The door opened across the diner, and Charles walked in. Speak of the . . .
He refused to finish the thought, however accurate, as the lawyer placed his order at the counter. The older woman in overalls working the register handed him his change and receipt, and Gerard winced. Crap. That cash he’d been intending to give back to Charles was still in his room. This would have been the perfect opportunity to end whatever alliance Charles thought they had. Regardless of Gerard’s take on the Puff, he refused to accept money on the job—especially from someone as slimy as Charles. Bri’s ex, for that matter.
He stared at the blinking cursor on his screen, willing Charles not to see him. He didn’t want to engage with this guy and try to interpret his next move. He wanted the man to just grab his coffee and whatever grease-ladened item he’d just purchased and keep walk—
“Gerard. Always a pleasure.” A hand extended into his line of vision, in front of his computer screen.
Gerard shut the laptop and shook his hand briefly, the smile he forced feeling faker by the moment. “Charles.”
The stuffy lawyer didn’t sit, thankfully, but leaned his khakis-clad leg against the table—probably in an effort to tower over Gerard, since he clearly couldn’t while both men were standing. “I hear you had a run-in with my intern at the Puff after that news segment.”
“Yeah, I set him straight.” Gerard crossed his arms over his chest. “Low blow, sending a spy, don’t you think?”
“Nah, just good fun.” Charles laughed. “It was all in the name of research.”
“Research.” Gerard nodded slowly. “Is that what they’re calling entrapment now?”
His smile faded as he adjusted his glasses. “Lighten up, man. It’s all a big game, and you know it. A game that Bri started, remember? She went to the media, not me.”
True.
“Besides, we both know it doesn’t matter. Those crazy sisters are close to selling. They won’t be able to resist my offers much longer—they’re old and tired. Who cares what the town prefers?” Charles smirked. “Once they get some real cappuccinos and flavored mochas, they won’t care about ancient macaron recipes and bitter coffee.”
Also true. But the way Charles described it was so callous—like the bakery wasn’t Bri’s job and clearly a beloved staple in the community. No wonder she was so defensive. Still, the point remained—Bri didn’t need the Puff to be Bri. To be Abrielle.
But she’d do a lot better seeing that fact on her own thanks to Gerard than against her will because of Charles. He had to convince her—before Charles’s plan worked and she was embarrassed in front of her entire town. From the looks of her last night, she was in no place to withstand that kind of a blow.
“I guess we’ll see.” He wouldn’t commit to further verbiage than that. Besides, who knew? If business kept up, especially after the feature ran, maybe Mabel and Agnes wouldn’t be tempted to call it quits. That is, if he ever finished it.
And if he could make himself promote a place that he knew would end up robbing Bri of adventure.
He turned back to the computer and opened it. The answer wasn’t there, but maybe Charles would take the hint to leave.
“How’s the article coming?” Charles pointed to the laptop.
Wrong hint. Gerard scooted the monitor a few inches away from his greasy finger. “It’s coming.” While Charles was lurking, Gerard really needed to clarify that the jerk’s cash hadn’t accomplished anything. “Hey, what are your office hours? I’ll come by—”
“Well, if this isn’t a meeting of the minds.”
What’s her name—Sandra?—appeared at Charles’s elbow, her platinum hair so shiny it was almost white under the diner lights. “And the biceps.” She squeezed Charles’s arm, her hot-pink talon nails bright against his white button-down shirt, then looked at Gerard like he might be next.
Gerard picked up his coffee as a shield. “Morning.” He didn’t say “good,” because it wasn’t.
“I would have grabbed you a coffee if I’d known you were coming.” Charles pulled his arm free of Sandra’s grip, then looped it around the top of her shoulders. Friendly hug? Or defensive move to keep her at bay? Theirs must be one exhausting friendship.
“You know I can get my own coffee.” Sandra batted her hand at Charles and shot Gerard a wink. “I’m more independent woman than damsel in distress.”
Hopefully that wasn’t supposed to impress him.
Gerard watched over the rim of his coffee mug as Charles’s arm subtly tightened around Sandra’s shoulder. Jealous of the flirting? He was no threat. She would probably flirt with the potted fern on her way out the door.
Regardless, this was more than he could stomach on just a coffee and a bagel. Gerard picked up his laptop and slid it into his bag. “I’ve got to go. The written word waits for no man.” Or something like that. Whatever could get him out of this suddenly claustrophobic environment.
“Yes, the power of the pen, indeed.” Charles raised his eyebrows pointedly at Gerard.
Sandra’s overly made-up eyes darted between the two of them. “Oh, talking in code.” She purred in the back of her throat, and Gerard’s coffee threatened to launch from his stomach. “Come on, boys. I want in.”
“Chill out.” Charles nudged her side. “It’s business.”
“As in, none of mine?” She winked again. “That’s not how that works in Story. You know you’ll tell me later.”
Gerard tried to slide out of the booth while they argued, but Sandra was blocking him. “Excuse me.”
“Right this way, darlin’.” She moved aside, but only about an inch so he’d have to brush against her. “I’ll get out of your way anytime.”
Gross. The woman could make the Gettysburg Address sound like a come-on. Gerard didn’t even try to smile as he squeezed by. Charles’s hand on his shoulder stopped him—but only because he was itching to
