No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(8)

That rule was mine from the email volley. We weren’t creating a business that everyone would crave to be a part of, only to have some copycat edge in as competition. Our suppliers needed to be exclusive. In exchange, they would be a part of something unique and amazing.

“What if one of your guests wants a cake for a birthday party?”

“If the client only wants a cake, and they call you direct, then it’s acceptable. But no other party-planning company can hire your services.”

She sat back then and looked out the window on to the empty street. We asked a lot. I was about to reveal something else that would likely make her balk. My instincts told me I could convince her to sign with us, but truly, when one didn’t know the deeper motivations of the person you bargained with, anything could happen.

“There’s one other thing.” I waited until she pulled her attention back into the room.

She glanced at me but remained silent.

“We won’t be doing any weddings. With you as our exclusive baker, you can’t either.”

Her eyes narrowed, as if I’d suddenly become the mean kid in the sandbox who’d yanked her favorite toy from her grasp. A loud foot tap began from beneath the table.

I’d dealt my final card then remained silent, stoic. In the art of business war, he who speaks first, loses.

“Why?” She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest.

I kept my gaze locked to hers, unaffected by her coolness, sensing her interest.

I shrugged. “Not your concern at this point. It’s the way we’ve decided to run things.”

She scowled. “It is my concern. What you’re suggesting isn’t equitable and may be contractually illegal. If you want me to buy into such a harsh restriction, you need to give me a really good reason.”

“It will be equitable and legal if we come to fair terms we both agree to. There are sound reasons from our company’s standpoint, but the only one you need to be concerned with is that it exposes Invitation Only to too much risk.”

Her eyes narrowed again for a split second. “Being exclusive to your company is one thing. The weddings I’ll have to think about. And if I agree, the price will be steep for that kind of sacrifice.”

“I’d expect so.”

“I’ll want to review my contract for a few days before making a decision.”

My respect for her heightened as she played her hand with caution, but she’d said “my” contract. The possessive meant she already pictured herself in the role. Perfect.

“The contract I’ll email gives you until 5:00 p.m. Monday.” I leaned back. “I have one more stipulation.”

An incredulous laugh burst from her. “Really? How many ‘one mores’ will there be?”

I smirked. “Just this one ‘one more.’”

She arched a brow, waiting. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“I need to taste test your current product.” I didn’t, really. But something about this paradox of a girl made me want to stay a little longer than necessary.

Humor gleamed in her eyes. She shook her head and finally gave into the smile threatening to break free. And just like that, her tough exterior melted to reveal a much warmer side beneath all the “prim and proper” of the former Ice Queen. Apparently, I’d been granted exclusive access behind the curtain in Oz.

She stood and nodded. “You can taste to your heart’s content.”

I followed her back to the kitchen, becoming increasingly aware that Hannah—Off-Limits Hannah—had some very appealing curves. The loose cotton shorts and shirt she wore clung to her body in an understated way, hiding nothing of the beauty beneath.

Gritting my teeth at my ogling her body in those uncontrolled seconds, I forced my attention onto stainless steel appliances and colorful rows of frosted cupcakes.

“Forgive my mess. I get out of control when I bake.” She laughed, but this time, it was different, more relaxed. The action lit up her whole face.

Banishing all thoughts of Hannah’s physical appearance, I glanced around at the product of what looked to be days and days of baking. “What’s all this for?”

“Practice. I’m doing trial runs to see how much I can create in one morning and determine which products I want to sell.”

My jaw slackened. “You did all this in one morning? By yourself?”

“Yep. Got here at four.”

I whistled, impressed.

She pointed to the counter beside her. “These are chocolate cupcakes. Those are yellow cake with vanilla pudding in the middle. Behind you is red velvet with a dark chocolate cream cheese frosting I’m experimenting with. Will you try one of those?”

I examined the dark frosted cupcakes. They were the least decorated among the bunch, which made me feel slightly less guilty for destroying one.

As I lifted one from the counter, my mouth watered. I quickly peeled the wrapper away and bit off half the cupcake. I closed my eyes and moaned as tart and sweet flavors flooded my mouth. “Oh my God.” My words were mumbled through a full mouth.

When I went to inhale the other half, she snatched it from my hand and put it aside. I nearly bit her hand off for the offense but snarled instead.

She grabbed my hand. “Don’t gorge on just one. Try these others.” Then she stopped suddenly, her running shoes squeaking on the floor. “Oh, wait. You need to cleanse your palate.” She detoured to a large refrigerator stocked with cream, butter, and other baking ingredients, and pulled out a large bottle of Pellegrino.