Page 27 of Sweetest Temptation
I looked over her shoulder and spotted her friend. I was the shorty she was with at Ryan’s lounge, smiling big as she watched us.
Zanova blinked, finally snapping herself out of it, hearing her friend's dramatic antics. She straightened, smoothing her apron, that flustered-but-firm look crossing her face. “All right, show’s over,” she said to no one in particular, shooting me a pointed glare. “Some of us still have work to do.”
I chuckled, setting the empty plate back on the counter. “Then I’ll get out of your way, chef. But you might want to check your socials later. Something tells me we just broke the internet.” I winked at her.
Her eyes narrowed, but there was the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as she turned away. And as I stepped back toward the door, I couldn’t help but glance at her one last time. As I turned, she stood there with one hand on her hip, that spark in her eyes back in full force.
“Since you decided to show up and interrupt my launch, you’re not getting off that easy.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s my punishment?” I raised a brow, amused.
“You’re going to work.” She reached under the counter, grabbed a clean black apron, and tossed it at me.
I caught it midair, laughing. “Work? You trying to make me sweat, Ms. Pierce?”
“Whatever.” She shot back smoothly.
The crowd nearby chuckled, watching us like it was part of the show. Someone even pulled out their phone again, whispering, “He’s really about to do it.”
“All right. But I don’t work for free. What do I get out of this?”
“The satisfaction of helping me not fall behind in front of my customers.” She rolled her eyes.
“Hmm,” I said, pretending to think. “What about a kiss?”
“Keep dreaming, tequila boy. You’ll be lucky if you leave here with your ego intact. This is different from working boardrooms.”
The room broke into laughter. I couldn’t help but produce a rich, genuine, low in my chest laugh too. “Baby, I can work in any room. Bedrooms. Bathrooms. Kitchens. I can make it work,” I said, winking as I slipped the apron over my head after removing my suit jacket. “But I’m gonna hold you to that one day.”
She scoffed, but her lips curved as she turned toward the prep station. “We’ll see if you can keep up in my shop.”
“Samir! Can we get a picture?”some thirsty chick asked. She was all smiles, looking like she was ready to risk it all, along with the two chicks she was with.
“Nah, I don’t do that, shorty. But you hoe’s can support and buy some tarts.”
They smiled like I’d just blessed them with a compliment.
Zanova spun around, eyes wide, hands on her hips like she was ready to throw a spatula at me. “Samir! Don’t talk to the customers like that! That’s rude!”
“What?” I shrugged. “I’m just keepin’ it real. They know I’m playin’.”
The two women giggled like schoolgirls, still hovering by the counter, trying to sneak pictures on their phones.
I leaned against the display case, giving them a lazy grin. “See? They ain’t mad.”
Zanova rolled her eyes, mumbling something under her breath as she turned back around.
I stepped beside her, rolling up my sleeves. Together, we served customers, and started packing up the last of the tarts, sliding boxes across the counter to waiting customers. She worked fast—sharp movements, quick glances my way, daring me to mess up.
“Careful with that one,” she said, watching as I closed the box. “You tilt it too far, and the glaze will run.”
“Yes, chef,” I replied in a mock-serious tone, earning another eye roll.
But every time our fingers brushed, the teasing felt heavier. Every time our eyes met over the counter, I knew she’d hold her breath for a beat, only releasing it when she had to look away. The crowd noticed too. Phones were out everywhere, recording what looked like the city’s new favorite duo in action. I’m sure we were all over every social media outlet by this point, and for once, I can’t say that I cared.
By the time we got through the last few orders, the laughter and chatter in the bakery had turned into a quiet buzz of excitement. Zanova wiped her hands on a towel, shaking her head with a small, reluctant smile.
“You’re more help than I expected.”
