The Dare Collection: March 2018. Nicola Marsh

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       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      Abby

      I DIDN’T HAVE time to wonder if Tanner had enjoyed the breakfast I’d left him or be grateful when he’d snuck out around six. Because at one minute past nine Makayla checked Le Miel’s website and discovered we had a massive order for a ladies’ function at Bondi. The kind of order that would send Remy into a tizz because of the possibility of repeat business. The kind of order to garner a week’s profits in a day.

      ‘How can we possibly do this?’ Makayla printed out the order, her brow furrowed. ‘It usually takes you and Remy working like maniacs to fulfil an order like this. Even then, it’s touch and go.’

      I should say no. It was lunacy even contemplating trying to fill this order. Besides, my first instinct to say yes sent a shiver of fear through me. I’d determinedly set aside my people-pleasing personality a year ago, had worked damn hard to ensure I learned to say no.

      Then I glanced at the computer, saw Remy’s face in the corner of our website’s home page, and my fear faded.

      Agreeing to tackle a big challenge for the man who’d given me a break when I needed it most wasn’t being servile. It was a way of helping out a friend who’d helped me, a way of giving back. I owed Remy and I knew without a doubt he’d rather I tackled this massive job than wimp out.

      ‘What time do they need it by?’

      Makayla stared at me like I’d lost my mind even contemplating this. ‘Delivery at two thirty for afternoon tea at three.’

      ‘Shit,’ I muttered, scanning the list and mentally prioritising. ‘We can supply the mini-croissants from the lot I baked this morning and put the “Sold Out” sign out front. Then I can make the strawberry tarts, the apple turnovers, the pains au chocolat and the beignets—’

      ‘You’re crazy. You’ll never get all that done.’ Makayla gnawed at her bottom lip and rustled the paper at me. ‘Seriously. We’re going to have to outsource—’

      ‘Remy never does that. He hates putting his name to products he didn’t make.’

      ‘I know, but what can we do? We’re screwed.’

      I heard a footfall behind me. ‘What’s the problem, ladies?’

      My heart leapt in recognition, and something akin to happiness, as I turned to Tanner. ‘A massive order just came in. Big profits. And I can’t do it without Remy.’

      He stared at me, brows furrowed, eyes clouded with an unfathomable emotion I could almost label as fear, before he blinked and swiped a hand across his face. When he lowered his hand, determination accentuated the lines around his mouth, like he’d come to a decision and wouldn’t let anything or anyone derail him.

      ‘I can help,’ he said, rolling up his shirtsleeves, making me salivate a little at a glimpse of those striking tattoos. ‘What do you need me to do?’

      I appreciated the offer but I still couldn’t shake the feeling he didn’t want to be here. Saddened by the thought it could be because of me and our newfound intimacy last night.

      ‘Unless you’re a secret pastry chef, there’s no chance in hell we can do this—’

      ‘I can cook.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Let’s get this done.’

      ‘I admire your tenacity but with all due respect being able to cook a steak on a barbecue and being able to create pastries worthy of the Le Miel name are worlds apart.’

      One of his eyebrows quirked. ‘You’re doubting my skills?’

      He made skills sound like I doubted his prowess out of the kitchen, and Makayla stifled a chuckle behind me.

      ‘This isn’t a joke, Tanner. This is Remy’s reputation on the line if we can’t deliver—’

      ‘Then stop wasting time and let’s get cracking.’ He strode into the kitchen, leaving me gaping after him—and unable to resist staring at his mighty fine ass.

      ‘Something tells me you two won’t need any ovens in there, you generate that much heat between you,’ Makayla said, her gaze speculative as she stared after Tanner too. ‘Look, we’ve got nothing to lose. Let him help. Get as much done as you can and if you can’t do it all I’m sure we can substitute the strawberry tartlets with lemon from the front store, and swap pain au chocolat for pain au lait from the massive batch you made early this morning at some ungodly hour.’

      Makayla’s eyes narrowed. ‘Though why you’d be down here baking when you could be kneading some prime male is beyond me.’

      I tended to agree with her.

      ‘No time to chat,’ I said, and Makayla laughed at my brusqueness. ‘Get in touch with the contact person on that order and ask if they’re okay with us substituting some of the items.’

      ‘Yes, boss.’ Makayla saluted, then shooed me towards the kitchen. ‘Now go cook with that delicious man.’

      ‘This is a recipe for disaster,’ I muttered, dragging my feet.

      I liked Tanner. I liked that he was ready, willing and able to pitch in at a time like this. I didn’t like having to babysit him while I tried to concentrate on producing quality pastries in the fastest time possible.

      Trudging into the kitchen, I was surprised to see him with apron on, hairnet and cap in place, with sugar, butter, flour and eggs in the correct quantities lined up in front of him on Remy’s workspace.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Making croissants,’ he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world that a nightclub owner could create Viennoiserie pastries. But he still hadn’t lost the haunted look, like being in the kitchen terrified him, and it worried me. ‘Remy taught me when we were teens, so I’ve got it covered.’

      He waved at my workstation. ‘You get started on the rest.’

      Stunned, СКАЧАТЬ