Pamela Yaye - Mocha Pleasures

“Nonsense. They have no idea who you are.” Doug waved off her concerns with a flick of his hands. “It’s crucial you find out more about Lillian’s. If we’re going to crush them—and we will—we need to gather more intel, so return to the bakery and uncover their secrets.”

Her shoulders sagged and panic ballooned inside her chest. It was official. Her dad had lost it. Gone off the deep end. And now, more than ever, she missed her mom. Rosemary had died fourteen months ago and not a day went by that Grace didn’t think about her. Losing her mom had been a devastating blow, and if not for her father she never would have survived Rosemary’s death. He’d been her anchor, her rock, and although she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was making a mistake, she asked, “Dad, what do you want me to do?”

For the first time since she’d entered his office an hour earlier, her dad’s face brightened and he grinned like a five-year-old who’d been given a new bike. “Maybe you can fake food poisoning or a nasty spill as you leave the shop. Bad publicity will drive customers away from Lillian’s and straight through our doors.”

Too shocked to speak, Grace dropped back down in her chair, her mind reeling. Her dad mistook her silence as acquiescence and offered one nefarious idea after another. Grace struggled to make sense of what he was saying and couldn’t believe this was the same man who’d raised her to be an honest, trustworthy person. He loved money, would do anything to make more, and hated that Lillian’s was cutting into his profits. For that reason he was willing to break the rules. Speaking in an animated voice, he encouraged her to return to the bakery, admonished her to befriend the baristas, and even the owners.

“Grace, are you in?”

Feeling trapped, her lips too numb to move, she slowly nodded.

“That’s my girl!”

Chuckling, he rose from his chair and came around the desk.

Standing on wobbly legs, Grace dug her sandals into the carpet to steady herself.

“We got so caught up talking about Lillian’s, I forgot why I asked you to come to my office in the first place,” he said, shaking his head as if annoyed with himself. “I’m having Mr. and Mrs. Ventura over for brunch next Sunday, and I want you there.”

Grace thought hard, but couldn’t recall ever meeting the couple. “Who?”

“Mr. Ventura is an anesthesiologist, his wife is a pharmacist, and they own a slew of pharmacies on the west coast. They’re a wealthy, well-connected couple with friends in high places, and I’m dying to join their social circle. Hence, the dinner party.”

“Dad, I can’t. I have roller derby practice at noon. ”

He snorted. “I wish you’d quit that stupid team.”

“And I wish you wouldn’t work 24/7.”

“If I host a dinner party on the twentieth, will you come?”

Grace had a game that afternoon, but she didn’t tell her dad. Didn’t want to upset him. “Sure, Dad,” she said with a forced smile. “I’ll bring the wine.”

“Wear something nice,” he advised. “They’re bringing their son and he’s single.”

“That’s nice, but I’m not interested.”

“You should be. Ainsworth Ventura owns a profitable management company and was recently named entrepreneur of the year. Do you know what dating him could do for us?”

Grace didn’t know, didn’t care and had zero desire to meet the Seattle businessman.

“Like you, he’s ready to settle down and start a family.”

“Settling down is the furthest thing from my mind—”

“You’ll change your mind once you meet Ainsworth. He’s a ridiculously wealthy young man with everything going for him. Google him. You’ll see that I’m right.”

Yawning, she reached into her pocket for her cell phone, curious if her girlfriend Bronwyn Johansson had answered the text she’d sent that morning. They hadn’t seen each other in a week, and Grace was looking forward to catching up with her bestie.

“Think you can make some of your apple beignets and toffee cookie bars for dessert?”

Grace shifted her weight from one foot to the next, fidgeting with her fingers. She hadn’t set foot in the kitchen since her mother’s death and didn’t plan to. She used to love baking, would spend hours experimenting in the kitchen, but without Rosemary at her side, cooking held no appeal. These days she worked in the back office, managing the bakery the best she could. “No. I can’t,” she said, unable to shake her melancholy feelings.

“The regulars keep asking when you’ll be back in the kitchen and I want to know, too.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel up to it right now.”

“Grace, it’s been fourteen months. You have to move on.”

Her stomach churned and pain stabbed her heart. Was there a time limit on grief? A predetermined mourning period her therapist had failed to mention to her? Grace wanted to turn the tables on her dad, wanted to ask him when he was going to quit hiding out in his office and start living again, but knew better than to question him. “Dad, I’m beat. I’m going home.”

“All right. Good night, pumpkin. Text me when you get home.”

Living at home wasn’t ideal, especially when Grace wanted to entertain, but whenever she broached the subject of finding her own place, her dad got upset, said he couldn’t stand to live in the house alone, and she’d bury the idea. He still missed her mom, continued to grieve her death over a year later, and balked whenever Grace encouraged him to join a social club, or try online dating. “Don’t worry, Dad. I will. I always do.”

“I know. You’re such a good girl. The best daughter a father could ever ask for.”

He wasn’t one to show affection; Grace was shocked when her dad hugged her and kissed her cheek. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d held her, and she was comforted by his touch. Hearing her cell phone, she took it out of the pocket of her blazer and glanced discreetly at the screen. Grace groaned inwardly. What did Phillip want now? He was as annoying as a pesky mosquito, buzzing around in the dead of night, and she was sick of him blowing up her phone. Why was he calling her? Couldn’t he take a hint? It was the third time he’d phoned her that afternoon, but since Grace had nothing to say to him she let the call go to voice mail.

“We need to work together to save your mother’s shop,” her father said quietly, sorrow flickering across his strong facial features. “I’m counting on you to come through for me.”

“Dad, I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Sweetness on top. I promise.” But as the impassioned declaration left her mouth, Grace knew it was a lie.

Chapter 3

This is so wrong. I shouldn’t be here, Grace thought, her conscience plagued with guilt. I should be at Sweetness getting caught up on paperwork, not sitting here like a groupie hoping to catch a glimpse of Jackson “player extraordinaire” Drayson.

Seated at a corner table inside Myers Coffee Roasters café, sipping an espresso topped with oodles of whipped cream, Grace watched the comings and goings inside Lillian’s with keen interest, wondering where the man of the hour was.

For the second time in minutes Grace glanced at her watch, then around the room. She didn’t see Jackson anywhere and she’d been looking out for him since arriving at the bakery an hour earlier. Grace was filled with mixed emotions. Relief, because she turned into a jittery fool whenever Jackson was around, and disappointment, because she enjoyed their playful banter. On Monday he’d teased her for ignoring him, on Wednesday he’d complimented her BCBG keyhole dress—claimed he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her—then suggested she take him out for a romantic dinner. He’d slipped a handwritten note into her purse when she wasn’t looking, and finding it hours later made her heart smile. It was a cute gesture, one that made her crack up every time she reread his message, but Grace couldn’t call him, not without looking desperate, so she hid the note in her top drawer and deleted all thoughts of Jackson from her mind.