Her Client from Hell. Louisa George

with hints of gold, which she imagined would be quite attractive. In another lifetime. On a more smiley man.

      ‘If it floats your boat—you’d be surprised how many people do ask for it. Oh, but if you decide on food stations I’ll have to hire a few other people—I can’t wok and grill at the same time.’

      His eyebrows rose. ‘You do surprise me.’

      ‘I can hire in waiter service from the local catering college to save cash if you go for that option. Although family-style is pretty on-trend too.’ There she was, trying damned hard to be businesslike and professional, but those eyes....

      He dropped the menus on to the table and shook his head. ‘You’re blinding me with science. What’s family-style?’

      ‘Where the party sits at one large table and passes the food around to each other. You know, like a regular family dinner.’

      ‘Oh. Of course. A regular family.’ His gaze dipped down; he seemed to be pulling a thought or a memory from a distant place. Not a happy one. And something in her heart melted just a little. When he looked at her again his eyes were clear and bright and any vestige of emotion had fled. ‘Don’t you just have a set thing for the clueless? Wedding 101?’

      ‘No.’ She found her best smile. ‘We believe in choice at Sweet Treats.’

      An eyebrow peaked. ‘We? Please don’t tell me there are more of you?’

      ‘Sorry. I,’ she corrected herself. ‘I’m adjusting to a new regime. It’s just me. And that’s really exciting.’ If she said it enough times it might even come true.

      ‘Maybe if you took a little time to crank down a gear or two. Slow to a more manageable speed?’

      ‘Yes, well...’ That would be lovely. Luxury. At least a pace where she could breathe and take stock, plan past tomorrow. But it wouldn’t happen this side of Christmas. Or even this side of the decade. If she stopped, her business would die and she’d lose her apartment, along with her self-respect.

      Sometimes she felt as if everything was teetering on a knife-edge. She tried to hide the flush of panic but it rolled through her, like it did sometimes in the dead of night, wakening her with a thick cold weight in her chest, and especially when she stared at those rows of numbers that made little sense.

      So, whatever else happened, she had to keep him on side—or, rather, keep him on the side of twenty-nine pounds a head times fifty. ‘I’m managing just fine.’

      ‘Really? Which school of customer relations did you attend? Because you might want to ask for your money back.’ He smoothed his hand across his jaw, all the time keeping his dark eyes on hers. ‘Being late is just fine? Losing a booked table is just fine? Keeping a client waiting is just fine?’

      So he didn’t speak in brackets, he just repeated things. Over and over to make his point. She got it now.

      ‘No. Not at all.’ She cleared her throat. She was trying her hardest, dammit. ‘This afternoon I made three dozen red velvet cupcakes, decorated a fairy castle birthday cake and prepared finger food for twenty-two toddlers with every allergy imaginable. Then I drove over to Kilburn and presented them to a very happy and satisfied customer. Who then fell in the backyard and split her head wide open. What would you have liked me to do? Leave her to bleed out? Happy birthday, little Hannah, sorry about the concussion but I have to go because I have an appointment with a man who doesn’t know what he wants for a sister who doesn’t know he’s doing it?’

      Jack took a slug of wine and looked at her; something in his stance stiffened. ‘No, of course not.’

      She leaned back in her chair. ‘Apology accepted.’

      ‘I— That wasn’t an apology...’

      ‘Well, it should have been.’

      ‘This is getting nowhere.’ He stood up.

      Scraping her chair back, she stood and faced him. Or at least faced his buttoned-up, Italian cotton-shirted rock-solid chest that looked just perfect to lean against, and peered up at his taut jaw and narrowed eyes. Then remembered some of the cardinal rules of customer service that Patrick had drummed into her, back when he wasn’t embezzling. Or maybe he already was.

      Keep them happy. Jack didn’t look happy.

      Fulfil promises. She’d been late, and the room had been given away, and the wind had blown everything...

      Go above and beyond. She’d done it for Hannah. But not for Jack Brennan.

      And so that was it—not one tick in any of those boxes—and she’d bet anything Jack Brennan was the box-ticking type. He was angry because of her and she’d lost the job. Hurrah. Things just kept getting better.

      It was hard. Running her business was hard. Saving her business was harder still. She tried to smile. But none came. Nothing. She didn’t have any left.

      In that moment the stress of the day—her life—boiled up inside her, too raw and fresh to hold back. ‘Of course I was concerned about keeping you waiting. My business is my first priority and my clients are everything to me. But really? You have no idea how hard I’m trying and it feels like some days I’m going backwards. The cooking’s fine and a real hit, but I couldn’t help the head injury. And I squeezed you in when I probably should have made an appointment for a different day, but I didn’t want to lose this chance.’

      He opened his mouth to speak but she got in first, hearing her voice rising, louder and more high-pitched, but with no way to stop it. ‘I have to do everything now—the ordering, the admin, the delivering. I don’t have time to do the little stuff. But then suddenly I find out that the little stuff is actually quite important. Things like VAT and tax...’

      ‘Very important, actually. Keeps the world going round. Now, if you’ll excuse me?’ He turned away, his back rigid as he took a step across the gravel.

      ‘No. Stop. Wait. You probably have no idea how hard it is to prove yourself to people. To have a dream that you want to take a chance on...and you have it there, almost in your grasp. Then someone comes along and snatches it all away. Have you ever had someone steal your dreams, Jack?’

      That seemed to have an effect. He stopped abruptly and turned round, taking his time to face her. He studied her for a moment, which made her hot and cold at the same time. Suddenly she felt totally exposed in front of someone who kept his emotions clearly locked away because there was no way she could tell what he was thinking.

      Finally, he spoke. ‘Okay. I’m listening.’

      ‘I just need a chance.’

      ‘And I just need food.’

      Not your life story. I know. ‘I can do food. I can do damn good food.’ She stopped talking then as she realised her voice was actually shaking, and he didn’t need to know all of this. He just wanted someone to do a job for him. And for all she knew he was in cahoots with Nate and Sasha and would go running back and tell them about yet another failed venture from the girl who couldn’t stick at anything.

      Something pricked at the back of her eyes. She squeezed them closed. Oh, for goodness’ sake, no tears.

      When she opened them again he was still staring at her. Just staring, with a niggly frown dancing across his forehead.

      After that outburst he was bound to go, but it felt strangely good to get it off her chest. Even to a grumpy stranger who clearly thought she was mad.

      His head cocked to one side as he sat down again and indicated for her to do the same. ‘You can’t hire someone? A bookkeeper? An admin assistant?’

      Besides the fact she had no desire to hand over her precious business management to someone else again, she had no cash for even part-time wages. ‘Not unless I can pay them in doughnuts.’

      ‘I hear they’re considered legal tender in some parts of the world. Or at least they should be.’