Page 26 of Stirring Up Love
“Don’t let Ms.Blake fool you. She’s been at the helm of the restaurant for less than a year, yet she’s trying to convince you she played a role in Honey and Hickory’s decades of success.”
A low blow. He’d hit her where it hurt, and he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes as he went for the choke hold. Planting his fingertips on the glossy table, he divided a steady, earnest gaze between both investors, heart jackhammering.
“Ms.Blake is asking you to invest in a company with a long track record, when the truth is, the Honey and Hickory she represents is an untested gamble. She can talk all she wants about longevity and dependability, but the fact is, she and I are both new at this. Traffic on my website and social media continues to climb, as do my sales.”
He tossed what he hoped would land as a sympathetic smile toward Simone, but his grin faltered, attention caught by the quick sweep of her lashes against her cheek, the pouty fullness of her lower lip. Under other circumstances, there were much better ways to spend his time with Simone than arguing.
But she was a missile locked on this upward trajectory, ready to blow his future to smithereens, and he’d committed himself to staying the course, to seeing this through for the lives he could change with the money.
He dragged his focus away from the quick flash of devastation he’d seen painted on Simone’s features, unable to look her in the eye while he threw down the gauntlet. “All I ask is you evaluate Finn’s Secret Sauce and Ms.Blake’s restaurant on a level playing field. And on that field, taste is king.”
For a second, his words hung in the air. Instead of him savoring imminent victory, his mind swept back to the taste of her sauce on his tongue—woodsmoke and black pepper, sweet heat. Much better than he was giving her credit for.
But what knocked him flat was the smoothness of her finger—delicate, pliable, soft. So unlike her rigid poise, the angular cut of her high cheekbones. The slash of her pointed chin. Sharp edges that matched the cut of her words. Sharp edges at odds with the supple curve of her fingertip.
For a moment, when he’d slipped his mouth around her pinky, he’d felt a jolt. An awakening. An awareness that maybe the hardness on her outside didn’t match the woman inside.
Best to ignore it. After this nightmare of a standoff, he’d never cross paths with Simone again. Knowing her vengeful side, she’d likely put out a restraining order against him if he tried. Win or lose, there’d be no more trips to the Hawksburg farmers’ market. No more setting up shop across from her or offering a hand with teardown just for the pleasure of hearing the comeback she’d toss out.
Good riddance. He wouldn’t miss this at all. Not the smack talk or her rare, elusive smiles, or the searing heat of her gaze.
A burning gaze she turned on him now like a vengeful goddess, lightning flashing in her golden eyes. “You know an awful lot about my company for someone who just happened to show up at my farmers’ market this year.”Herfarmers’ market. As if she owned the town, the rights to everything she touched. “Have you known all along we’d be pitted against each other today?”
She wasn’t too far off, but the accusation ground glass shards into his pride. “You think I orchestrated this? You couldn’t pay me to be in the same room as you voluntarily.”
“So you didn’t spend the summer showing up at the Hawksburg market just to rile me? Throw me off my game?”
Yes. And also yes. But he let his eyebrows inch up, fixing her with a straight stare. “If I wanted to rile you up, there are more fun ways to go about it than arguing about barbecue.”
Her eyes drifted down to his mouth, and his pulse kicked against his rib cage. The electricity snapped between them in a sharp crack that had his hands flexing, his throat gone dry.
Then her eyes flicked up again, the heat in her gaze no longer a flame but a blowtorch. Hot as the July sun and every bit as punishing.
“Nice deflection, Rimes,” she said, and he noticed she’d dropped the niceties. “I’ll ask again: If you weren’t part of this ambush, how do you know anything about my business or my role at Honey and Hickory in the past?”
Google and too much tequila is how. He couldn’t exactly admit to low-key cyberstalking on live TV, but he could embellish one of the murmurs he’d heard around the market. A couple of old-timers liked to mutter about how Wayne ought to have chosen someone else as successor.
Every time they voiced their unpopular opinion, they got shot down. But the investors and audience didn’t know that, and all he needed was the seed of doubt.
“Hawksburg might be your hometown, but not all the locals are in your pocket. From what I heard, people are worried you moved back home last year just in time to run your family’s legacy into the ground. Not that the legacy was that shiny to begin with.” He wouldn’t know, since his pride had kept him from stopping in at the restaurant, too afraid to visit the lair of his sworn enemy. Too afraid he might never want to leave.
“Keep my family’s name out of your mouth.” Menace dripped from her words like venom.
He gulped and took an involuntary step back as she advanced on him, steady on her towering heels.
“And while it’s true I haven’t been running Honey and Hickory for very long, if you think I haven’t put blood, sweat, and tears into that place over the years, you’re dead wrong. I’ve been fighting for a seat at the table every step in my career, and self-righteous losers like you aren’t going to stand in my way.”
“Well, Princess,” he said, “my money’s on you being the one to walk out of here a loser. We’re not in your precious hometown anymore. In the real world, you don’t stand a chance.”
A slow clap came from behind him, and Finn realized with a start where they were. Not the real world—not even close. He and Simone were fighting, gloves off, on the set of a reality show. Trading bare-knuckle blows in front of two of the wealthiest entrepreneurs in the United States. And their argument was being broadcast to a live audience of millions.Millions.
The blood drained out of his face and left his fingertips cold, and he watched what must have been a mirror of his horrified expression transform Simone’s face, her light-brown skin turning ashen in a heartbeat, freckles standing out in stark relief.
“Bravo.” Keith Donovan clapped again and kept his hands clasped together under his chin, green eyes gleaming. “That was quite a performance, but we’d best wrap now before you two tear each other apart. Can’t have that, not when we want you both”—he paused—“intact.”
Wanted them both? Roasted on a spit? Drawn and quartered? Out of the corner of his eye he caught Simone pressing her fingertips to the tabletop, as if to steady herself.
“What?” he managed at the same time she said, “Pardon?”
