There was a knock, and Daisy whipped her head around to stare at the door in horror.
“The man himself beckons.” Lizzie twiddled her fingers in the direction of the door like an amateur magician.
“Tell him to go away. Tell him I’m Maisy, Daisy’s deranged twin sister, and that the real Daisy will be back from vacation next week.”
“See?” Lizzie said, pointing at her. “This is what I’m talking about. You say these things sometimes. Then I think you’re telling me to come in when really you’re doing some weird underwear dance. What were you doing, by the way?”
“Oh, God.”
Lizzie reached across the desk and patted Daisy’s arm. “You know what? So you traipse around in your office naked-ish. Who cares? You’re the boss. Just get out there and pretend like nothing happened. Do it with a smile.” She demonstrated an example of a big, fake smile. Not helpful.
It was easy for Lizzie to tell her to face the man with a smile when she wasn’t the one who had just been discovered pacing her office in her unmentionables. Daisy plucked her blouse from her chest for a quick peek to remind herself exactly which unmentionables she was wearing. Well, at least it was her new Victoria’s Secret satin set. So, her undies were nice; that was hardly a consolation.
“Ms. Sinclair?”
She looked up at the man standing in the doorway to her office. Yes, he was Colin Forsythe all right. His wavy brown hair might have been a bit longer than in the picture beside his column, but he had the same square jaw, the same nose—though in person it was a little crooked—and the same full lips. While he was recognizable, his byline picture did not do him justice. In that picture he came off as stern, albeit in a well-coiffed, intellectual sort of way. Actually, his picture made him look snooty. In person? Wow. He looked anything but. His eyes sparkled with irreverence, his lips turned up at one side as if he was trying to keep a sinful smile in check, and he was just...bigger. More like a professional athlete than a distinguished foodie.
His eyebrows rose under her appraisal. “Do I pass?”
Daisy cringed. Good-looking. Big ego. No surprise. Obviously, he was going to make this impossible for her. But he was Colin Forsythe, and she’d been anticipating this interview ever since taking over Nana Sin’s bakery three years ago. Of course he had to show up today of all days. That was just her luck. Someone, somewhere had a warped sense of humor where she was concerned. Daisy paused, cocking her head. Weird. Sometimes she was sure she could hear her grandmother chuckling, as though she was standing right behind her.
“Is everything okay?”
She sent an incredulous look at the much too tall, far too self-assured man standing in her doorway. “Are you kidding me?”
“Please don’t be embarrassed.”
“Can we pretend, for my sake, that we’re meeting for the first time, right now? That you didn’t just...” Daisy paused to take a deep, composing breath. She stood, shoulders back. “Hello, Mr. Forsythe.” She walked around her desk, hand outstretched. “I’m Daisy Sinclair. Welcome to Nana Sin’s.”
He rubbed his jaw as if trying to massage his face into a serious expression. It didn’t work. When she was close enough, he took her hand and shook it firmly. She thought he might take the opportunity to say something crass, but all he said was, “It’s Colin.”
“Colin.” She set her lips in a grim line and sauntered past, head held high. At the door she turned. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “The bakery.” She indicated the kitchen with the motion of her head. “Aren’t you here to see the bakery?”
In one step Colin was beside her, looking down at her. Damn, the man was tall. Not fair. And what the hell was he doing, blasting her with that sinful smile of his?
“I’ve already seen everything.” He grinned.
She groaned.
His gaze held hers for a second before flicking toward the front of the building. “I’m talking about the bakery. I spent the last half hour in the front, interviewing customers and your staff.”
“You did?”
“Yes. Customers here all ask for you. By name.”
With a shrug, Daisy said, “The bakery’s been here a long time. People are loyal.”
“Only when they have a reason to be.”
“I suppose...”
He came closer, spoke more softly. “What I’d really like is a taste.”
The way he looked at her made Daisy think he wanted to taste her. Of all the ridiculous, embarrassing, appealing ideas she’d ever had, this one took the cake. With a huff, she marched past him into the kitchen, her jaw clamped shut, ignoring the deep rumbling sound of his chuckle. Wicked, wicked man. When she caught sight of Lizzie punching some dough, she snapped. “Lizzie, it’s the morning rush. Julia can’t handle the store alone.”
“But the dough...”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Lizzie scurried out through the double doors to the front, leaving Daisy with the dough and Colin Forsythe. After donning one of the extremely unattractive hair nets—she was beyond caring how she looked—and thoroughly washing her hands, she took over Lizzie’s job. Punching dough was exactly what she needed right now.
“You’re really letting that dough have it.”
“Some doughs need a gentle touch. Others need a good, hard spanking.” Daisy regretted the words the second they came out of her mouth. “Please don’t quote me there.”
“Shame. It’s a good quote.” Colin said, coughing to cover up a laugh. “I thought bakeries did all the baking in the early hours.”
Daisy scratched an itchy spot on her chin with her shoulder and then gave the dough another punch, getting less satisfaction than normal from the warm, airy flour as it enclosed her fist and the smell of yeast that always accompanied the task. At the very least, his question was professional, so Daisy answered, hoping her voice sounded more composed than she felt. “It’s one of the reasons we’re so popular. We offer fresh baking all day long, featuring different bestsellers every day of the week. Tuesdays are cinnamon-bun days. These should be ready for lunch, and we’ll do another batch for the after-work crowd.”
“You’re always this busy?”
“Always.”
“How many people do you have working here?”
“Two full-time girls at the counter, although Chrissy’s sick today, and Lizzie and Bruce help me in the kitchen. Then I’ve got five part-timers for evenings and weekends.” It was then that Daisy noticed Colin Forsythe had no pen. No paper. He wasn’t even recording this. She frowned. “You’re not taking any of this down?”
He tapped the side of his head. “It’s all up here. Don’t you worry.”
After finishing with the huge bowl, Daisy covered it with a clean, damp cloth and placed it in the warmer to rise. Then she started on the next. She found it much easier to talk to Colin when she didn’t have to look at him and her hands were busy, keeping her mind focused on something other than the fact that he’d seen more of her than any man had in a very long time.
Colin pulled up a stool and sat down, watching her work. “How do you keep up with it?”
“It’s easy.” She glanced up. “I love it. Spending my time here isn’t work. And the staff—well, we’re like one big family.” The only person missing