Page 26 of Sweet Rivals

“I gotta get some pictures, now or never,” Cat announced, pulling her camera out of its protective case.

I nodded and stepped toward the beach and away from the lighthouse. As I stood on the sand looking out over the darkened ocean, feeling small in the way only a force of nature can make you feel, I took in a deep breath.

“So are you following me?” Jared asked, interrupting my moment of peace.

“Of course not,” I said.

“I thought maybe you were spying on me to find a weak spot.”

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. “Do you have a weakness aside from arrogance?”

“Probably,” he said. “But I have yet to find it.”

“Wow,” I said.

“You don’t get as far in this business as I have without being able to ignore your weaknesses and limiting factors. We all have weaknesses, Jenna, but they don’t serve you,” he said.

I hated the lecturing feel of his tone. “How very wise of you,” I said.

“You need to stop trying to make everyone else happy,” he said.

It was a gut punch that this man of all damn people had been able to read me at all, let alone better than most people who had known me my whole life. “Was it you that got you this far or your family?” I asked.

“I like to think it was a joint effort. I loved cooking growing up,” he said. “But it would be disingenuous to suggest that my last name didn’t give me a leg up. It remains to be seen whether I’ll be successful on my own.”

“Is that what the bakery is to you? A way to make a name for yourself?” I asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Then what is it, exactly?”

He shrugged, turning his gaze toward the ocean. “Why do you want the bakery so badly?”

“Why do you answer a question with a question?”

“Maybe I don’t feel comfortable sharing my inner most thoughts with the woman who is out to bring me down. Wouldn’t want you exploiting my vulnerability.”

“Smart,” I said with a reluctant smirk.

“I’ve been thinking about our conversation earlier. I have this bakery…” he started.

“Wow, does that come effortlessly to you, or does it take conscious effort?” I asked.

“What?”

“Being such a heartless asshole?”

“Oh … I guess it comes easily?” His voice lifted at the end like it was a question.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head to hide a smirk.

“Anyway,” he continued, “The bakery. I think we should each design a menu. We can offer both to our customers and see which is more popular,” he gave an overly confident smile that betrayed just how pleased he was with himself.

“There is more to the success of a bakery than menus,” I suggested.

“I get that,” he said. “But you seem to think you’d be better than me at operating this bakery. This way we’ll be able to see whose right. We design our menus and see what sells more.”

I considered a moment, “Can we redesign as needed?”