by: Jenny Hartwell
Series: Simone’s Chocolate
Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romance/Romantic Comedy
Release Date: February 8, 2021
Publisher: Entangled Publishing ~ Embrace
Amazon | Paperback | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo | Goodreads
Bitter rivalry, sweet attraction.
The only thing tempering their insta-hate is delicious attraction.
Sunny chocolatier Charlotte Beecher is unemployed, in student debt, and on the verge of hawking her beloved copper pots just to make ends meet. So when a gourmet chocolate factory chooses her as one of five candidates to help re-launch the company in their Charlie and the Chocolate Factory inspired competition, Charlotte begins to see a light at the end of the tunnel.
Fellow contestant Luke Wells complicates her plans to win by a landslide with his flow charts and marketing projections. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Haughty is all about the bottom line and is as bitter as she is sweet. And when he snubs Charlotte in the first challenge, misunderstanding or not, she transforms from cream puff to jawbreaker. Bring. It. On.
But when these two rivals find themselves distracted by delicious attraction, will they let their passion get in the way of winning the competition?
They were simply two mature adults having a mature conversation in a dark janitor’s closet, as nature intended.
She drew a deep breath. “You stole my idea.”
Silence.
“Do you deny it?” she asked.
The air was heavy and still between them. And laden with pine-scented cleanser. There was a shuffling noise once more. Something touched her arm. Charlotte squeaked, her body jerking.
“I could make the same accusation.” Luke’s hand slid down her arm to her wrist.
“W-what are you doing?” she asked, shivering at the heat of his hand on her bare skin.
“I read about human lie detectors.” He laid his fingers across the inside of her wrist. “I’m going to test you and see if you’re being honest.”
“Oh, I think we both know who’s not being honest in this closet.”
Luke’s finger swiped across the thin, sensitive skin at her pulse point, and Charlotte’s heartbeat sped up.
Oh hell.
She was having a physical reaction—a purely accidental, could-happen-to-anyone reaction—to his touch, and he was going to assume she was lying.
“Did you steal my idea?” he asked, his voice sounding almost lazy.
“Me? No.” She tried to wriggle her arm loose.
He refused to let go of her wrist. “How will I know I can trust you?”
“Well, how do I know I can trust you?”
“Here.”
Charlotte felt something nudge her side. She reached out. It was his arm, the one not holding her wrist.
“You want me to lie detector you?” she asked.
“Seems fair, don’t you think?”
Charlotte swallowed, then skated her hand to his palm. She slid her fingers along his, feeling the length of his digits. Crossing his palm, she rubbed across his calluses. What work had he done, what had he touched, that had left marks on his skin? She reached a narrow swath of wrist below the cuff of his dress shirt, the skin lightly ridged with connective tissue.
“Unbutton it.” His raspy voice seemed to touch her, and she felt it like the calluses on his palm, rough and stimulating.
Charlotte licked her lips. The dark stillness of the closet was its own little cosmos, a universe unto itself where only she and this man—this handsome, icy, deceitful man— existed.
She flicked the button through the hole and slid the fabric up his arms. The rustle of cotton was suddenly pornographic in the quiet.
Charlotte laid her fingers against his wrist.
“Tell me”—she cleared her throat—“tell me what you did on the factory floor.”
“I did the same thing you did.”
His fingers moved in a circle across her wrist. Charlotte shivered. But then his words sank in.
“You spied on me?” she asked, her voice breathless.
His fingers stilled. “So you’re saying you spied on me.”
Charlotte gaped. “No. Yes. Well, I was simply trying to hear what you and Bob were talking about. I was worried that you’d get my plan out of him.” She straightened her spine. “And it sounds like you did.”
His wrist flexed under her fingers. How was that even possible?
“So you think I deliberately found the one employee you’d talked to,” Luke said. “I pumped him for intel on your idea. And then I stole your concept for the company to produce miniature chocolates because apparently there’s no way I could have come up with a plan for market expansion on my own.” His voice was colder than the ice cream she’d been studying all day. “Is that what you believe?”
Charlotte’s heartbeat pounded. Fury at this man roiled in her blood—fury for his casual dismissal of her as a person from the very beginning, for stealing her idea, for going before her in the presentations so she looked foolish in front of Simone and the others, for touching her wrist so tenderly—
She jerked her arm away, and this time he let go.
“Yes,” she hissed, “that’s what I believe. You talked to that man in the factory and stole my idea.”
The air in the closet had grown charged, the moment before lightning struck during a storm.
She heard Luke suck in a shuddery breath.
“It sounds like you have it all figured out,” he finally said, his voice an iceberg. “Thank you for letting me know your opinion of me.”
She felt movement, and the door behind her jiggled against her back.
“Move,” he commanded.
Charlotte pulled away from the door. It opened, and she squinted against the bright light from the hallway.
And then he was gone, leaving her with pine-cleanser fumes and angry confusion as her only companions.
She drew a deep breath. “You stole my idea.”
Silence.
“Do you deny it?” she asked.
The air was heavy and still between them. And laden with pine-scented cleanser. There was a shuffling noise once more. Something touched her arm. Charlotte squeaked, her body jerking.
“I could make the same accusation.” Luke’s hand slid down her arm to her wrist.
“W-what are you doing?” she asked, shivering at the heat of his hand on her bare skin.
“I read about human lie detectors.” He laid his fingers across the inside of her wrist. “I’m going to test you and see if you’re being honest.”
“Oh, I think we both know who’s not being honest in this closet.”
Luke’s finger swiped across the thin, sensitive skin at her pulse point, and Charlotte’s heartbeat sped up.
Oh hell.
She was having a physical reaction—a purely accidental, could-happen-to-anyone reaction—to his touch, and he was going to assume she was lying.
“Did you steal my idea?” he asked, his voice sounding almost lazy.
“Me? No.” She tried to wriggle her arm loose.
He refused to let go of her wrist. “How will I know I can trust you?”
“Well, how do I know I can trust you?”
“Here.”
Charlotte felt something nudge her side. She reached out. It was his arm, the one not holding her wrist.
“You want me to lie detector you?” she asked.
“Seems fair, don’t you think?”
Charlotte swallowed, then skated her hand to his palm. She slid her fingers along his, feeling the length of his digits. Crossing his palm, she rubbed across his calluses. What work had he done, what had he touched, that had left marks on his skin? She reached a narrow swath of wrist below the cuff of his dress shirt, the skin lightly ridged with connective tissue.
“Unbutton it.” His raspy voice seemed to touch her, and she felt it like the calluses on his palm, rough and stimulating.
Charlotte licked her lips. The dark stillness of the closet was its own little cosmos, a universe unto itself where only she and this man—this handsome, icy, deceitful man— existed.
She flicked the button through the hole and slid the fabric up his arms. The rustle of cotton was suddenly pornographic in the quiet.
Charlotte laid her fingers against his wrist.
“Tell me”—she cleared her throat—“tell me what you did on the factory floor.”
“I did the same thing you did.”
His fingers moved in a circle across her wrist. Charlotte shivered. But then his words sank in.
“You spied on me?” she asked, her voice breathless.
His fingers stilled. “So you’re saying you spied on me.”
Charlotte gaped. “No. Yes. Well, I was simply trying to hear what you and Bob were talking about. I was worried that you’d get my plan out of him.” She straightened her spine. “And it sounds like you did.”
His wrist flexed under her fingers. How was that even possible?
“So you think I deliberately found the one employee you’d talked to,” Luke said. “I pumped him for intel on your idea. And then I stole your concept for the company to produce miniature chocolates because apparently there’s no way I could have come up with a plan for market expansion on my own.” His voice was colder than the ice cream she’d been studying all day. “Is that what you believe?”
Charlotte’s heartbeat pounded. Fury at this man roiled in her blood—fury for his casual dismissal of her as a person from the very beginning, for stealing her idea, for going before her in the presentations so she looked foolish in front of Simone and the others, for touching her wrist so tenderly—
She jerked her arm away, and this time he let go.
“Yes,” she hissed, “that’s what I believe. You talked to that man in the factory and stole my idea.”
The air in the closet had grown charged, the moment before lightning struck during a storm.
She heard Luke suck in a shuddery breath.
“It sounds like you have it all figured out,” he finally said, his voice an iceberg. “Thank you for letting me know your opinion of me.”
She felt movement, and the door behind her jiggled against her back.
“Move,” he commanded.
Charlotte pulled away from the door. It opened, and she squinted against the bright light from the hallway.
And then he was gone, leaving her with pine-cleanser fumes and angry confusion as her only companions.
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