Page 71 of Loverboy
“That’s the plan,” he says, checking the beans in the grinder.
“Then I need to hire somebody. Stat. Why’d you throw away my sign if you knew I’d still need it?”
He leans his forearms onto the bar and takes me in. “That was just a bit of swagger. I’m sorry. I’ll fix it.”
“Thank you,” I say. And then I hurry into the kitchen so he can’t read on my face how conflicted I am about all of this.
He follows me a few minutes later. “Okay. Where do you keep the apple peeler?”
“It’s on that shelf.” I point. “That thing with the handle.”
“Wait, really?” He reaches for my grandmother’s antique apple peeler. “This looks like some kind of torture device.”
“If you’re an apple, I guess it is. Clamp it to the counter. Let’s go, Gunn. I have apple turnovers to bake. Apples are in the fridge.”
Since Gunnar is good with his hands—a fact I know all too well now—he figures out the peeler right away. It only takes him ten minutes to peel and core all the apples I’ll need today.
“This thing is amazing. I didn’t know you could make an apple into a Slinky! Do you have any more? Would it work on a pear? How about a potato?”
“Nope. You’re done. Step away from the produce.”
“But—”
“Gunnar,” I chide. “Clean up all those peels. Now I have a question.”
“Hmm?”
“What’s the company called? You never say the name.”
“Ah. It’s a secret. Only the principals know. The employees who own shares.”
“But why? Who’d work for a company if they don’t even know the name?”
“About two hundred people.” Gunnar chuckles.
The more I hear about this place, the more insane it gets. “Tell me the name. I won’t spill it.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I can’t do that.”
Of course he can’t. I shouldn’t care. He has his life, and I have mine. We’re not a couple. There’s nothing between us except for a WiFi signal and a night of explosive, toe-curling sex. “Fine. Don’t tell me. But I’d still like you to make me a latte.”
“Yes, boss. Whatever you say, boss. See how good I am at saying that? It hardly makes me want to vomit at all.” He flashes me that wonderful, evil smile. The one that makes women’s panties fall right off.
And then he goes to make my coffee.
22
Gunnar
When I returnto the pie shop many hours later, Teagan is working behind the counter. “Hey, Gunn,” she says, looking up from her phone. “Isn’t it your day off?”
“Just couldn’t stay away,” I insist, heading over to where Scout is seated at a corner table, posing as a customer.
“Working hard?” I ask, taking the chair opposite her.
“It’s a tough assignment,” she says from behind the computer monitor. “I mean, sex is nice. But the raspberry vinegar tart I just ate was on a whole other level.”
“Raspberry vinegar, huh? I haven’t tried that one.”
