Bun in Her Oven Read online

  My morning routine usually went something like this: Sort through emails to find viable leads, research the companies and people contacting me first, cull the list of potential contacts by reaching out to known associates and past business partners, and once all that is done reach out to the contacts themselves.

  All in all, with hundreds upon hundreds of emails to sort through, it took the majority of the morning. This morning, however, was different. I had three priority emails from Frank McLaughlin, Ryan Torrey, and Gary Cirose. An angel investor, marketing savant, and VP of an investment firm respectively.

  They were my aces in the hole that I still hadn’t told Thomas about. I felt a little bad about that, especially knowing how much Thomas hated secrets. I’d tell him. Eventually.

  Each of them had agreed to a meeting. Today. After weeks of phone tag and left messages, we were finally going to have a meeting. If I could pull this meeting off, we were one step closer to pulling Sunrise Valley from the brink.

  This would be my first major pitch as a free agent. There would be no team of analysts behind me, just me and my ideas and what data I could organize. Which, because I’m me, I had already done well ahead of time.

  There were three binders full of organized tables and spreadsheets that spelled out the rich potential Sunrise Valley had for an investor who saw in terms of years and not quarters.

  Each of these people were hand-picked by me for their talent, my connection to them, and their willingness to make smart (but risky) bets that paid out handsomely.

  And I was not going to kid myself or them. This was as risky as they came. If something went wrong, more than money was at stake. People’s livelihoods could be ruined.

  The meeting they wanted would, unfortunately, mean I had to skip lunch with Thomas. They wanted a tour of Sunrise Valley and all the properties in the proposal.

  I let out a small sigh. This was going to be an all-day affair.

  In between picking out my best sensible skirt, blouse, and jacket I replied to the email agreeing to the meeting and texted Thomas that I would not be able to meet him for lunch.

  If the meeting went well, I’d have some great news to share. I couldn’t wait.

  “Miss Walker,” said Ryan Torrey shaking my hand, “What a pleasure to finally get a meeting put together.”

  “Likewise,” I replied, going down the small table shaking McLaughlin’s then Cirose’s hands too. They were all well-dressed and middle-aged, though Gary was only a few years my senior. Their outfits showed me they were serious about this. Good.

  Our meeting took place in a business conference room in a hotel just outside of Sunrise Valley proper. It was smaller than I was used to, which meant it must have been embarrassingly minuscule for them.

  That only went to show how serious they were about my proposal.

  I was in my element. Talking business, numbers, and the future of what could be an incredibly lucrative deal. With the help of these three people and a substantial influx of capital, I could turn Sunrise Valley into the hottest new tourist destination.

  One that promised to uplift the local population’s quality-of-life as well as economically pull the town out of whatever debt I was sure it carried. Sunrise Valley would be transformed from a Podunk town that nobody - except a few rabid pastry lovers - had ever heard of into a thriving boutique town that preserved all the charms of small-town life.

  We lived in a gorgeous valley full of nature trails, forests, and sweeping vistas of heart-swelling beauty.

  My proposal was to take it all and package it up as an experience for others. Renovate all the shops, the streets, lights and major ways in and out of the valley. Then put in classy boutique shops. No name brands, no big chains. Everything needed to serve the small-town appeal.

  The goal was to capture the American Dream of the small town that time had forgotten. We would, of course, include Wifi and modern amenities but the theme would be tight across the town. With all the capital injected, we could eliminate unemployment and stop a lot of the foreclosures going around town.

  More people would see how beautiful the town would be, and the town itself would do better than ever before. It would not be a stroll down memory lane, it would be making an entirely new way forward.

  A better way.

  That is the dream I wanted to see fulfilled. And that is what I was going to sell to these three men.

  As I passed out the presentation materials filled with data, figures, and facts that they could look over at their leisure I took my place at the head of the table feeling butterflies alight in my stomach.

  I had never been so nervous.

  Nothing was more important than what I was about to do here. If I could sell them on the idea of a perfect small-town package that people would love, Sunrise Valley would be saved.

  And if I failed, there would be no helping it. In fact, alerting these men and their associates behind the scenes would be the death knell of Sunrise Valley. If they chose not to take the deal, they would know how weak it was and how easily they could scoop up the broken pieces.

  It was time to lay out all my cards and hope I was as good as I thought I was.

  6

  Thomas

  “She’s probably cheating on you with like Bill Gates or something,” said Sam, around a pumpkin scone. “Nerdy types probably turn her on. Like-”

  “I get it, Sam,” I said putting my hand up. “You are trying to distract me and I will not be derailed. I need an answer.”

  She huffed and blew out a strand of blonde hair from her face. “I dunno, man. Why do you need to give this to me? I just started working here less than a month ago.”

  “And in that time you have been invaluable. Why would I not want to give you a promotion? Hell, you come in on your days off Sam. You work. On days you are told not to.”

  I let that sink in. The horror was plain on her face. Like she just realized she murdered a beloved children’s cartoon character.

  “I’m a monster,” she whispered in horror.

  “You’re not a monster, Sam. You are a good worker. There’s nothing wrong with that!” I slapped the table with my palm, jolting the mugs of coffee a little. “Look, give it some time if you want to think it over but I could really use the help. You are already coming in on your days off. Why not let me give you a better job?”

  Sam hunched her shoulders defensively and I knew I was in for an entrenched battle. This was the way with her. It wasn’t her fault, not really. We were both incredibly stubborn and Sam was one of the few people who thought of praise as some sort of assault on her character.

  With an effort, Sam relaxed her shoulders and cupped her mug with both hands. “What will it entail?”

  “A pay raise and you would be considered a salaried employee. We’ll start you out at forty grand a year and if you do decently there will be as much opportunity for growth as you want, really.”

  Sam rolled her eyes at me. “I mean, a thirty-percent raise is nice and all but I meant the duties. What more will I need to do?”

  “You would be in charge of the new hires-”

  “How many of those are you getting?” she cut in.

  “Two, we will interview the candidates together and pick from them. You will be in charge of the general paperwork - which you already do - opening the shop and overseeing the two clerks that we will be hiring. Aside from that, everything else will stay the same.” I could see the idea taking root in her mind. Good.

  “And if I accept, I’ll be salaried?”

  “That’s right, which means regardless of hours worked you will get just north of forty-thousand a year. If you want to come in on any day that you aren’t scheduled to work you can but you will not get overtime. And I will not have to jump through hoops to make sure there are no labor laws being violated when you do that.”

  Sam smirked and dipped her bat-shaped donut into her coffee and took a bite. “Yeah, sorry about that. I know you are pretty serious about the ‘law’ a
nd stuff.”

  “You mean the thing that keeps society from collapsing on itself and turning into Mad Max?”

  “Yeah, the thing that stops the world from being awesome. See, I knew you got me, Thomas.”

  “Can we get back on track?”

  She flapped her hand dismissively at me and I leaned back in my chair, rocking it back onto two legs. I folded my arms over my black apron dusted with flour and watched her for a long moment.

  “If you need-”

  “I’ll do it,” she blurted out.

  I swear, sometimes she holds out on purpose just so she can interrupt me dramatically.

  “You accept the job offer?” I had to be sure.

  “Yeah. I mean, I would have to be an idiot not to. If you are willing to pay me that much just to do most of the job I was already doing and babysit some other people, it’s a no-brainer. Besides if you didn’t pay me it’d be somebody else.” Sam jabbed a half-eaten bat donut at me. “And I’ll be damned if I let somebody else take all your ‘hot baker guy’ money.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a sigh. “For the last time, Sam. I am not changing the shop name to ‘Hot Baker Guy’ seriously.”

  She scoffed and took another bite of her donut soaked in coffee. “Your loss, man. It is an awesome name,” she somehow managed to say without spraying crumbs or coffee.

  “You’ve been here all day, why don’t you go get some rest?” I did not get how she could come in just before eight, work throughout the day and then choose to hang out with me in the shop after her shift was over.

  If people came into the shop she would pounce up and take their order before I was standing. It was a nightmare to try and manage her working hours because she never stopped.

  When she realized I was paying her overtime every time she was helping a customer or doing her job, she started documenting her actual work hours with disturbing attention to detail.

  Nobody in the shop? She would say she clocked out. Somehow she managed to get me to pay her less while she worked more. At least this way I would be able to pay her a fair wage without the worry - or headache - of dealing with her hours.

  It was a win for both of us. Not to mention, I could make good on the promise that I made to Claire about hiring more help. Between Sam and me, and the new hires the bakery should not need to be staffed by any one person for more than eight hours.

  Claire had given me a long talk about the values of work-life balance, as if she ascribed to that herself, and had impressed how important it was for me to take some time for myself.

  Things were only then getting good at the bakery and I could not help but want to be there for every moment of it. But she was right. Having Sam help out showed me just how exhausted I was.

  It was a turning point.

  “Instead of me leaving, why don’t you close the shop at six?” asked Sam.

  I shrugged. “It’s always been open until eight.”

  “And you think it’s a good idea to do things a certain way just because they’ve always been done that way? Way to be progressive, bro.”

  I took a page from Sam’s playbook and rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out of my head. That made her snort out her coffee.

  “Dammit, Weller!” She scrambled to clean up the spray of coffee. I let out a deep, joyful laugh. “This is not funny! Okay. It’s a little funny, fuck you though and answer my damn question.”

  “I don’t know, Sam. Honestly. I know there isn’t much business after six or so but there are a few people who come in still.”

  “Listen,” said Sam wiping up the last of the coffee. “As your new manager, I have to say, it’s a waste of money. How much are you going to pay the new guys?”

  “Same as I paid you, Sam. Fifteen an hour.” Did she think I was playing favorites with her? I had, but I also had enough money to pay a good wage to ensure a good employee. I wasn’t about to nickel and dime just when the business was turning a profit.

  Quality would always win out over saving a buck in my opinion. And it would continue to do so as long as I ran the business.

  “Okay so say you only have one employee here from six to eight. That’s thirty bucks a day you don’t need to spend. Not to mention the electricity and other costs of keeping all the lights on and everything.”

  “Yeah, and if one or two customers come in during those two hours then we’re likely to make a profit most days,” I countered. “How many people have come in within the last hour?”

  Sam, with a freakishly fast and accurate response, “Six.”

  I tried to hide my surprise by ducking my head in what I hoped was a nod. “Right, and how much did they spend?”

  “Together? About a hundred-thirty… ohhh I see what you’re getting at. Sneaky.”

  Trying not to sigh I pressed on. “So even if we only get that number a few days a week it still pays off. Plus, it’s slower so it’s not quite so demanding which is perfect for me. I can take over easily at this time of night and then empty the registers and do the final tally and bring the deposit to the bank.”

  There was no understanding Sam. She could do math ridiculously fast at times and then a moment later she struggled to connect two very obvious events. I loved her dearly, she was the closest thing I had to a sister. But sometimes she made me want to pull my hair out.

  I swore she did it on purpose. Right when I thought I had her figured out, she would pull something out of the air that made me second-guess everything I knew about her.

  That was my Sam.

  “We’ll do interviews on Sunday, that’s only a couple days away and it is usually pretty quiet during that time. We’ll shut the shop down for a few hours while we hold the interviews and then open it back up in time for you to go to lunch,” I said.

  Sam traced the rim of the coffee mug with her index finger. Today her nails were painted an eye-wrenching green. They changed daily. “How about you do the interviewing and I keep the shop open?”

  I saw where the conversation was going. “That’s a great idea. Except, I’ll keep the shop open and you can do the interviewing.”

  Sam gave me a shrewd look. “You know, after careful consideration of my managerial duties, I do believe it would behoove us both if we were to be present for the interview. Forthwith and so forth.”

  I swore I could see Sam sweating at the very thought of doing all those interviews on her own. I did my best to keep my face blank. I wanted to have her dangle a little, get a taste of her own medicine but I could not keep my face neutral for long.

  When I bit my lip to keep a laugh from roiling out she knew the jig was up. Sam slapped the table and pointed accusingly at me. “You were going to let me think I would have to do all those interviews myself!”

  “It would serve you right, Sam. Trying to weasel out of it like you couldn’t use the experience with it.”

  Come to think of it, I could use the experience. Sam was the only person I ever ‘interviewed’ and I would hardly call that a formal affair.

  The truth of the matter was, I had never been in any position of power before to do any hiring. A Game of Scones had always been my sole responsibility. It never did well enough to require a second person, much less afford one.

  Now I was in the odd position of both having the means and the need for new people and it scared me. Honestly, I do not have any idea how people did it.

  I thought it was a nerve-wracking position to be in interviewing multiple places hoping for a callback. I had no idea the process of doing the interviews themselves was so stressful.

  What if I picked the wrong person? Would I know a red flag when I saw it? What if this and what if that. My mind was going in circles with worries and doubts.

  Sam reached forward, her hand covering mine. “Thomas, you’re going to do fine.” Her voice was so reassuring, her soft blue eyes shined with the confidence I wished I felt.

  “How do you know?” I asked, allowing myself to be unsure in front of Sam.

&
nbsp; “Because you have a good instinct, so what if you haven’t done this before. Most people have never interviewed a person. Ask the questions you would have liked to be asked. Do you care about their work history? How hard is it really to run a register, even one as old and janky as yours?”

  I rubbed the back of my head and took her words in. She was right. The actual job itself was incredibly simple. Be friendly, operate the register, take orders and deliver them to the guest. It wasn’t hard at all.

  “I guess I never thought of it that way,” I said, leaning forward until the chair fell back on all four legs. “I suppose I always thought the hiring process was ridiculously stiff and rigid. While I don’t think it could possibly be fun, it should be informative. So much about a person is impossible to distill on a resume or an application.”

  Sam was nodding her blonde head along with every word. “Thank you! Somebody finally fucking gets it. Holy Hell, you just might not fuck this up. Oh, don’t give me that look. There aren’t any customers - or guests, whatever - here at the moment so I can curse all the fuck I want.”

  I let it go at that. She was technically right. We had agreed that if she could keep her obscenities to a minimum in front of the guests, that I wouldn’t care if she cursed up a storm as soon as the shop was empty.

  As with many things that included Sam, I was reasonably sure she did it purely to fuck with me. The whiplash of her demeanor going from sweet and kind to colorful obscenities that would make a sailor blush was intense.

  “Since you intend on sticking around, you can help me set up the interviews.” I got up and went behind the counter beneath the register where I kept the printed out applications.

  When I rose up to full height I honestly expected the table Sam had been at to be vacant. The sheets of paper firmly in my hand, I marched back to the table and set them down in the space between our crumb-filled plates.

  “Paper copies, Thomas?” Sam’s voice was thick with disdain. “Why don’t you use some of that extra money to get a few tablets or something? That way you can stop being stuck in the past.”