Tempt Our Fate (Sutten Mountain, #2)(9)

“Not going to hold my breath,” I call after her. There’s no way he’s coming through the door, but I don’t burst her bubble.

“He might just surprise you.”

I try not to roll my eyes at her statement. Camden could never surprise me. What you see seems to be what you get. And what I see is an asshole.

With Trisha gone, I turn to face Bri. “Now with that over with, I’m going to go finish a few things in the back.”

I’m busy preparing a tub of icing for tomorrow when the door to the kitchen is thrown open. “What the f—!” I yell, accidentally dropping a bottle of food coloring. It splatters on the floor, red dye exploding at my feet.

“I truly don’t think I’ve met a messier human.”

I scowl, giving him my dirtiest look. “What are you doing here?”

Camden looks at the floor. It looks like a murder scene with the amount of red dye all over the tile. It goes up my jeans, ruining the pair I just bought a few weeks ago. I groan, wondering if I’ll be able to get the stains out. My size is always sold out online, and these fit my body better than any pair before.

“I’m here to ask for help.”

“You would’ve been a lot more help if you hadn’t ruined my brand-new pair of jeans.”

“I’ll buy you a new pair if you help me out tonight.”

I wipe at the food coloring with a rag, but all it manages to do is further spread it everywhere.

“We have a deal?” he pushes.

I scoff, looking at the red splotches all over the light denim. “No, we don’t have a deal. They take forever to come back in stock.”

“I’m in a real fucking dilemma right now.” He seethes, his voice tight and low, the grit to it sending shivers down my spine. “I’ll find the jeans. I’ll buy you ten. I just need food at this opening, and I need it now.”

Camden Hunter sounds vulnerable.

What alternate universe am I in?

I sigh, slamming the rag on the counter. It used to be beige. Now it’s almost red, truly looking like something they’d keep as evidence in a murder case. “What time is the opening?”

He clears his throat and looks down at an expensive watch on his wrist. It’s so shiny it catches the light from the ceiling, almost blinding me when he turns his wrist a certain way.

“Technically, the artists are arriving within the hour. Guests will be here in a few.”

“And what happened to your fancy caterers? Clearly, I wasn’t your first choice.”

He laughs. It seems a little less cold than the times I’ve heard him laugh before. “No, you weren’t, shortcake. Yet here we are.”

My eyebrows raise as I grab the edges of the counter. “I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For you to tell me that maybe fancy, uppity choices aren’t always the best option.”

“Not going to happen.”

I shrug, going back to my earlier task before he scared the shit out of me. “Then it seems like you don’t need help that bad.”

“I’m not going to stoop that low and tell you that until I at least know you have the time to create something suitable for the night.”

“It isn’t stooping low when it’s the truth.”

“Just because one business from New York has shitty business principles doesn’t mean that everything here in this dingy town is better than Manhattan.”

“Call Sutten dingy again and you’ll get a knee to your manhood.” I smile sweetly at him, remembering the second time we ever ran into each other—literally. I’d joked about his size and how it felt like he was overcompensating. He didn’t take it well.

The look on his face tells me he may not take my threat very well now either.

He lets out a long, aggravated sigh, even going as far as to drag his fingers down his perfectly sculpted face.

It’s really a shame he’s such an asshole because he’s easily one of the best-looking men I’ve ever seen. Everything about his features is perfectly proportional. Eyebrows are supposed to be sisters, not twins, yet his are clones of each other. Straight eyebrows with a slight arch at the ends frame the clearest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. To top it all off, the man has thick, dark eyelashes.

I hate him. For so many reasons. For being an asshole. For buying the space I wanted to expand my business. For ruining my jeans. For being blessed with such good looks when he has such a terrible personality.

“I don’t have the time to go back and forth with you,” he confesses. He sounds agitated, but not necessarily at me for once. More like at the circumstances.

“Sounds like you don’t have much time for anything, considering you might need to borrow an apron and cook some food up for your guests.”

“That won’t be necessary if you help me.”

“Big emphasis on if. The shop closes soon, and I have a date with a bottle of wine and some reality TV.”

“Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Just say yes. Help me. I’m begging.”

“Anything I want?” I ask, my mind filling with so many terrible things I could make him do if I agree to this.

One single piece of gelled hair falls into his face, making him seem a little more…normal.