Sugar and Spice: A Karma Café Novella (2 page)

Clearly, fatigue was taking its toll on his good sense.

He hadn’t complained over having his vacation cut short by two weeks.  But coming back only to find himself evicted from his house due to a termite infestation, dealing with the insane but unavoidable demands of this recent merger with the Bittle Group, and having to hide his return in order to strategically curtail a sneaky board takeover were bad enough.  But forbidden fantasies and ugly furniture?

A man could only take so much.

His head fell back on the hideous—yet surprisingly comfortable—couch cushion.  Eyes closed, he sighed, giving in to the dragging weight of jetlag for just a second.

Thank God for Dedra

She was his sanity.  His lifeline.  And as long as she kept those little glasses on to blur the vivid green of her eyes, her hair in a tidy bun so he wasn’t tempted to touch the silky blonde strands, she was the perfect assistant.

She’d become so much more than the secretary he’d originally hired her to be.  She was savvy enough to trust with minor negotiations, clever enough to keep him two steps ahead of manufacturing issues.  She ran his office and social calendars with a deft hand, kept him up-to-date on everything from current events to industry changes to pop-culture trends.  Anything and everything he needed both to run his company and keep him sane.

So efficient he’d swear she read his mind.

Except that she’d probably run, screaming in shock, if she knew where his thoughts tended to go when he was around her.

He’d imagined her naked on his desk.  Naked in his car.  Naked on his plane.  Naked in the board room, the bedroom, the café bathroom, even.

Hell, if it had a flat surface, he’d imagined her naked there.  Which was crazy.  Dedra wasn’t his type.  She wore bland colors, barely any makeup and usually smelled like talcum powder instead of exotic flowers.  She never dressed to impress, but more to fade into the background.  He wasn’t even sure what her curves looked like, since all her dresses were on the baggy side.  If it wasn’t for her penchant for sexy shoes, he’d figure she had no fashion sense at all.

She’d been the one to alert him to the board’s plans to take over controlling interest of Chastain.  A bunch of crotchety old contemporaries of his grandparents—the founders of Chastain—they’d evidently decided that Paul and Peter needed a little moral guidance.  Ridiculous really, considering they were both over thirty.  But the board had deemed it time that at least one of the brothers settled down and show they were mature enough to continue leading.

As much as he’d like to say he had been surprised, Paul had only shook his head in resignation.  He could fight the mandate.  He and Peter only held forty-nine percent interest, but still, this mandate was archaic.  The law was probably on his side.  But doing so now would derail business, shift focus from their new line’s launch and the bad publicity could put Chastain’s stock in jeopardy.

Throw in this Bittle merger...

Just thinking about it made Paul groan and sink his face into his hands.  Married?  It wasn’t like he’d been holding out for that love fairy tale or anything.  Hell, he’d never thought about marriage.  But if he had, he’d never have imagined it as a business merger to a hungry shark in high heels.

But personal feelings didn’t matter.  Chastains was his priority.  And despite his playboy rep—and unlike his brother, who hit on anything female regardless of the consequences—Paul knew he had to keep his attraction for Dedra buried.

Sex was easy.  But a great assistant?

Too damned hard to replace.

Especially one he needed as much as he needed her.

Chapter Two

A
nja Karmanski let go of the tray of chocolate meringue kisses so they hit the cooling rack with a satisfyingly loud clang.  

“What do you mean you rented the room upstairs?  I live in the room upstairs.”  She glared at her mother, wishing for the hundredth time that week that she worked anywhere else, with anyone else.  Maybe at the zoo, cleaning up after elephants?

But the Karmanski women worked together.  In life, and in this quirky kitchen that was part modern convenience with its stainless appliances, part country kitchen with the antiques ranging from stoneware bowls to a butter churn in the corner.  And part witch’s cottage with the herbs hanging from the ceiling, the cauldron-like pots and the small altar in the corner.  It was hard to ignore—or get away from—hundreds of years of family tradition of cooking up mouthwatering treats, and the occasional seductively secret recipe, and working together on a daily basis.

Then again, hundreds of years of family tradition had also landed them with a business so broke Anja wasn’t sure if they’d manage to survive the year.  So who knew, elephant cleanup might be just around the corner.

“I rented the room across from yours.  I’m not asking the man to cozy up in
your
apartment.  Not that I think that’s a bad idea.  When was the last time a man was in your room?  Months?  A year?”  Her tone ringing with baffled frustration, Natalia gave her daughter a narrow-eyed once over as if worried her womanly parts might be about to hit the floor.  “The Karmanski women have always produced a daughter before their twenty-fifth birthday, Anja.  You’re almost twenty-four.  Our special heritage is at stake, and you aren’t even dating.”

Oh, the pressure.

Not.

Anja rolled her eyes before pulling out a bag of chiboust cream out of the huge refrigerator to start filling éclairs.  She worked here, didn’t she?  She was doing her part, thankyouverymuch.

“What does my love life have to do with you renting the apartment to someone who’s practically a stranger?” she asked, carefully filling the delicately hollowed-out pastries.

Natalia gave an innocent flutter of her dark lashes and shrugged.  Anja squeezed the bag so hard, hazelnut cream splattered over her knuckles.

“You see what she’s doing, don’t you?” she implored her grandmother, who was rolling out dough on the scarred butcher block counter.  A tiny fairy of a woman with a shock of white hair that hit her knees when loose, Odette Karmanski didn’t even look up, so she missed her granddaughter’s artful toss of her arms in the air and furious expression.

Anja didn’t mind.  It wasn’t like this was the first, or would be the last, tantrum thrown in the Karma Café kitchen.  Her dramatic gestures weren’t wasted.  They were just practice.

“Do you see me standing here, alive and breathing?” Odette asked as she switched from rolling to cutting perfect circles in the dough with a paring knife.  “Of course I see what she’s doing.  I’m old, Anja.  Not stupid.”

“Can’t you do something?”

“Didn’t you hear me?  I just said I wasn’t stupid.”

Anja growled.

“And Paul Chastain isn’t a stranger, darling,” Natalia pointed out.  “He’s a regular customer, he’s had us cater many of his events and he’s an amazing catch.  Rich, handsome and so well-connected.”

“His assistant had us cater those events,” Anja corrected, since it was always Dedra Martin who’d made the arrangements.  “And Paul Chastain is trouble.  A playboy with more money than discretion.”

“No, that’s Peter Chastain.  Paul outgrew that craziness years ago, when his father died and he had to take over the shoe company.”

“Paul Chastain was just as wild as his brother.  He’s just gotten better at the discretion thing,” Anja muttered.  Not that she didn’t like Paul.  The man was pure eye candy, and charming to boot.  Sexy, friendly and the CEO of a multi-national company that created the most deliciously gorgeous women’s shoes, what was there not to like?  But that didn’t mean she wanted to play princess to his prince in her mother’s little fairytale.  Especially not with a guy who didn’t flip her switches.

“I hear he’s getting married,” Odette chimed in from her corner, a wicked glint in her dark eyes.  “The board of trustees decided it was time to bring the company’s reputation up a few notches, starting with the CEO and, what’s Peter?  COO?  What a silly acronym.  Makes him sound like a little bird.”

Anja’s smile was a little bigger than her grandma’s joke deserved, mostly from relief.  Maybe she had overreacted.  Maybe her mother wasn’t playing matchmaker.

“Who’s he marrying?”

“Now that’s yet to be determined.”  Arranging chocolate dipped strawberries on top of each mini cheesecake, Odette gave a shrug.  “From what Peter said over lattes and cake yesterday, Paul has to agree to marry a suitable woman next week or lose control of the company.  But he gets to choose his own bride.  Isn’t that nice?”

“Nice.”  Her voice low, her eyes narrowed to slits, Anja glared at her mother.

“Quit looking so grumpy, Anja.”  Natalia gave a shake of her head as she stirred the huge vat of potato cabbage soup that’d be served for lunch.  She looked a bit like the witch she was reputed to be, standing over a cauldron with her hair, still pitch black, curling out from around the kerchief she wore when cooking.  “Mr. Chastain needed a place to stay.  We had one available.  And we can use the rent money.  It’s not like you live in the second apartment.  It won’t hurt you to share the upper floor for a week.”

No, she didn’t live in it.  She did do tarot readings there, though.  Three of which she had scheduled this week.  Just because her client list wasn’t as extensive as her mother’s list of astrology devotees’ didn’t mean they didn’t deserve their own space.

“You can pretend to be a master matchmaker all you want, but I’m not playing along,” Anja stated flatly, pulling two heavy trays out and setting them in the cooling rack before pulling two more.  Two years ago, maybe three, they would bake at least ten trays of peasant bread to get through one lunch shift.  Chances were today they’d be using leftovers to make croutons.

“Did I send you upstairs with a basket of muffins to welcome him to the apartment?” Natalia asked indignantly.  “Have I hinted that you should fix your hair, or wear a something with color instead of drab black, or put on lipstick?  Once, just once, did I say something about the sad, empty state of your love life?”

Anja eyed the basket, lined with a vivid red cloth, sitting next to the trays of cooling muffins.  And thought back to the comment about her fading youth made, oh, less than five minutes before.  “Not exactly.”

“Then how can you accuse me of playing matchmaker?”  Natalia’s voice rang with a combination of triumph and feigned hurt.  “Just because Paul Chastain is wealthy enough to answer all our financial prayers doesn’t mean I’d try and set you up with him.  Of course, he’s a good looking man with all that thick hair and those piercing eyes.  Talk, dark and handsome, indeed.”

“Don’t forget he has a nice butt.”

“Mother!” Natalia exclaimed.

Anja and Odette exchanged matching grins.  How Natalia had ended up on the wrong side of the prude line was baffling.

“Just think about it, Anja.  Paul Chastain is a great catch.  He’s also enough of a rebel to marry a nice, average girl instead of holding out for one of those fancy socialites the board expects him to commit to.”

“Well it’s too bad I’m not nice or average then, isn’t it.”

Natalia huffed, but couldn’t deny it.  Anja was too independent to be called nice and average wasn’t a word ever associated with one of the Karmanski women.  Weird, wild, spooky.  Those might fit, though.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to be friendly anyway,” her mother decided.  “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

Ahh, the beginning of the end of all reasonable conversation.  Assuming, of course, that a conversation with her mother involving marriage had a hope of being reasonable in the first place.

“I’m taking a break.  Gramma, you try to talk to her.  Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

“Ahh, yes.  Because a girl should always listen to her momma.  Mother knows best, after all,” Odette chimed in a sing-song voice as she sprinkled her tarts with cinnamon sugar and a little extra spice.

“I’m not listening,” Anja sang back as she pushed through the double doors that separated the kitchen from the café.

A quick glance at the sparse crowd sent her shoulders drooping.  At ten in the morning, they should have more than three customers.  Since the chain bakery had opened up the street, along with three new restaurants within blocks, their business had taken a major hit.

Good food just wasn’t enough anymore.

Before she could slide into a pout, Anja spotted one of her favorite regulars at the corner table.

“Dedra,” she greeted, giving the petite blonde a friendly smile.  “This is a surprise.  I thought you’d be busy packing this week.”

Although Dedra Hanson was Anja’s complete opposite, she was going to miss her.  Quiet, sweet and polite, Dedra had been a Karma Café customer for over a year before she’d unbent enough to chit-chat.  It’d taken Anja another year to loosen her up enough for the good gossip.  

Didn’t it just figure, now that they were on the verge of after-work drinks and hitting the clubs, Dedra was moving away.

“I had to bring by some paperwork for my boss,” Dedra said quietly, her fork poking at the chocolate cake like she was worried it might contain a live snake or something.  “I don’t know if you heard, he’s staying upstairs for a few days.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Anja grumbled, casting another glare toward the kitchen, then tossing her midnight curls over one shoulder and slid gracefully into the spindle-backed chair opposite Dedra.  “But I thought you were all finished at Chastain.  Wasn’t your final day last week?”

Dedra grimaced, sliding a guilty look at the ceiling.

Anja’s jaw dropped.  “You haven’t told him you quit?  What were you going to do?  Just leave him a note?  Simply not be here when he returned?  Resign by text?”

“I told Peter.”  Dedra hunched her shoulders.  “And he agreed to keep it under his hat until Paul was back from his vacation.”

“Sneaky.”  Anja liked sneaky.  She also liked knowing the whys, wherefores and how abouts of things.  All things.  Some called it nosy, others termed it gossip.  She deemed it curiosity.

“The problem is, Paul’s back early and I haven’t left yet.”