He hesitated at the picket gate. Question was, where was the nearest coffee shop?
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Gerard turned at the sudden voice. Charles. He really wasn’t up for dealing with this guy pre-caffeine. “Didn’t you sneak up on me last time?”
“Better learn to watch your six, then.” Charles grinned and held out his hand.
He didn’t like the look of that grin, and he still didn’t like Charles. But duty called. Gerard reluctantly shook it.
Charles redrew his hand and casually crossed his arms over his starched dress shirt. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. I wanted to speak to you privately.”
“Privately?” Gerard hiked an eyebrow.
“As in, without Abrielle.”
“Abrielle?” Now he felt like a parrot.
“Bri.” A flicker of humor twitched in Charles’s jaw. “She didn’t tell you her real name?”
“It hasn’t come up.” He crossed his arms too, mimicking the guy’s stance. He wasn’t exactly a fan of Charles and the way he treated women—or smarted off at him, for that matter—but the man could be a source, so he hated to burn bridges too early. He’d learned over the years of digging up information that sometimes it was better to swallow pride and keep your cards close.
“No matter.” Charles plastered on that smile again, the same one he’d worn when dismissing Bri yesterday. “You’re writing the feature on the place, right?”
“Right.”
“Where do you stand on it?”
“On what?”
Charles frowned. “The debate, of course.”
“I’m afraid I’m not aware of a debate.” Gerard played dumb and waited, intentionally not saying more. He wanted to see how much Charles was willing to verbalize.
“On whether or not I should buy out the bakery.”
Gerard shrugged. “Has nothing to do with opinion, mine or otherwise. Either you will or you won’t.”
Gerard held Charles’s inquisitive gaze without blinking. He might have been an attorney, but he was far from intimidating.
“Maybe.” Charles looked away briefly, down the tree-lined street. A squirrel darted across the road, then back into the safety of a nearby leaf-dusted yard. “Or maybe not. Maybe you can help.”
“You’re going to have to be less cryptic if you want my help.”
Charles chuckled. “It’s simple. You have the power of the pen.”
He wanted Gerard to slant the feature in a way that promoted the buyout of the bakery? That was ludicrous. He could just see Peter’s face now. Hey, boss, you know how I’m supposed to market this cozy little family-owned, Parisian bakery and convince readers to travel there? Wouldn’t it be hilarious if it was torn down and replaced with a Starbucks by the time they arrived?
No dice.
Gerard hesitated. But what was interesting was the stand-down between the town’s two influentials. Local beloved baker versus local successful lawyer. That was definitely an angle. If he could keep the feud fires burning, he could up the word count on the finished article—which meant more pay. More readers. More copies sold. He would be a shoo-in for the new position.
Not to mention the article angle would be a lot more tolerable than that lovey-dovey, matchmaking mess.
He squinted at Charles, who wore a self-satisfied smirk. The expression “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” rolled through his thoughts. Not that Bri was his enemy, but Charles was definitely hers, and that left the latter up in the air.
He adjusted his laptop bag on his shoulder. “I see what you’re saying.”
“Excellent. I thought you might.” Charles clapped him on the shoulder, and Gerard shrugged out from under the touch. “I’ll see you around.”
“I’m sure you will.” Gerard probably couldn’t escape the slippery little manipulator if he tried, but that didn’t matter. He’d work it to his advantage.
It would take some finagling to let Charles think he was on his side, without letting Bri catch wind of it. Honestly, he personally couldn’t care less if the bakery was torn down, left as is, or shot up into space.
His mom needed his paycheck, and he’d do whatever he could to make it as big as possible. Get his promotion, write some pieces that would actually gain attention and respect, and move forward in his career. He certainly didn’t need a father—or a wife—to bring him success. He’d do it on his own.
As he’d always done.
It was going to be a good day, and she had worn her favorite pink Wanderlust sweatshirt to ensure it.
Bri pushed up her sleeves and hummed to herself as she stirred the batter for her best cookie recipe. Every now and then, when she got a little antsy, she made a batch of simple tea-cake cookies and decorated them with seasonal icing. Today’s theme was the Eiffel Tower, complete with piped red and orange leaves.
She wasn’t going to let Gerard get to her. And she most certainly wasn’t attracted to him. She’d had a moment of weakness last night, that was all. She’d been emotionally charged after going through her parents’ letters, and Gerard had been in the right place at the right time.
Or rather, the wrong time, depending on how you looked at it.
And that’s how she chose to look at it. Especially since he’d obviously been trying to connect with her for the sake of the article alone. She’d almost made a huge idiot of herself by assuming otherwise.
Thankfully, she’d gotten out of there before he could realize it.
She whisked faster. Besides, Gerard was the exact opposite of everything she’d held out for in a man. Cynical. Sarcastic. Goading. He didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. Whatever heart-tipped arrows Mabel and Agnes had drawn back in their direction the other day better be a misfire—because she and Gerard were the last two people in the universe who made sense together.
The door chimed, and Bri sucked in her breath as she glanced up.
Casey strolled inside, high ponytail swinging. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes sparkled. “Guess what?”
Bri wasn’t disappointed it wasn’t Gerard. No, that feeling flooding through her limbs
