with the girl behind the counter. “And put whatever she’s having on the house,” he says, gesturing at me. “You should try the peach tart. They’re second to none.”
I stifle an involuntary shudder. “I don’t like peaches.”
Blake looks at me with interest. “That’s different. You’re from Georgia and you don’t like peaches? In fact, aren’t you from a town called Peach Pit?”
Uh-oh. Have I just handed him ammunition? I shake my head with a mock-chiding expression. “Blake. Mr. Hudson? I think I’ll stick with Blake. Anyway, I didn’t take you for the kind of man who’d stereotype.”
“I didn’t take you for the kind of woman who’d fail so epically at trying to change the subject. You seem like the type who’d throw a grenade, or at least set something on fire, when she doesn’t want to talk about something. Anyway, who doesn’t like peaches? They’re the best. In fact, Pamela, put two peach tarts on my plate.”
“Please.” The spirit of my mother channels through me, and the word slips out before I can stop myself.
“What?” He stares at me, baffled.
I sigh heavily. “Some people like to say please when they make a request.”
“You don’t say!” Blake’s eyes widen in faux astonishment. He turns to his minion. “Henry, quick, write that down. Make sure you get it word for word. Some. People. Like…”
“I’ve got it,” Henry says drily. He is actually writing in a little notepad.
Blake returns his attention to me. “So, did you have some kind of tragic peach-related incident when you were young that scarred you for life?”
“Yes. I don’t like to talk about it. It haunts me.” I turn away from him and grab a bottle of iced tea.
“She likes iced tea, but not peaches,” Blake observes to Henry. “So she isn’t completely cutting herself off from her roots.” I can hear the suppressed laughter in his voice.
Seriously. Now that I work for him, he can needle me and I can’t even accidentally drop hot coffee on his crotch. How is that fair?
“I see that, sir,” Henry observes. I pick up the faintest hint of dry sarcasm. I look at Henry, and the corner of his mouth twitches up in an almost-smile that vanishes instantly. I decide I like Henry.
Then we stand there in awkward silence for a couple of minutes until our food is served up. Blake reaches for the tray.
“Say thank you,” I whisper, sotto voce.
Blake ignores me and takes his food without thanking the cashier, but he does drop a fifty-dollar bill in her tip jar. Then he looks at me.
“Miss Manners is weeping in her grave?” he suggests.
“She’s still alive, in her eighties, and writing columns. You should read them sometime. Really. Seriously. I’ll email you some of them. Emily Post, however, is six feet under and just did several rotations in her coffin.” I accept my sandwich and iced tea from the cashier.
“You might as well eat lunch with us, so you can tell me all about my shortcomings. You know you want to.” Blake’s perma-smirk slides into a charming smile as he throws my words back at me, and my heart does a little two-step jig before I remind myself that he has a girlfriend. A girlfriend he just spent six figures on.
Why do the pretty ones have to be so awful? Because they can, of course. Nobody ever says no to them. Well, that changes today. I bend my mouth up into an insincere smile. “Thank you for the offer, and for lunch, but I’m afraid my day is absolutely packed and I’m going to have to eat at my desk.”
I am rewarded by the sight of the smile sliding off Blake’s face. His eyes widen in surprise. His mouth opens. No sound emerges. It closes. Henry stares off into the distance, his lips pressed together, the corners twitching up as if in a desperate struggle not to smile.
I have rendered the mighty Blake Hudson speechless! I grab my tray and scurry off, coasting on a wave of triumph.
Still…so much pretty. I can almost hear the faint weeping of my lady-parts as I leave him behind.
Chapter Ten
Blake
The first inkling of trouble comes when I emerge from the shower.
It’s a text from my uncle. He sent it ten minutes ago.
Call me ASAP.
As I’m reading it, I get another text from him, bleeping with angry urgency.
I mean it. Call me NOW.
Yeah, whatever. Uncle Bill can wait. If his secretary runs out of coffee he thinks it’s an emergency. It goes along with his