The Hand-Picked Bride. Raye Morgan

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ the things I baked each day and you could choose what might fit your needs....”

      He was shaking his head and her voice trailed off. Obviously that was not what he’d had in mind.

      “I’ve got to have a full-time pastry chef,” he told her. “I’d want you to do your baking here.”

      She grimaced, looking around at the tables standing in wait for a flood of customers later on in the afternoon.

      “You see, that’s going to be a problem,” she said, her tone confident. The only evidence of the nervousness she felt was her hand playing with the tassles on her purse. “Tell you the truth, I sort of bake what I feel like baking when I feel like it. If I was under contract...”

      “We’re not all that rigid here. You’ll be free to do a lot of experimenting.” He smiled at her, and she had a quick impression of being coaxed, beguiled. He really wanted her to take this job. She frowned, wondering why.

      But he didn’t notice. “Come on back to the kitchen,” he said, turning. “I’ll show you around.”

      She glanced at Michelle, then back at Grant. “Okay,” she said. “I’d like to see it.”

      He was proud of his place and it showed. And she had to hand it to him, he had something to be proud of. The kitchen gleamed with stainless-steel efficiency. She hadn’t seen such impressive equipment since culinary school. Her heart beat a little faster as she took it all in. It would be very different to do her baking in a place like this.

      “What sort of food do you serve?” she asked, though she thought she probably knew.

      “California modern.”

      She glanced at him as she let her hand trail along the cool surface of a stainless-steel counter. “Trendy stuff?”

      He shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “I guess you could call it that.”

      She wrinkled her nose, looking at him candidly. “I’m not much for trendy stuff. I don’t follow trends myself.”

      He grinned at her. “Just a sweet old-fashioned girl?”

      Her chin rose. “Do you have something against traditions?”

      “No, not at all.”

      “Good.” She sighed softly. She was going to take the job. There really were no more excuses not to. Just one little item had to be cleared up first. “I’d need to bring my little boy to work with me,” she told him, turning her head so that she could judge his reaction. “Could you handle that?”

      His face said it all, but that was hardly necessary to interpret, because his words did the job on their own. “No way. This is a place of business. We can’t have kids running around.”

      She smiled, almost relieved. “Then you won’t have me running around, either,” she said firmly, turning to go.

      “Wait.” He stood in her way. “Now don’t be so hasty. Maybe we can work something out.”

      She glanced into his eyes. There it was again, the sense that he was just a little too anxious to have her here. “There’s nothing to work out,” she said firmly. “Either Kevin comes with me or I don’t come. I won’t leave him with a baby-sitter. The most important thing I have to do with my life is to raise him. I won’t leave it to someone else.”

      He looked pained, torn. “I don’t know how we can manage that. Insurance...safety considerations...”

      Suddenly Michelle interposed herself with quiet dignity, one hand on Grant’s arm. “We’ll manage,” she said firmly, smiling at Jolene.

      Grant looked at her and blinked. “We’ll manage?” he echoed.

      She nodded. “Leave it to me,” she said.

      He hesitated a moment, but something in Michelle’s eyes told him to agree or face the consequences. Smiling, he gave in. “We’ll manage,” he told Jolene with a disarming shrug. “Somehow.”

      Jolene didn’t have time to marvel on the interplay between the two of them, and the influence the woman seemed to have over Grant. He grabbed her hand and started toward his office at the corner of the wide room.

      “Come on, I want to sign you up before you have a chance to think of any other roadblocks.”

      She had a quick glimpse of Michelle’s face and the distinct impression that the woman would have liked to have come along with them, but Grant moved quickly and made it pretty clear he wanted to be alone with Jolene for the moment. She hesitated at the door wondering what this woman knew that she didn’t—and should. But Grant still had hold of her hand and he tugged, pulling her into the office and shutting the door behind her.

      “Sit down,” he told her, pointing to a chair across the desk from where he settled. “We should get to know each other.”

      She sat gingerly on the edge of the chair. “I don’t know why,” she countered. “I’m not applying to be your friend. Just your pastry chef.”

      He looked surprised, then laughed. “You got me there,” he conceded. “Okay, we’ll skip the chitchat and get right to business.” Glancing down at his desk, he began shuffling through paper.

      Jolene looked him over as he worked. Today he had a challenging tilt to his chin and a rakish twinkle in his eyes, a tiny spark of impudent arrogance that was intriguing rather than annoying. He had all the confidence in the world around the female gender. It was obvious that most women found him utterly irresistible. But a sense of resolve made her raise an eyebrow. It was a good thing she wasn’t like most women.

      Once he’d found the paper he was searching for, he sat back and looked at her, enjoying what he saw. Yes, she would be the perfect girl for Tony.

      “I won’t keep you long,” he told her, tapping his pencil on the paper. “I just have a few questions.”

      She crossed her legs and nodded. “Did you want me to fill out tax forms or...?”

      He waved that away. “No, we won’t bother with that stuff yet. I just want to go over some questions with you.”

      She nodded, perfectly willing. “All right.”

      “Personal information,” he added, glancing at her and then down at the paper he had before him on the desk.

      Something in his voice put her on notice. “What?”

      Ignoring her question, he stared hard at the paper and began. “Uh, let’s see. Are you married?”

      She frowned, uneasy and not sure why. “I think you know the answer to that one. My friend Mandy said you’d asked her.”

      He looked up. “Mandy runs the pretzel machine?”

      She nodded, her silvery eyes watching him steadily.

      He smiled quickly and picked up his pen, jotting down a mark. “Okay. We’ll move on, then. Is the little boy—Kevin is his name, isn’t it? Is he your only child?”

      She СКАЧАТЬ