flashed Simone a tentative smile.
Blood boiling, she stayed mute, head inclined with what she hoped was a smile and not the rictus grimace of someone who’d been stabbedin the back. That ... rat. Dirty, rotten, conniving rat. Somehow, he’d gotten wind of her plan to come on the show. Probably from one of his Yarn Spinner groupies.
She never should’ve told anyone in town. Would she never learn? Reveal your hand, and the next thing you know, someone else will take your seat at the table. Trusting the wrong person had cost her her job in Chicago. And now that same naivete was about to lose her a chance to bring revenue and jobs to the town she loved with her whole heart.
Simone licked her lips, dizzy. She unlocked her knees, and the heels of her stilettos slipped on the polished faux-wood floorboards. Off balance, she thrust out a hand to catch herself, flailing. Her hand whacked against the table behind her, and her fingers sank into something gooey. And wet. And sticky.
The audience gasped. Finn’s jaw fell open like a nutcracker, and Simone would’ve laughed at his cartoonish expression if she weren’t stricken with terror. Pulse racing, she ventured a glance. Yep, she was knuckles-deep in a bowl of her own barbecue sauce.
Abso-freakin’-lutely awesome.
If she were watching this episode at home, she could pause and rewind to before this catastrophe. But if she did, she wouldn’t stop with the past ten seconds. She’d skip back two years and stay in Chicago, as much as she’d felt out of place. Better to be lonely and adrift in a huge city than in a tiny town.
How had she sunk this low? She was Simone Blake, go-getter. Name-taker. Winner. A success. Until she returned home with her tail between her legs, defeated. Taking over Pops’s restaurant was supposed to have been her chance for a comeback. Grow her family business into a household name, all on her own.
Yet here she was, asking for handouts from strangers. Begging for scraps with sticky fingers, and about to be rejected, at that. The only thing that stung worse than hearing no? Asking for help in the first place.
Her eyes pinched closed. She pictured the gloppy sauce sinking its pungent undertones of garlic and vinegar into the ridges of her fingerprints, the molasses staining her cuticles, black pepper flecks marring her glossy manicure. Her will lost the battle against body, and sweat beaded her upper lip.
No help for it. She opened her eyes and pulled her hand out of the sauce with a squelch like quicksand. A giant glob fell off her fingers and splatted onto the toe of her suede stilettos. And the cameras were still rolling.
Finn’s thick brows tugged inward, matching the puppy dog tilt of his eyes, twin furrows marking his brow. He closed the distance between them in a single stride and whipped out his paisley pocket square.
Paisley?Her spiraling mind snagged on that detail. She would’ve figured he’d go with something bold and brash, not delicate and refined. Full of surprises, this man.
If they’d met under different circumstances, she might’ve happily delved into uncovering his nuanced depths. Explored the reason for the zings of anticipation that sparked in her chest as he stepped closer.
Stopping inches in front of her, he clasped her wrist and gently wrapped the silky fabric of his pocket square around her fingers. The warmth in his palm shot straight to her core. She should have been insulted at his nerve. Galled by the fact he felt the need to come to her rescue like some sort of knight in shining armor when he was more Night King than Jon Snow.
