A Berry Baffling Businessman

  A Berry Baffling Businessman

  A.R. Winters

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  A Berry Baffling Businessman

  Copyright 2018 by A. R. Winters

  www.arwinters.com

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

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  Chapter 1

  “Wait, wait,” Jack said, waving his hand while he laughed so hard that tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes. His richly dark skin grew richer from what I imagined was a hilarity-induced blush. “You didn’t even know about it?”

  “No, and it’s not that funny,” I said, scowling.

  Jack laughed harder, and I scowled harder. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell you,” he said.

  The “she” in this instance was my cousin Sarah. She’d saved my life when she sold me her café and the block-long property in which it was located.

  The “it” she didn’t tell me about was a three-day packaging conference.

  My name is Kylie Berry. I have flaming red hair, a Milky Way of freckles across my cheeks and nose, and a slender build, and I owed my cousin Sarah everything. Literally—everything—since I had yet to pay her one thin dime for the property I “bought” from her. I was struggling to keep my financial head above water. Life and a sore-loser of an ex-husband had left me destitute, but Sarah, this café, and the people who considered it a home away from home had given me a second chance at life.

  But that chance had not come with an easy button. As soon as I had set foot in the café door, Sarah was walking out. All but two of the wait staff left. Then the chef left. That made business hard. I had no idea how to run a café. I could barely boil water without scorching a pan.

  Since then, I’ve gotten better. A little. I swear. It at least looks better, especially if you squint or have cataracts or don’t know what gourmet cuisine is supposed to look like.

  “It must have slipped her mind,” I said regarding my cousin in my best deadpan voice.

  Jack was sitting at the grill’s counter, and I topped off his coffee. The breakfast casserole I’d put before him remained untouched. In his defense, Jack’s eyesight was just fine. He was perfectly capable of seeing how the roughly cut square of egg, sausage, cheese, and other stuff had oozed itself from one side of his plate to the other.

  It was definitely an Oops Board candidate.

  “Are you even getting paid for hosting it?” Jack asked, chuckling as he shook his head in disbelief.

  I swallowed. Hard. I tried to answer but the word “no” didn’t want to come out.

  My second-floor banquet hall had been reserved for the event since last year, although I’d only learned about it a few days ago. I’d managed to do some bartering and was able to cover all of the packaging conference’s needs, but it had been difficult. There were so many details. Tables, chairs, and decorations, not to mention the food. So much food! The thought of it all made me swoon.

  Making matters worse, the event had been prepaid. That money had gone into Sarah’s pocket, which was the rightful spot at the time since she’d owned the place. But now that I owned it, I had nothing extra with which to cover the conference’s expenses.

  Almost nothing.

  Pride and embarrassment kept me from asking Sarah to give me the money she’d been paid since I wasn’t even close to being able to make my first payment on the property she had sold me.

  I finally managed to shake my head no in answer to Jack’s question. He stopped laughing. As the owner of the most-trusted local bank, I guessed he didn’t find money matters that amusing.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “Dan”—my tramp of an ex-husband—“paid me a consulting fee to help him salvage our… I mean, his company.” He’d taken everything in the divorce. All of our belongings. All of our friends. Most of my self-respect. “I’d planned to use the money to update the café’s sign from Sarah’s Eatery to The Berry Home, but that can wait.” The new name was currently being displayed via a banner that had been tied over the top of the café’s original name.

  The bell over the café’s door chimed, and I did a double take. It was barely after nine in the morning, but Zoey was walking in with an air of lucidity I rarely ever saw in her at this time of day. She wasn’t even wearing her Jackie Onassis sunglasses to hide bloodshot eyes. Instead, she was bright-eyed and alert. Her shiny black hair draped over her shoulder in a thick braid, and she was wearing hot pink thigh high boots with what looked like an oversized men’s blue denim shirt. The shirt was as form fitting as a potato sack, but Zoey looked absolutely stunning in it.

  Zoey glanced around the café as she slid onto the stool next to Jack. Her honey-toned Asian skin glowed warm like the sun. “Nobody here yet?”

  Zoey was my BFF. She was the girl who would run into a burning building with me rather than try to stop me. She had helped me prove that I wasn’t a murderer, and then I’d returned the favor. We’d been best friends ever since.

  I looked around the café. The place wasn’t packed, but I had ten whole customers, not including Zoey. That was pretty good for that time of day, at least for my café. It was after most pre-work breakfast eaters had left but before brunch and lunch customers made their way in.

  “Who were you looking for?” I asked.

  “Nobody,” she said.

  “What’s nobody look like?” Jack asked. I loved to hear the man talk. He belonged in a barbershop quartet. His voice was mellow, easy, and soothing to the soul. “Might this nobody have a name?”

  I slid a cup of coffee in front of Zoey, and she gave Jack a healthy dose of side eye. I wasn’t sure if she was going to answer him, but then a smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “Sebastian Drysdale.”

  Jack’s brows lifted, and then a smile captured his own lips. He gave Zoey an appreciative nod. “He’s quite the young man. Hardworking, despite his privilege. And he has a perfectly symmetrical face, if I do say so myself.”

  I was lost. I had no idea who Sebastian Drysdale was. So I did something that came very unnatural to me—I kept my mouth shut and listened.

  Thankfully Jack filled in the blanks of my curiosity. “Sebastian’s father owns Paperworx, one of the biggest packaging companies on the East Coast. It’s my understanding that he’s been tapped to take the company over when his father retires, even though he has two older siblings.”

  A light blush pinked Zoey’s cheeks, and her smile reached her eyes. “I met him at last year’s conference. I hadn’t been in town very long, and everyth
ing between us just clicked.” Her smile soured and her luminous eyes dimmed, seeming to get lost in a memory. “I had other things going on then, so the clicking only went so far.”

  I was sure that Zoey was referencing the man who had all but left her at the altar. He’d made my ex look like a choir boy. Recovery from that particular heartache was coming slow for Zoey, but she was getting there.

  The café door chimed again, this time giving way to a woman whom I knew to be in her early eighties. She had the cheekbones of a supermodel and the grace of a ballerina. Her pixie-cut white hair and dangling earrings accentuated her long neck and sharpened the intensity of her dark, piercing eyes. She carried a large carpet bag with ease, out of which stuck the ends of two long knitting needles.

  “Agatha,” Jack called out with a bright, toothy smile. “My favorite girl.”

  “Better not let your wife hear you say that,” Agatha warned. Her cascade of bracelets tinkled when she bent to put her bag on the floor next to Jack. She then climbed onto the adjacent stool. “Sweetheart,” she said to me in a lowered, conspiratorial voice, “any of Patty’s scrumptious pie back there?”

  I wasn’t even insulted she wasn’t asking for anything I had baked.

  Patty was my secret weapon. She was one of my two best guards against complete fiscal annihilation. She baked like an angel, despite the demons that lived in her head. If she wanted to have a conversation with fifteen people when I was the only other person in the room, that was just fine by me. Besides, she was a saint. It usually took her showing me a recipe five times before I started getting it right.

  “I’ve got a blueberry,” I told her in the same conspiratorial voice.

  Her dark eyes twinkled with anticipation and approval. I got her a big slice and a cup of coffee.

  “Sweetie, do you have any spots left in that cooking class of yours tomorrow night?” she asked as she doctored her coffee with the sugar and cream I’d set out for her. “What’s the chef’s name?”

  “Chef Radde.” He was my one bright spot through all of this.

  “How’d you snag him?”

  “He reached out to me, can you believe it? But, yes… I do have some slots left. You want in?”

  Agatha eyed me speculatively as one side of her mouth pulled up in a lopsided grin. She leaned forward and put her elbows on the counter. It was nearly an unheard of, unladylike maneuver for her, and her following question was like a one-two punch I never saw coming. “What’s the story between you two? He is very handsome.”

  I felt like a four-year-old caught with my hand in the cookie jar. “Nothing ever happened. I swear.” Her beady little eyes pierced right through me. There was no use trying to lie.

  “Mmhmm…” She did not sound convinced.

  “Hold on,” Zoey said, her interest piqued. “You holding back on me? You got stories to tell that you’re not telling?”

  Jack glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting with the Board of Trustees in a few minutes, but I’ve got time for this.”

  “You, too, Jack?” I whined.

  “Spill,” Zoey ordered.

  I reverted back to my teenage years and rolled my eyes before giving in. “Okay, but nothing gets said. Not. One. Word!”

  Agatha pulled her fingers across her lips, zipping my promised secret away.

  “Not a word,” Jack assured.

  “I promise nothing,” Zoey said.

  I gave her my best evil eye, but she was unfazed. I decided to get on with it. Time to yank the band-aid off.

  Chapter 2

  “Chef Radde is the Head Chef of Smolder, my favorite restaurant in Chicago.” Chicago was the place I called home before my ex-husband of eleven years ran me out of town. “We’d flirt, but it was playful. Harmless. Dan thought it was cute and liked that he had something another man couldn’t have. It stroked his ego.” I was definitely getting off topic. I cleared my throat, then shrugged and smiled coquettishly. “I guess it was memorable after all.”

  “So he came all the way down here to Kentucky to fuel the old flame?” Jack asked.

  “No…” I said with a touch of chagrin. “He followed his fiancée down for a modeling shoot out at Camden Falls. He’d heard I was down this way and looked me up. When he found out that I own a café now, he offered to host a cooking class. Then when I told him about the packaging conference and that I didn’t have a chef to handle the catering for it, he actually volunteered!” I was beaming, smiling from ear to ear.

  “And his fiancée is fine with that?” Agatha asked.

  Again, my smile fell. “I don’t know. I guess it’s a working pre-honeymoon?”

  Jack did a shoulder nod as he considered. “Chefs do tend to be artistic. Some just aren’t happy unless they’re creating.”

  “Well, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’s not charging me anything to cater the conference.” Which was a good thing since I barely had anything to pay him with. John—Chef Radde to others—was even letting me keep half of the proceeds from tomorrow night’s class. Of course, I’d give Agatha a fifty percent discount. The amount she paid would go to cover his fee but I’d take a pass on mine.

  Jack left to go to his meeting. Agatha hooked up with her knitting group and they settled into the cozy corner, a collection of plush seats positioned around a fireplace in the street-side nook on the far side of the café.

  Zoey eventually gave up her hopes of running into Sebastian a full day before the conference was scheduled to begin. She headed home to hibernate, commit acts of espionage, or to do whatever it was that she did in her high-tech bat cave of an apartment.

  The day ticked on. My college-attending waiter, Sam, ended his shift and was replaced by my college-attending waitress, Melanie. Melanie had a crush on Sam, but nothing had come of it yet. It was a secret that was slowly boring a hole through my head. Hopefully, Sam would figure it out before I committed a high act of treason among the sisterhood and told him.

  I traded out my Oops Board breakfast casserole for an Oops Board lunch of roast beef sandwiches on sourdough. I’d cooked the roast and baked the bread myself. What that translated to was a roast as dry as the Sierra and bread as dense as plaster. Not a good combination. I did my best to compensate for the lack of moisture by smearing on enough aioli to launch a ship out of a waterless dock.

  “Is this a salad or a sandwich?” Brad asked as he tried to wrangle his lunch into one towering cluster of soggy mess. Brad was a police officer with the Kentucky State Police. He was sworn to protect and serve, but all he was doing right now was harassing me about my mega cooking fail. “There are three slices of tomato on here. You know that croutons aren’t normally bigger than the salad, right?”

  Brad was one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. He had soft blue eyes with flecks of green, muscles that made me wish I was a professional masseuse, and a face that would have made Kate Winslet get off that door in the middle of the ocean and offer it to him instead.

  Not that Brad would have taken it.

  “I did the best I could,” I said. I really had. Give me a month of making it every single day and it would even be almost good.

  “Jonathan not in again today?”

  I went from determinedly upbeat to droopy. “Nooo.” Jonathan was my other best guard against poverty. If it hadn’t been for him and Patty, I’d only have a handful of customers.

  “Want me to look into it? See if he’s in some kind of trouble?”

  I perked up, then shook my head, feeling defeated again. I couldn’t ask Brad to snoop into Jonathan’s personal business.

  “He has his own life. I have to respect that.” Jonathan had been a couch-surfing homeless dude before Patty hired him. She didn’t actually have the green light to hire anyone, but I couldn’t fault her choice. Jonathan was the most easygoing, upbeat, and hardworking person I’d ever met. I was lucky to have him in my life.

  Brad wrangled his sandwich between his hands and lifted. All of the fixins between the t
wo slices of bread slid out and did a splashdown on his plate.

  Brad stared at it, then at me. “Berry… Really, maybe I can help get him back here.” He looked down at his dismantled sandwich before continuing with his pitch. “I can find out what’s going on with him. No problems, no hassle.”

  Mortification was the only thing that kept me from laughing. I reached for his plate. “I’ll go get you something else.”

  Brad captured my hand. “My food!” he declared. “You want a plate, go get your own.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Got a knife and fork?”

  I slid a set over and watched him dig in. When he finally succeeded in taking a bite, his brows went up in surprise, then he took another bite and nodded his head. “The flavor’s good!”

  The café door chimed, and I looked up to see a face I hadn’t seen in ages.

  “Chef Radde!” I exclaimed and hurried my way from behind the grill’s counter.

  “Mrs. Hibbert!” Chef Radde called out as he threw his arms wide.

  I didn't let his use of my married name dissuade me from accepting a great big bear hug from him. The man was handsome in a rugged, outdoorsman kind of way. It made you want to snuggle up with him in front of a fireplace on a cold winter’s night. He was the fellow you could see chopping wood outside before he came into the kitchen to make you Eggs Florentine, served in bed with a cup of perfectly brewed espresso and a small cluster of snow born anemones. He was dreamy, and his fiancée was a very, very lucky woman. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little envious.