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heard. He d apparently asked his friend for a legal
referral in the area of mergers and acquisitions for
small businesses. And Bobby had congratulated
Jackson because his plans regarding Lena were
going well.
Tears sprang to her eyes. She didn t want to
believe it, but there it was, plain as the nose on her
plain little face: Jackson was thinking of taking over
someone s business. She didn t know everything
about his life, but she didn t know of any other
business he was working with, except hers. She
imagined that he might be considering merging with
another caterer, but she couldn t make herself
swallow it.
And then there was the mention of financing and
Elyse. No, it couldn t be. She desperately clawed at
the hope she was wrong, but her mind was forcing
her to accept the only logical deduction available to
her Jackson was planning on buying out or taking
over a rival business, most likely hers. Probably last
night s frolic between the sheets had been his way
of softening her up. She knew he d left the bed
shortly afterwards, because she woke up when he
did. She d bet he d placed his call to Bobby then.
And Bobby had mentioned financing, possibly
through Elyse. Hmm. That explained Elyse s gift to
her of a Range Rover, when the woman had never
even given her a catering job before. The SUV must
have come with large strings that tied SweetKakes,
the company she had slaved to build, to Yankee
Elegance Catering. She didn t know how, but
somehow it did. She felt certain of it.
No one had asked her what she wanted, but she
didn t want to merge with anyone, and didn t want
to sell her business. Not even if she could get as
much as half a million for it. Because, if she sold,
what would she do? How would she survive? All she
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knew how to do was cook. She was too young to
retire, and besides, even five hundred large
wouldn t last the rest of her life.
No. SweetKakes was her idea, her baby, and
they d get it from her only after they pried her cold,
dead fingers off her book of accounts.
Lawyers. Acquisitions. Plans. Strike while the
iron is hot. Getting rich. Jackson was going to take
control of her livelihood. She didn t know how,
when, or why, but all of it added up to the only
conclusion she could draw. What a freakin fool she
had been again. Recalling their lovemaking from a
few hours earlier ripped her heart in two. A loud sob
escaped before she slapped her hands across her
mouth. Jackson might wake at any moment.
Perhaps he was awake now. Perhaps he even had
plans to repeat last night s performance, the better
to lull her further into submission. She couldn t face
him. She just couldn t.
Grabbing her purse and cell phone, she left the
coffee unpoured and sprinted from the apartment,
the door crashing shut behind her. In the elevator,
she called a taxi while tears scorched trails down
her cheeks.
___________________
The slamming of the door woke him, though it
registered only as a loud noise. Lena wasn t in his
bed, and he smelled fresh coffee. He smiled. She
must ve gotten up before him to brew the stuff.
Squinting at the clock, he stretched and yawned.
Six-thirty. Normally he slept a little later, but
today s workload was key to the success of both
their businesses. He d better get going.
He pulled on a pair of jeans. They might have
made love last night, but he suspected that, to
Lena, they weren t familiar enough yet for him to
prance around naked in the daytime, even at his
own place. Tucking his erection inside the jeans, he
sang out, Honey, I m up, boy, am I ever.
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He stuck his head into the kitchen, grinning. No
Lena. He padded to the open door of the bathroom
and looked. Nope. Living room? Empty. His heart
jumped in his chest. Where was she? Why would
she start coffee and leave? He thought he
remembered hearing voices. Maybe her sister had
called with an emergency. His heart beat faster.
Calm down and think logically, he scolded
himself. Perhaps she just went out for a jog.
No, she wasn t wearing running shoes last night.
Maybe she left to get a jump on the work. That
would be just like her. She loved to work, and she
loved getting up early. That meant a note had to be
around, somewhere. He searched the kitchen
counters, the coffee table, the nightstand, her
pillow, the bathroom, and the breakfast nook any
and every surface in the condo.
After ten minutes of searching, anxiety struck
him again, along with a dollop of hurt. Why would
she leave without saying goodbye or leaving a note?
She wasn t the kind to indulge in casual sex, so he
didn t believe the evening meant little to her. She
must have been called away by urgent
circumstances. It was the only thing that made
sense.
He showered and dressed rapidly, poured coffee
into two travel mugs, and rushed out the door. He
never noticed the blinking red light on his answering
machine.
Within five minutes, he was ringing the doorbell
at 85 Front Street. No answer. He grappled with the
two mugs, holding them both with one hand so he
could knock. Still no answer. What the hell was
going on? He banged on the door as loudly as he
could, and fifteen seconds later, it jerked open.
Leaning on crutches, Annie stared at him as if he
were a pile of dog poop someone had flung onto her
porch. He braved her scowl with a smile.
Hi, Annie. Is everything all right? I brought
Lena some coffee. She, uh, well& he trailed off.
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Perhaps Annie didn t realize Lena had spent the
night at his place, which meant he shouldn t be the
one to spill the beans. Lena would flip if he spoke
out of turn to her sister.
We have our own coffee, Annie snapped,
shoving the door closed, but he put his foot in the
way.
I need to see your sister. Please tell her I m
here. Or did she have to go somewhere? Is she all
right? Where is she?
Annie regarded his athletic shoe as she would a
poisonous spider. Better move that foot of yours in
the next five seconds, or I swear you ll be wearing a
cast as big as mine. She bumped the door against
his foot viciously in warning. The pain shooting up
his leg had him cursing under his breath, but he
wasn t ready to give up, nor did he move.
Annie, please. What s wrong?
She stood tall despite the crutches. I have been
told to inform you that Lena is not home. To you,
she snarled. Get off our porch, unless you d like me
to call 911 and report an intruder attempting to
enter the home of two helpless women, one on
crutches. We bring the local station goodies every
Monday, so the cops will be here with nightsticks
and guns drawn mere seconds after I call. I tell you
this in case you d like to try your luck with them.
Now, move that foot or I will cut it off. Again she
shoved the door, but harder than before. With a
yell, Jackson dropped both coffee mugs to grab his
throbbing foot, hopping about in agony.
The heavy wooden door s slamming sounded like
a rifle s report. He had coffee all over himself and all
over the porch; he still didn t know anything, and
his foot was killing him. Damned little purple-
headed brat, he muttered, What the freakin hell
is going on? After grabbing the two travel mugs, he
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