“I’ll just bet,” she growled. Oh, very charming, Samantha.
Well, who cared? Her ship had already gone down and she was now bobbing in the icy waters of despair. And she’d given him treats to eat while he watched her turn blue. All her business training, all her sister’s advice to be charming, fled before her rage. She stood and plucked the basket from his lap.
He blinked in shock. “What—”
“There’s no use wasting fine chocolate on those who don’t value it enough to want to save it from extinction.” And with her peace offering clutched to her chest, she turned and marched out of the bank.
* * *
The gaze of every bank employee was on Blake Preston, making him feel like a cockroach under a magnifying glass. Arnie Amundsen had left him here, an invader in a hostile land.
Of course, no one was overtly hostile. They were all too glad to have jobs for that. But he could sense his unpopularity from the polite yet lukewarm reception he’d been given, from the looks, sometimes thoughtful (What the hell are you doing here?), sometimes resentful (Who asked you to come back and meddle in our business?). He was there to get them out of the disaster their beloved Arnie had created. And if he hadn’t come to meddle in their business, they wouldn’t have a business, damn it! He knew it and they knew it. They just resented it.
And he resented the quickly snuffed snicker he’d heard in one corner of the room, the way Lauren Belgado over at her teller’s counter swallowed her serves-him-right smirk and went back to serving Heinrich Blum, who was making a deposit for Lupine Floral. The way heads lowered to hide smiles.
He pressed his lips firmly together in the hope that it would, somehow, stop the sizzle on his cheeks and neck. This would be all over town by five o’clock. Of course, no one would know the details. All anyone would be able to pass on was what they saw—him being an obvious jerk and upsetting their reigning queen of chocolate. Great, just great. Welcome back, Preston. He’d barely returned to his hometown, and he was already campaigning for Public Enemy Number One.
What was he supposed to do, anyway? He wasn’t king of the world. He was a bank manager and if he didn’t manage this bank well, it would go under. And all those old high school buddies and friends of a friend who wanted special treatment were going to have to get that through their thick heads.
Maybe that old saying was true and you couldn’t go back. Icicle Falls had been a great place to grow up. Church picnics, Boy Scout camping trips, fishing the river with Gramps. But now Blake found himself thinking he should have left small-town life in the idyllic past where it belonged. Taking this position hadn’t been a step up. It had been a step into a big pile of shit.
He adjusted his shirt collar that had gone suddenly tight and then went back to work on the loan application papers in front of him. But all he could see was Samantha Sterling’s full lips frowning at him. What had he been smoking when he decided to go into banking after he graduated from college? Heck, he could have followed his folks when they moved to Seattle and helped his dad run that Honda dealership. Or gone into computer sales and made a fortune. Or become a construction worker. Truck driver. Prison warden.
Right now he felt like a prison warden with everyone around him planning to stick him with a shiv, and all because of one angry woman. Correction, angry and unbalanced.
Of course, he could see how his predecessor had gotten sucked into making poor decisions. That long red hair, those big hazel eyes, that cute little tush—Samantha Sterling was hotter than the Wenatchee Valley in August. So were her sisters and her mother. He’d seen them around. They were a tag team of damsels in distress. He could imagine Muriel flashing a bit of cleavage and batting those thick-lashed eyes of hers at old Arnie and putting him in a trance where he’d happily give her everything, including the keys to the vault. Watching her and her daughter struggle so valiantly to keep the family business going, watching those big eyes fill with tears—the poor slob hadn’t stood a chance.
But Blake was made of sterner stuff. Of course he’d do all he could to support Samantha. He’d buy chocolates even though he was allergic to chocolate. Gram had a birthday coming up soon and he’d get her the biggest box of candy they had, and when his mother and sister were in town he’d send them to the Sweet Dreams gift shop to go crazy with his debit card. He’d even be willing to help Samantha brainstorm ways to raise funds—private investors or a loan from some of her cronies at the Chamber of Commerce. He’d have told her all that if she hadn’t had a meltdown and stomped off. But he couldn’t change bank policy just for her. He’d already gone out on a limb by extending her loan to the end of February.
It’s not your business to fix other people’s mistakes, he reminded himself. You can’t save every failing business in the state. Still, it seemed a shame to let this one die. He was well aware of the company’s history and it was the stuff of movies. Except right now the Sterlings’ story wasn’t looking like it was headed for a happy ending.
He forced himself to focus on the papers in front of him. It was impossible. All he could think about was what a villain he felt like. Sweet Dreams was Samantha Sterling’s baby and she was trying desperately to save it. If he had to lock the company’s doors and sell off its assets he’d be a baby-stealer and everyone in town would hate him. Almost as much as he’d hate himself.
* * *
Elena took one look at Samantha storming into the office and muttered, “Mierda.”
Samantha set the basket on Elena’s desk. “Take it home to your family and enjoy.”
Elena’s eyebrows drew together. “That is a lot of money there.”
“Consider it a bonus,” Samantha said. “God knows it’s probably the last one I’ll be able to give you.”
“You mustn’t talk like that,” Elena scolded. Sixteen years older and forty pounds heavier than Samantha, she sometimes forgot she was an employee and morphed into an office mother. “And why are you back with this?”
“Long story,” Samantha said, “and one I don’t want to tell.” Having shut the door on a fresh lecture, she then shut her office door on the world, plopped down at her desk and stared bitterly at the array of pictures on the wall.
Generations of successful family smiled at her. Great-grandma Rose and her husband, Dusty, wearing their best clothes, stood in front of the newly purchased building that would house Sweet Dreams Chocolates. Then there was Great Aunt Fiona and Grandma Eleanor posing in their aprons behind the counter of the retail gift shop in the fifties, and Grandpa Joe, smiling over his shoulder for the camera while he worked the line in the factory with a young José Castillo and George Loomis. There was a shot of Mom before she married Dad, sitting at the receptionist’s desk. And one of her and Grandpa, displaying the logo Mom had created for the seal on the candy boxes. There was Dad in front of the store, posing with his three daughters, the whole Sweet Dreams team gathered around and beaming. A caption beneath it read Success, How Sweet It Is!
She felt sick. She laid her head on the desk and closed her eyes.
A moment later Gwen Stefani started singing on her cell phone. Cecily again. Head still on the desk, she fumbled the phone to her ear. “Tell me you’re calling because you had a vision of money falling from heaven.”
“Sorry, no pennies from heaven. I had a feeling you might need to talk.”
What she needed was a rewind button. “I blew it at the
