Whitney had pleaded with her father to let her take over operations if he was no longer interested, but he’d blown off her suggestion—as he had practically every other suggestion she’d ever made in relation to the business—and declared that he was tired of being tied down in Iowa and was heading to Dallas.
But now, thanks to these guys, she had the chance to be important.
She was grateful to Aiden, and Dax, and Grant, and Ollie, and Cam. Maybe especially Cam. He could have probably shut the whole thing down. He could have said fuck no to saving Hot Cakes and the Lancasters’ reputation. But he hadn’t. She was undeniably grateful for that.
Now that the Lancasters were no longer in control of Hot Cakes, she wanted Appleby to feel secure and happy about having Hot Cakes here and to know that it was going to be here for a very long time. She wanted to help the guys make this business venture wildly successful. They’d taken a chance on all of it and she was going to make them glad they had.
That meant she and Cam had to keep from breaking each other’s hearts. Period. And the only way to do that was to stay away from each other. Personally anyway.
That meant no sexy red dresses, no private time in her office, no dating.
They were going to be business associates and maybe, eventually, hopefully, friends.
So being an adult woman fully in control of her emotions, she turned on her heel and headed for the alpaca pen.
5
Well, there was no way he was going to be able to be just coworkers or even friends with Whitney.
At least not until he tried to be more.
Cam was grateful that he could bake and flirt on autopilot—one of the perks to growing up in a bakery and having lots of practice. At both.
He was somehow pulling off the chocolate coconut bars while entertaining the audience by giving Ollie and Max shit about their own baking, while thinking about Whitney.
And how hot she looked in that stupid, ugly pencil skirt she was wearing today.
It was ninety-two degrees on a bright, sunny summer day in the town square. The event was casual and fun and outside. What was she wearing that stupid skirt and blouse and heels for? She should be in a sundress and sandals. Showing lots of creamy skin. And she should have her hair up in a ponytail. At least until he pulled it down to run his hands through it as he kissed her.
She should look like a small-town girl at a town event. Not a corporate shark trying to sell stuff to people.
Cam worked on not scowling as he melted the chocolate over a low flame on the built-in stove top in his mini kitchen. He didn’t care about the auction except he’d be damned if he’d lose the top bid designation to Ollie or Max.
They both had date plants in the audience anyway. And surely that came with a budget.
Cam was on his own in upping his bid amount.
But he wasn’t worried.
He was from here and knew all twelve of the ladies in the front row. He also had a reputation. And the best recipe.
He wasn’t worried about fetching a big price.
He did wonder how Whitney felt about that though.
She’d gone off toward the petting zoo several minutes ago. Which was annoying. How was he going to impress her with his baking and flirting if she wasn’t even here?
Not that he should have to impress her with either thing. He’d baked for her before. And he’d flirted her right out of her panties on numerous occasions. Including last night in her office. Okay, he hadn’t quite gotten her panties off, but he’d proven she wasn’t immune. That’s all he’d really needed to know.
She’d never been immune to him. Even in high school, when their families were stubbornly feuding with one another and both of their grandmothers would have lost their minds if they’d known he and Whit were dating, it had only taken a dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies and a whispered, “sneak down to the park with me and I’ll give you something even sweeter” to get her to say yes to him.
And now she was off looking at alpacas instead of watching this baking-auction thing? That had been her idea?
He realized that he’d been whipping the melting chocolate way too hard, and he made himself take a breath and slow down.
He glanced up at the girls in the front row. They were definitely still watching him. At least the whisking had made his arm muscles bulge. He almost laughed. He wasn’t really the flex-for-it type of guy. Except when he was giving his friends shit about his muscles and tats giving him an edge with the ladies. But hey, you had to use what you had when you were in competition. Mostly it was his intellect and stubbornness that he flexed in his job, but Piper had insisted on the t-shirt to show off his arms, so he was going to assume that was his greatest asset today. And his cookies. The literal ones.
“So once everything has heated up and is nice and firm,” Max was saying to Cam’s left. “That’s when you know it’s time to pour on the sticky stuff.”
Cam almost snorted. But they were all wearing mics so that everyone could hear their “baking” instructions. He had to admit, Max was good at the innuendo. It was partly the tone of voice he was using. And the way he was looking at Elliot, his date plant—and one of Fluke, Inc.’s best programmers—right down front.
But Max was a big, burly guy who also had muscles and tats and a beard, along with a very deep
