Slice of Pi 2 (3 page)

He glanced behind him at the closed door to the kitchen, then back at Iris. “I guess I can take a short break.” He grabbed his own cup of coffee and joined her at the table.

---

Owen couldn't just leave her sitting there alone while he disappeared into the kitchen and finished baking. It wasn't like she was going to break into the safe and steal the cash float—at least he didn't think so—but she was hot and flirtatious, and he was eight minutes ahead of schedule. This behavior right now, as she leaned forward on the small table and looked up at him through her lashes, was pretty direct. His sleep and work schedule didn't allow much time for dating, but it didn't take a Casanova to recognize the moves she was making.

And he didn't mind them one bit.

He watched as she picked up the fresh almond croissant and took a bite, the pastry flaking off and fluttering down to the plate, a few bits sticking to her lips as she chewed and swallowed. Her eyelids fluttered closed when the bite touched her tongue, and she made a soft noise in her throat that sounded out of place under these fluorescent lights, a sound more suited to the bedroom. She had to be doing that on purpose. She ran her tongue across her lips, gathering the flakes she'd missed, and opened her eyes. When she saw him looking at her, she smiled. All right, so she was
definitely
doing this on purpose. She took a sip of coffee and then looked to the side, staring out the glass windows at the quiet street, now bathed in the orange light of daybreak.

“So, you said you own this place?” She looked back to his face, making eye contact again. Her eyes were lovely, intense blue, framed by those adorable cat-eye glasses. Owen was caught off guard by how attractive she was. Now that he took a closer look, Owen realized he had in fact noticed her at the bakery before, of course, but she'd always been in a tailored business suit, her hair up in some kind of twist or otherwise perfectly shaped, her makeup impeccable, a tight look on her face as she glanced at him over her glasses. There was something about her this morning that looked . . . disheveled. Unbuttoned. And it was sexy as hell.

Damn, if he kept on that train of thought, he was going to have a difficult time sitting at this table. He drank some of his coffee too fast, burning his tongue. Shit. Now he'd be down a few hundred taste buds or so, never a good situation for a baker.

Her gaze was still on him. Oh, right. She'd asked him a question and he hadn't answered. “Now I do. My uncle was the original owner, and I bought it from him about five years ago when he retired. I'd been working for him since high school, so I don't think he felt he had a choice in the matter.” He grinned. “He swings by every few months to make sure I'm being as much of a hard-ass as he was.”

“And are you? A hard-ass, I mean.” She raised her eyebrows at him, and he had to grin at the flirty implication.

Owen gave a modest shrug. “I like to think I'm fair.”

“So, you bought your uncle's bakery. Nepotism at work. I like it.” She smiled and took another bite of her croissant. “This is fucking phenomenal. I mean it. Best one I've ever had.”

“Well, they're always best when they've just come out of the oven.” He took another sip of coffee, slower this time. “So how was the wedding, you know, apart from the incredible cake and all?”

“Great, actually. A lot of fun.” She brought the bone-white china mug to her lips and sipped her coffee, her lip curling over the edge with delicate precision, and Owen couldn't look away. When she put the mug back down, she licked her lips once. “Will, the guy who got married, is my boss. He owns PI Games. He gave us all this week off to celebrate.” Her expression turned sour. “I was supposed to go to Clearwater Beach with a friend, but her kid got sick and she had to back out at the last minute.”

“I'm sorry. She must be disappointed, too.” Owen knew what it was like to have to cancel plans, and it sucked.

Iris nodded. “I feel a little selfish being bummed out about it, but I've been looking forward to the trip for weeks.”

“Hey, it's normal to feel disappointed. You made plans and they fell through.”

Iris gave a half shrug. “Yeah, I know. I'm not saying she should leave her sick kid. I'm not an asshole.” She traced her fingertip around the lip of her mug before continuing. “I just wish I had something exciting in my life right now so I wasn't pinning all my hopes on a silly beach trip.”

“Your job is exciting, though. Game design? That's a very cool field.” Far more interesting than baking, at least.

Iris raised an eyebrow. “I'm the human resources manager.”

Owen winced. Shit, yeah, that was hard to sell as exciting. “Yeah, I've got nothing.”

Her lips curled. “What about you? Is the baker's life all glamour and fame?”

Looking around at the shop, Owen laughed. Glamour and fame, right. “More like going to bed at eight and smelling like butter all the time.”

Iris's smile was indulgent. “Oh come on. Delicious sweets that make people happy? That isn't so bad.”

“I'm sure your job isn't so bad, either.” Owen finished his coffee and checked the clock. He didn't want to go, but another few minutes and he'd need to start the next round of pastries. “And you have a whole week off now to just relax and do whatever the hell you want.”

“That is true.” Iris raised her coffee to her lips for another long sip, then returned to her croissant. He liked watching her enjoy something he baked. He seldom stopped to visit with the customers and see their appreciation for his work. Whenever he was up front, he was restocking. He should try to spend more time out of the kitchen.

Iris stared out the window for a moment, thinking, before straightening up in her chair. “Hey, I was wondering . . . Would you want to get together sometime?”

Owen could feel the surprise on his face. “What, like on a date?”

Iris shrugged. “Whatever. I'm still headed to Clearwater without my friend, and the beach is more fun with company. Thought you might like to come with.”

Owen considered his schedule. Yeah, he should really get out more often, but he didn't want to give this woman the wrong idea. He was already in a relationship with his small business, and it took pretty much everything he had to give. “I don't have much time to date.” That was the truth, but it was only part of the truth.

She considered him, head tipped to the side, sizing him up. He let her examine him, amused. Good luck, Iris Parker. He didn't give up his secrets that easily.

“And what if I'm not interested in dating? What if I just want a little fun at the beach?” Those blue eyes stayed locked on him as she finished her croissant, chewing and swallowing the last flaky bite. “Still not interested?”

Well, that changed the situation slightly. He hadn't dated in quite some time, and he hadn't had a one-night-stand since college. Flings weren't really his style. But Iris intrigued him, enough so that he wanted to see her again. He leaned back in his chair. “I'm technically off on Monday and Thursday. I could come down for the day.”

“Technically?” Iris raised an eyebrow.

Owen gave her a sheepish smile. “I usually come in to work anyway.”

“Ah, one of those types.” Iris smiled. She pushed up from the table and took one of the business cards out of the dish on the counter. With her back to him, she bent to scrawl something on the back, giving him a (probably deliberate) long look at her ass in that polka-dotted dress. Turning around, she leaned back against the counter and held up the business card between two fingers. “Maybe you should call me on Wednesday. You can take a real day off Thursday instead of a technical one.”

Owen got to his feet as well and plucked the business card from her hand, reading the number scrawled there on the back. This close to her, he could smell her faint perfume, or maybe it was just the scent of her hair. Whatever it was, it was pleasant.

One corner of Iris's mouth turned up in a saucy smile. “Bye, Owen. Thanks for breakfast.”

“Bye.” He watched her go, the tiredness gone from her walk, which was more of a saunter even in her red high heels. His gaze followed the curves of her figure until she was out of sight.

With Iris still on his mind, Owen retreated into the kitchen and started prepping the scones, his body working on autopilot as he began measuring ingredients into the giant Hobart mixer. He'd never been propositioned so directly before. He wasn't being entirely truthful when he told Iris he didn't date. In actuality, he used to date quite frequently. But it hadn't taken him long to learn that not many women wanted to dominate a man in bed. Sure, a little roughhousing now and then, some joking commands, but when it came down to serious play, none of his previous partners wanted in. He ran through a list of past girlfriends as the mixer crumbled the butter in with the flour mixture, remembering the way they'd each taken the request, how each relationship had fizzled thereafter. And it wasn't like very many BDSM clubs or groups suited a guy who went to bed before dark.

Outside of the bedroom, he was confident and in command, and he tended to attract women who wanted a powerful figure in the bedroom. They didn't understand that for all his power, he craved submission. He wanted to be challenged and forced to yield. He hadn't yet met a woman who was interested.

Iris, though. She was exactly his type, with her retro-sexy look and flirtatious expression. It was unlikely she'd go for his kink, but at least he was looking at a little strings-free sex. Vanilla sex was better than no sex at all, right? Well, not long term. Long term, he would rather not get mixed up with someone who found his proclivities distasteful. But for a one-night stand, maybe he could suspend his more unusual tastes and get laid by a beautiful woman who clearly wanted him.

And she did clearly want him.

Once the scones were in the oven, he moved on to the pastries that wouldn't start selling until lunchtime. As he mixed and measured, though, his mind kept returning to Iris and her tantalizing promise of fun at the beach.

That daydream disappeared when his opening cashier showed up a full five minutes late. He could feel the frown etching his face when Sarah came in, breathless and a little sweaty, but the cinnamon buns had to be glazed and he didn't have time to stand at the door and glare. He didn't even have to say anything because she was apologizing before she hung up her purse.

“I'm so sorry, Owen. I know I'm late. I know punctuality is your number-one commandment, but my car had a flat and I didn't have time to change it so I got on the bike and rode down here as fast as I could.” When he looked up from the buns, she was running a clean towel under the faucet, which she then used to wipe her face and the back of her neck, her skin red with exertion. Well, she'd definitely taken his warnings about being on time seriously.

“You rode your bike all the way down here?” he asked incredulously.

Sarah nodded, chugging a glass of water. When she finished, she wiped her mouth and tossed the towel into the hamper. Then she unpinned her bun, shook out her long brown hair, and pulled it up into a twist, adding, “It's only a few miles. I should probably bike it more often.” She put the glass into the dishwashing bucket and started washing her hands for her shift. “I understand if this means I'm going to get written up. You were very clear when you hired me that tardiness would be unacceptable.”

“How long have you been working here, Sarah?” Not waiting for her to answer, Owen passed through the swinging door and into the front of the store, carrying the tray of cinnamon buns. He heard her follow him.

“Six months now.” She started setting up the register for the day, moving with the efficient competence he'd come to expect from her. Despite still being in college, she was mature and dependable, a reliable cash handler and a pleasant face for the customers. He'd never seen her get rattled by any angry customers, and she'd never screwed up an order.

“And how many times have you been late?”

“Including today? Once.” Sarah glanced at him, then returned to counting the cash drawer, her lips moving as she counted silently.

“I'm not going to write you up for car failure, Sarah. You biked down here. I'm not a complete ass.” He was surprised this was even a concern. Yes, he worked his employees hard, but he wasn't a total dick. He'd learned how tough was too tough from his uncle, who saw no gray areas in business, only black and white, as clear as the tiles checkering the bakery floor. His uncle would have written Sarah up for those five minutes. Of course, his uncle had always seen the bakery as a business venture, not a labor of love. He didn't appreciate the texture of bread dough beneath his palms or the satisfaction of perfectly smooth fondant. Owen wanted the business to run like clockwork, but only because that's how a business like his survived.

“Thanks, Owen.” Sarah grabbed her apron from the peg on the wall, tied it into place, and straightened her name badge. Owen glanced at the clock. They would open right on time.

3 

When Iris's phone went
off at one that afternoon, it startled her out of a dead sleep into immediate fight-or-flight mode. Heart pounding, she realized after a couple of disoriented moments that no, they weren't being invaded, and yes, she'd forgotten to put her phone on mute before collapsing on bed. She flopped back down on her pillow and pulled the phone off the nightstand. “Hello?”

“Don't tell me I woke you up. It's one in the afternoon.” Jen's voice was familiar and a little bit patronizing, and even though it was one, it was still way too early for this crap. Iris rubbed her hand over her eyes and then blinked away the burning sensation. She apparently had conked out with all her makeup still on. What a mess.

“I was up all night at the wedding.” Iris rolled over and snuggled back into the covers. “I can see your judgy face even through the phone. Stop it.”

“I'm not being judgy.” But Jen's tone suggested otherwise. Ever since having a child, she'd gotten a wee bit sanctimonious. Iris thought it was way more hilarious than irritating, especially since Jen had been the wildest of wild in college and had no grounds for sanctimony. Iris gave her good-natured shit about it all the time. “Listen,” Jen continued, “I'm calling to apologize about this week. You know how much I was looking forward to this trip, too.”

“I know, I know.” Iris rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. The light streaming in through the blinds was enough to keep her up now. Damn it. She'd hoped to sleep all day.

“It's not as good as girls' weekend, but I was hoping I could take you out for food today as an apology.”

Iris's stomach gave a loud rumble as if on cue. She heard Jen snicker on the other end of the phone. “Tell me you heard that.”

“I heard that,” Jen replied. “So is that a yes?”

“Sure, sure. But give me a few more hours to get up, will you?”

Jen snorted. “I'll be there in twenty minutes, Sleeping Beauty.” She hung up.

Groaning and complaining to her empty bedroom about her asshole friends, Iris rolled off her bed. She'd at least stripped out of her clothes before collapsing, her dress now a pile on the floor that only dry cleaning would save. Leaving it as is, she pulled some yoga pants and a tank top out of the drawer. After a moment, she thought better of it and put them back. Jen would give her hell if she went out looking like a hungover college kid—even though she wasn't actually hungover. She grabbed some jeans and a nicer top and took them into the bathroom for her shower.

True to her word, Jen showed up twenty minutes later, buzzing the apartment until Iris pressed the button to open the downstairs door. By then, Iris had showered and made herself presentable.

“Hey! You don't look like shit.” Jen wrapped Iris in a hug. While still pressed against her friend, she asked, “You've had chicken pox, right?”

Iris pushed her away. “What the hell? Don't tell me you're sick, too.”

Jen laughed. “I'm just teasing you.”

Iris grimaced. “You know my parents were anti-vaxxers and I didn't get all my shots until college.”

“Right, I forgot.” Jen stepped back to scrutinize her face. “You look pretty good for being up all night.”

“You look pretty good for having a sick kid.” Iris looked Jen up and down. Sure, she could spot a few “settled mom” qualities about Jen, like her sensible sneakers and her giant diaper-bag-sized purse, but otherwise, she looked just like she had in college, except a few years older. She still had perfect long blond hair that never frizzed even in Florida humidity, which she clearly took care to style rather than throwing it up in a ponytail as Iris usually did, and her makeup always looked beautiful. Iris had braced herself for when Jen stopped being interested in going out altogether, trading in dinners out and late-night dances for “wine and paint” nights and candle-making parties. It was only a matter of time. She herself was aware of her own decline into the boring thirties, a decline that she'd probably accelerated by going into HR. She liked the field, which made it worse. What kind of person enjoyed a job that was 90 percent paperwork? Sometimes she thought she was doomed to live the rest of her life as the poster child for minutiae. She wanted excitement but had chosen a career that promised anything but, and she didn't get nearly enough of that excitement elsewhere. Occasionally, the dull future ahead of her was so stifling she felt like she couldn't breathe. Maybe that's what she deserved for giving up on her dreams.

Jen nodded toward the door. “Let's get you some food, yeah? Can you handle something fried?”

Iris grabbed her purse. “Hell yes. Let's go.”

Half an hour later, they were both waiting for their order at the Green Iguana, which Jen had always insisted had the best chicken wings in all of Tampa. Iris wasn't sure herself, but it was easier to go along with the decision than argue with Jen. She liked the Green Iguana, and since they'd been going there together since college, it felt like tradition.

“I'm sorry I'm leaving you to spend your vacation alone at Clearwater Beach.” Jen stirred her straw around in her water, looking sincere in her regret. “I'd much rather be lying on a beach with you than sponging calamine onto Aidan. But, you know, kids have needs. I can't be responsible for just myself anymore.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.

Iris leaned back in the booth. “I'm not sure why you make that sound like such a bad thing, being responsible for only yourself.”

“I didn't mean that.” Jen cocked her head to the side. Her eyes were bright and earnest. “I think it's great that you're still so independent.”

“Yeah, well, so do I.” Iris tried not to snap at her best friend. Jen was only trying to help, not be an asshole. It was easier to defend her single lifestyle than admit her recent conflicted feelings, the little voice that told her she would be happier if she'd just find a guy and settle down. That's what her dad had always said, but he'd been an old-fashioned misogynist and Iris had no intention of following his plans for her, plans that involved settling down as a housewife and becoming fully reliant on her husband to meet all her emotional and social needs. She'd pushed back against that control ever since leaving home. If her dad wanted her to get married and pop out babies, then she was going to stay single. She'd given relationships a try, and just thinking about those disasters made her cringe. Giving up had been the best decision. Now, after so many years, avoiding relationships had become more of a habit than a conscious decision. It was probably too late, no matter what Will might tell her.

She came out of her momentary reverie to see Jen staring at her, still earnest in her expression. “Are you all right?”

Iris nodded. “Just daydreaming. I, uh, probably won't be alone up at Clearwater Beach, at least not the whole time, so don't worry about bailing on me.”

Jen perked up, but her questions were headed off by the arrival of their monstrous order of chicken wings. Once the waitress left, though, Jen moved in for the interrogation. “Who are you bringing? Do you have a date?”

“It's nothing serious.” Iris didn't want to give Jen the idea that Owen was anything other than a fling. “Probably just sex.” In the light of day, it was a little weird and out-of-character for her to invite this guy to her getaway beach trip when she didn't even know him, but she'd been lacking in the spontaneity department and couldn't bring herself to regret it.

Jen shook her head, her expression fading to grudging admiration. “You sure haven't slowed down since Mike. No boyfriends, just flings?”

Iris grimaced at the memory of her last serious relationship, almost seven years ago now, the one that had inspired that motto “no boyfriends, just flings.” She'd used that phrase many times since. “You know me,” she said with a chuckle that sounded weak even to herself. She liked the sex, the pleasure without romantic attachments. Sex was something she could do well. Relationships, though, were a different story. It was easier to stick to temporary flings than face the fact that she knew nothing about maintaining an actual relationship.

Jen made some obscene noises as she started eating the wings. “Fuck yeah, Green Iguana. These are the best wings in Tampa. I don't care what anybody says.” She swallowed and licked a bit of sauce off her lips. Iris smiled. Maybe Jen wasn't going to lose her identity to motherhood. She'd held out this long, after all. Iris really wouldn't know what to do without her. Back in college, Jen had been the first person to bring her out of her shell and persuade her to rush a sorority. They'd been fast friends ever since, the person to whom Iris turned when she was questioning her own identity and her relationship with her parents; the shoulder to cry on after the big falling-out with her father; the woman who'd helped her pick up the pieces and get on with her life after every disappointment and every failed relationship—and boy, there were many. In return, Iris had been there for Jen: maid of honor at her wedding; one of the first people in the room after Aidan was born; the sounding board for all her fears and hopes. Jen was like the sister she'd never had.

Jen fixed her with a pointed stare. “You'll keep me up to date about the fling, right? All the gory details? I live vicariously through your sexcapades.”

Iris indulged her. “Sure, whatever you say,” and reached out for a wing. She was reluctant to get her hopes up about Owen, but maybe this would be just the kick-start she'd need to get out of this recent slump.

---

With an hour left to his shift on Wednesday, Owen was in full working mode. He was actually going to take a day off the next day, rather than show up halfway through the morning and check on the business. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken an entire day off. Knowing he wasn't coming in the next day made him extra conscientious that the shop was left perfect.

“Anything I can help with, boss?” His assistant baker, Juan, walked over to where Owen was inventorying the dry goods.

“Everything's been washed?” Owen glanced up at the industrial dishwasher, which was quiet, and the drying racks for the items that couldn't go in the dishwasher. The racks were empty.

“Washed, dried, put away.” Juan jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the fridge. “I was going to start prep for tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” Everything appeared to be as expected, no unusual orders messing up the supply levels. Owen put his list aside for when he returned on Friday. “I'm not coming in tomorrow, so I want to make sure everything is good to go.”

“Díos mío!”
Juan clutched his heart. “The world has stopped!”

“Stop it,” Owen said, but it was without any heat. He enjoyed that despite his strictness, his employees found him approachable enough to tease now and then. “Go finish prep.”

Smiling, Juan disappeared into the fridge to prepare some of the fillings they would use the next day, as well as the doughs that would need to rest overnight. He didn't like giving up control of the more significant aspects of the business, even though Juan had been with him for two years and had been consistently trustworthy. Recently, since Juan had proposed to his boyfriend and was planning a wedding, he'd been angling for more hours. Owen wanted to help the guy out, but he felt reluctant to let someone else make any major decisions or take leadership on projects. As owner, he wanted to be present to ensure everything was being completed to his high standards. Just the thought of being out the next day made him feel tense. Maybe he should cancel with Iris. He wasn't even sure what he was doing, going out to Clearwater Beach for . . . for what? Some kind of booty call? Was that what he was doing? Okay, it was ostensibly a “date,” but he had a sense he knew what kind of date it was.

A vision of Iris with that mussed hair and bright smile flashed in his mind, contrasting sharply with the buttoned-up version of the woman he'd noticed in the bakery over the past little while. He wondered which version would come out to play in Clearwater.

Owen cleared his throat and adjusted the pants that had suddenly become uncomfortably tight. That decided it. He told himself he was going to take the day off, and he was going to go through with it. He might even be able to enjoy it.

A half hour after closing, exactly on schedule, he turned the keys in the front door of the building to lock it. It was three o'clock. He would drive home, shower, confirm plans with Iris, make himself dinner, do a load of laundry, and watch a little television before bed. There was comfort in routine.

When he settled down on the couch an hour later in his pajama pants, hair damp from the shower, he felt a general tension easing from his body. He loved his job, but he hadn't counted on the way the stress built up and never seemed to go away altogether. Maybe this day off was more needed than he'd thought. Kicking his feet onto the coffee table, he held up the business card with Iris's phone number on it. He pinched the card between his thumb and middle finger, his index finger flicking idly over the corner. She had straightforward handwriting. No loopy curls, but far more elegant than his chicken scratch. He dialed the number on his cell and tossed the card aside.