Royal gave a quick glance outside before taking the basket from my arm and setting it on his desk. Using the light streaming in from the window, he tilted my chin and studied my swollen cheek. His thumb grazed my face so lightly it didn’t hurt but sent a faint pulse of energy shimmering across my skin.
“He got you good, didn’t he?” Royal asked, his voice tight. Gently changing the angle of my face, he murmured, “How many times did he hit you?”
“Twice.”
Royal’s thumb skimmed over my lower lip, his blue eyes dark, liquid with some emotion I couldn’t define. Nerves skittering through me, I stepped away. “I’m okay.”
“It could have been a lot worse. Why did you go after him? You could have just called West. You should have run inside. I don’t know how far he was willing to go, but you could have been hurt, Daisy.”
“I don’t know why I went after him,” I admitted. “I couldn’t call West. I dropped my phone when he bumped into me. And he just—something about him was wrong. Then I saw him with the box at the air vent. I didn’t know what was in it, but I knew it wasn’t good. I just—I didn’t think.”
Royal shoved his hands in his pockets, his lips quirking into a facsimile of his charming grin. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Good thing I came along, huh?”
“Very good thing.”
Turning his gaze to the basket on his desk, Royal gestured to the seat opposite his own. “This your proposal?” He teased out the envelope I’d tucked beneath the brownies.
My throat suddenly dry, I nodded.
“Sit, take a load off while we wait for ice and breakfast. You’re here, so we might as well do this now.”
I tried not to fidget as he opened the envelope and scanned my suggestions and cost projections for bringing a little bit of Sweetheart Bakery to The Inn at Sawyers Bend.
While he was reading, a sharp double knock sounded on the door. Without waiting for an answer, it swung open and a uniformed waiter rolled in a table, filling the room with the scent of coffee, sausage, and buttery biscuits. My stomach rumbled.
Royal looked up. “You can set it up on the desk, and please, give the ice pack to Ms. Hutchins.” He winked at me and went back to reading.
Chapter Three
Daisy
I wanted that cappuccino like I wanted my next breath, but my cheek felt like it was the size of a basketball and the whole side of my face throbbed. I went for the ice first, carefully wrapped in a linen napkin, and held it to my face, my eyes closing in relief at the cool burn.
Wanting to have my cake and eat it too, I shifted the ice pack enough to make room for a sip of coffee. Bliss. I hadn’t had any coffee since four o’clock that morning. I was way overdue for more caffeine.
Royal set down my proposal and lifted the lids off our breakfasts. “I like how you coordinated your branding with The Inn’s. Looks good.”
It did look good. The Inn’s colors were dark red with accents of navy and hints of gold. Years ago, when Grams had designed the first logo for Sweetheart Bakery, she’d chosen a deep, rich pink, not far from the deep red The Inn used.
For my sample packets, I'd gone with navy ribbons paired with those of the same deep pink we used at the bakery and had added navy and gold accents to the Sweetheart Bakery logo on the sticker. It was still very much branded to Sweetheart Bakery but would fit right in at The Inn’s gift shop.
“Thanks. I laid out some projections, and of course, we’ll work with whatever you’d prefer, but I thought the third proposal would be the best fit.”
“Supplying Sweetheart goods in our welcome baskets for suites and cottages as well as stocking a selection in the gift shop,” he confirmed.
I nodded. “That's not a big commitment on your end and you gives you a chance to see how it goes. I'd also supply coupons for your regular welcome packets as well as the baskets to give your guests a discount at the bakery.”
“We'd include those anyway. We try to promote local businesses as much as we can. I like proposal number three, but I’d prefer to do it on consignment rather than buying outright.”
Nerves tickled my stomach. I love running my own business, but these kinds of negotiations were not my favorite thing. I'd known they might ask to put the arrangement on consignment.
That didn't work for me. First of all, the accounting would be way too time-consuming, and second, I couldn't afford to front the materials in the hopes I'd get paid for them eventually. Not right now. I needed to get paid when I dropped off my stock, not when they eventually sold.
“These are perishable goods, and on the low end of the price range. I don't think consignment makes sense. If you're worried they won't sell I'd rather start with smaller, more frequent orders and be paid when you receive delivery, not later.”
“Is this a deal-breaker?” Royal sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his flat stomach.
“I think it has to be, yes.” I wished I sounded more confident and authoritative. Wished I'd said Yes, absolutely, and wasn’t terrified he was going to turn me down.
A regular order from The Inn wasn't going to change my life. It certainly wasn't going to solve my cash flow problem. Not on its own. But every little bit counted, and placement in The Inn’s gift shop was added exposure to the many tourists who flowed through The Inn at Sawyers Bend.
The Inn was a local landmark, and a lot of people who couldn't afford to stay there still visited the restaurant, gift shop, and bar. They might not buy one of my treats at The Inn, but they'd see the package and recognize my sign when they walked through town.
My free hand curled into a fist in my lap, betraying my nerves. I forced my fingers to uncurl and reached for the cappuccino, pretending this was all no big deal. Like I regularly had breakfast with Royal Sawyer in his office at dawn. Sure, and I'd have tea with the Queen of England later in the day.
Nothing about this was normal.
Without saying anything, Royal unwrapped one of the brownies in the basket I'd set on his desk. Salted caramel. My favorite. He broke off the corner and popped it in his mouth, closing his eyes as chocolate and caramel melted across his tongue, the sharp bite of sea salt making the sugar sweeter. When he opened his eyes, he took a sip of coffee, swallowed, and shook his head.
“I can't say no to those brownies. And we owe you one. Let's do it, starting with orders twice a week. I'll expect you to coordinate with the gift shop to make sure you're keeping us stocked and adjust that timing as needed.”
“I don't want you to say yes because you think you owe me,” I said as every instinct for self-preservation urged me to shut the hell up. It didn't matter why he said yes, it only mattered that he did. If my foolish recklessness had helped me get their business, then everything had worked out for the best.