Sugar Rush. Elaine Overton

      As they entered the office, Eliot noticed a large, heavy-looking book in the middle of the desk. It looked like an ancient relic with its worn cover, which was pieced and taped together in places. He saw the word recipes scribbled across the top in black marker, and suddenly realized he was looking at Mae’s recipe book.

      There it was! Right there in plain sight for anyone to see…or grab. What professional chef in this day and age still used a recipe book? Most of the bakers he knew kept their recipes in custom-made software programs with two or more passwords protecting them.

      For a baker or chef, their recipes were their lifeblood. For the very best, recipes were what separated them from the crowd. You did not leave your most precious treasure lying around in fat, album-styled books, Eliot thought.

      Mae shoved a piece of a paper at him, and Eliot realized she’d been trying to give it to him for some moments. He accepted it with thanks, deliberately turning his back on the recipe book.

      He started to leave the office, but she grabbed his sleeve to stop him. “I’m sure Sophie is going to want to talk to you.”

      Damn. Who the hell is this Sophie anyway?

      Nowhere in his research had he come across that name. Eliot stood nervously by her side as Mae dialed the number. The mysterious Sophie could ruin everything with one word. Particularly if she was the person who had actually hired the real baker. His eyes strayed back to the recipe book. This was crazy. Why was he even playing this game? Because you want her recipes—that’s why.

      “So, the bakery business must pay pretty well outside Selmer, huh?” Wayne was leaning against the doorjamb with Eliot’s suit jacket in his hand. “Here’s your jacket. What’s that? A three-four-hundred-dollar suit you’re wearing?”

      “I wanted to make a good impression,” Eliot said with a slightly lifted brow. Intuitively, he knew this man was going to be a problem.

      “Good morning, dear. How are you feeling?” Both men fell silent listening to Mae, whose first concern was for her granddaughter.

      Eliot glanced at Wayne in silent question.

      “She fell yesterday and broke her ankle,” Wayne volunteered. “Otherwise, she would be here. Seems like Sophie is always here.”

      “Oh, that’s great news.” Mae looked around Eliot to Wayne. “She said they are releasing her around noon. Can you pick her up?”

      “Of course,” Wayne said without hesitation.

      “Sophie, were you expecting a new baker to start today?” She glanced at Eliot. “Uh-huh…uh-huh…Well, why didn’t you say anything to me?”

      Now Wayne was standing straight up, his attention fully engaged. Glancing at him, Wayne’s eyes met Eliot’s for a moment, and it was clear to Eliot that Wayne was not a fan.

      Eliot’s mouth twisted in smug satisfaction. He hoped he could pull off this charade, if for no other reason than to irritate Wayne.

      “Yes, he’s right here.” She handed Eliot the phone, and he took a deep breath.

      “Hello?” he said, and waited for several seconds. “Hello?”

      “Yes, hello, I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

      But Eliot did: Alberto Montagna. “You can call me El.” He decided his nickname was close enough to Al, if it ever came up.

      “Well, welcome, El. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to greet you. Did you find your way to the store okay?”

      Her soft, sultry voice was not what he expected. “Yes, thank you.”

      “Well, I know you probably have a lot of questions, and I plan to be back in the store this afternoon, so we can talk then. But again, welcome, and I look forward to meeting you in person.”

      The idea of meeting the woman that went with the voice brought a rare burst of excitement to his senses. “I look forward to meeting you, as well.”

      Handing the phone back to Mae, he excused himself from the office. Even after speaking to her, hearing her sexy, soft voice, he still wasn’t sure who she was. She sounded young, but not too young.

      He walked back through the store and out the front door just as the delivery van loaded down with Centerfield’s completed order and the two teenagers screeched out of the parking lot.

      He leaned against his car, dialed his attorney, Steve, and put him right to work discovering the identity of the mysterious Sophie. Then he called his assistant, Kara, to let her know he would be out of the office all day and to contact him only in case of an emergency. Then his last call was to the employment agency.

      Eliot quickly introduced himself, and of course they recognized the name instantly. He then made a very large counter-offer for the talents of one Mr. Alberto Montagna, but only if the baker could start today. He made sure they understood that the offer had to be made immediately, even after they insisted they had no way to contact him. He gave them four hours to find the man. Eliot was assuming he would need no more time than that to get back into the office and grab the recipe book.

      When he turned to go back into the building, he found Wayne standing at the glass window watching him. He considered what he must look like to Wayne in his expensive suit, standing next to his expensive sports car. There was a mistrust in the depth of those brown eyes that would not be easy to dismiss. His intuition was right as usual. Wayne was going to be a problem.

      Chapter 4

      Four hours later, and still no word from the agency. Eliot was beginning to suspect that Alberto Montagna had ditched his new job. Given the man’s reputation as a self-important womanizer, Eliot had no trouble imagining what type of distraction could’ve come up.

      As he poured the ingredients into the mixer, he kind of hoped the man would show up. It had been years since he’d mixed dough, and he’d forgotten what hard work it was. He wiped sweat from his forehead, feeling ridiculous for working in his suit clothes. The only saving grace was that it was summer and he’d chosen a linen suit and lightweight silk tie. After this day of manual labor both would be ruined, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t exactly leave to change. He might come back and find his cover blown. Although, in truth he didn’t really know why he was still there.

      “Strange that a baker wouldn’t bring a set of work clothes with him on his first day on a new job,” Wayne commented behind him.

      Eliot pretended to ignore the remark and started up the mixer. Mae was up front serving the walk-in customers, of which there were surprisingly many. The glass counters were constantly being refilled.

      The teenagers had disappeared into the back somewhere after returning from their deliveries, and Eliot was starting to doubt the possible implementation of his original plan.

      There was no way he could slip into the back office, not with Wayne watching him like a hawk. Then there was the problem of Mae. In just a couple of hours, she had him completely wrapped around her little finger.

      Being in her presence had the strange but sweet sensation of being home again. Not his uncle’s mansion in Memphis, where he’d spent the majority of his growing years, but the little brick house in Nashville. The only real home he’d ever known. The one he’d shared with his parents until they were killed in an auto accident when he was ten.

      Mae felt like his mother and the women of her breed. Strong, yet gentle. Loving yet stern. All four of his grandparents had died before he was born, and he’d been cut off from his father’s family from the time he was given over to Uncle Carl. He’d had a childhood filled with the luxuries of life but none of the warmth. Mae, or Mama Mae as everyone called her, was pure sunshine, and he enjoyed basking in it.

      There was no getting around the fact that he’d come here for a reason, and that reason still existed, but Eliot was finding the idea of stealing that sweet old lady’s recipe book becoming more distasteful by