I cough, attempting to hide a laugh at her sass. It’s kind of funny when it isn’t aimed my way. It doesn’t make me dislike her any less, but it is mildly entertaining, at least.
“I don’t listen to half the things that come out of his mouth anyway. He knows art. Everything else is debatable,” I tell her.
She narrows her eyes, keeping them trained on me. Whatever’s going through her mind doesn’t soften her features at all. The tiniest of creases appears on her forehead, right between her dark eyebrows.
I let my gaze travel down her body, letting it focus on the box in her hands. Luckily for me, this time, the contents of the box aren’t splattered all over my very expensive suit. “What’s in the box, shortcake?”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes at me once again. Fuck. Why do I want to find another way to get her to roll them at me? “Ew, shortcake? My name is Pippa, not shortcake, but you don’t even have to call me that. It’s best if we just don’t talk at all. How about that, Mr. Hunter?”
The smile on my lips isn’t forced. “I don’t care about your name, shortcake. I’ll call you whatever I want to call you. The nickname fits.” I look her up and down. I’ve got to have at least a foot on her, and I think the little pair of pink cowboy boots she’s wearing generously give her a few inches. The cake part is just for fun. It fits. Two of the three times I’ve had the displeasure of seeing her, she’s had cake with her. The little cake embroidered on her T-shirt only sealed the deal for the nickname. “But for the record, Mr. Hunter is my father, and I’d much prefer not to talk about him. I’m Camden. Camden Hunter.”
Daly clears his throat. He’s never been comfortable with the way I speak about my dad, but I don’t typically care about how people feel. Maybe I would’ve if my parents cared more about me, but they don’t. So he can be uncomfortable. I’m sure it won’t be long until he’s reporting back to my father about everything that happened today anyway.
“I would much prefer calling you a raging asshole. Or douchebag if I’m feeling frisky.”
“Cute.”
“No, what’s cute is the damage I’ll do to you if you call me shortcake again.”
I roll my bottom lip between my teeth. “Don’t tempt me.”
She lets out a grunt of disgust. Leaving a huge amount of distance between us, she ambles around me and returns to the doorway once again, this time managing not to collide with me.
“Not going to share?” I nod toward the box in her hands.
A sarcastic laugh slips from her lips. “Absolutely not. I already regret giving it to your snooty friends and—”
“Colleagues,” I interrupt.
She looks like she could hit me for interrupting her. “I don’t think you’d enjoy them, not that any of you deserve my hard work anyway. Us townies don’t have taste, remember?” This time, the scathing look isn’t aimed my way; it’s aimed at Daly. I look over my shoulder at him, laughing at the petrified look on his face.
Damn. She might scare him more than I do.
My hands find my pockets as I really look at the woman making her way out the door. “Hope to see you never, shortcake.”
“The feeling is very mutual,” she counters, pushing the door open. “However, if you do happen to come next door, know that the discount I used to give the Richardsons doesn’t apply to you. You’ll pay full price. Maybe double.”
“I have no intentions of coming next door.”
She lets out a long, frustrated sigh. If she’s trying to hide how she’s feeling, she’s doing a terrible job at it. “Perfect. I had no intention of serving you anyway.”
I shrug carelessly. “So it’s settled.”
She stares at me. I don’t hate the way she takes her time looking at me from top to bottom before her hazel eyes come to a stop on my face. “It’s settled.”
“Goodbye, then, shortcake.”
Her nostrils flare, but she doesn’t say anything on her way out. At least, she doesn’t use words. But the middle finger in the air as her footfalls hit the pavement tells me enough.
Her colliding into my life once again just made this new business endeavor a hell of a lot more interesting.
4
PIPPA
I’m busy folding puff pastry dough for my sausage-and-cheddar pastries when the bell to the bakery door rings. Lexi is helping me open the cafe today, but I just got a text from her a few minutes ago telling me she was running late this morning. There’s no way it should be her walking in, but we’re also closed, so I don’t know who could be walking through the door unless I accidentally left it unlocked.