presence? “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
His eyes danced. “Ms. Shepherd, I think I know why your other recipes have been so successful in my restaurants—you put a lot of thought behind them.”
Relieved with the change of subject and ridiculously pleased at his praise, she sorted through the file folder until she found a menu for the coffeehouse and ran a shaky finger down the dessert section. “You offer various cookies, muffins, sliced pie, sweet breads and Danishes—al are prepackaged, sold in individual servings and relatively inexpensive.”
“And simple to store and serve,” he said. “I don’t want something too complicated to prepare in volume.”
On firm business footing at last, she nodded. “Agreed. I foresee Blythe providing the base element, prepackaged in bulk, with the last-minute toppings—sauces, whipped
cream, etcetera—being added at the coffeehouses.”
“So far, so good.”
Piper reached down to scratch her ankle through the bandage with the end of her pen. “What retail price point are you looking for?”
“To serve two?”
“A serving for two to three.”
“Probably no more than five ninety-five, which means I need the prepackaged product and toppings for less than three.”
Ms. Shepherd chewed on her lip, and Ian watched careful y. He was amazed he’d been able to concentrate on anything she’d said to this point, even though she had exhibited
remarkable insight into what he was seeking. Gone was the opinion that this woman was ditzy—clumsy, intriguing and engaging, perhaps, but not ditzy.
Earlier this morning he couldn’t wait to escape her company. Then he’d fretted about her ever since he’d left. He’d been so fidgety and distracted that Edmund and Ms.
Shepherd’s assistant probably thought he suffered from attention deficit disorder.
He’d simply been concerned for her wel -being, he’d told himself. But he had to admit, he’d been more preoccupied with the way she looked in those loose-fitting jeans when
she removed her jacket in the lab than with the bandage around her ankle or the scraped skin beneath her wispy dark bangs.
Ian sniffed danger. No matter how much he told himself he did not need the entanglement of a brief affair—and certainly not with a valuable vendor connection—he couldn’t
keep himself from eyeing every flat surface in the lab and gauging its sex-worthiness.
“We can do it,” Ms. Shepherd announced.
He inhaled sharply into his cup, sucking hot coffee down his windpipe. Lapsing into a coughing seizure, he barked like a hoarse seal. Ms. Shepherd half rose from her chair,
but he waved her down as reality sank in. While his mind had wandered off into Lustvil e, she was actual y trying to resolve business issues. Ian cleared his throat and careful y swal owed another mouthful of coffee. “I’m sure you can do it,” he croaked. “I’m sure Blythe can do it, I mean.”
“Of course our production manager wil have to have the final say,” she said in a cautious tone, “but at least now that I know what cost range you’re shooting for, I can begin working on the recipe specs. Mr. Blythe informed me we’re not the only plant in the running for your business. If you don’t mind me asking, what am I up against?”
Absurdly, Meredith flashed in his mind. Then he fast-forwarded through the delicacies he’d sampled at the Peoria plant. “Right now, a white chocolate mousse is the dessert to beat.”
Her lips curved into a sly smile. “We’l see about that.” She squinted and looked at the ceiling. “If al goes wel , I should have a few samples by tomorrow.”
Panic rose in his throat. “Tomorrow?” He’d counted on at least a week before going back to Chicago, back to Meredith—and two weeks sounded better al the time.
She steepled her smal hands and looked adorably apologetic. “Sorry. Typical y I’d work much faster, but I’m afraid my little accident is going to slow me down. I’m sure you’re
His eyes danced. “Ms. Shepherd, I think I know why your other recipes have been so successful in my restaurants—you put a lot of thought behind them.”
Relieved with the change of subject and ridiculously pleased at his praise, she sorted through the file folder until she found a menu for the coffeehouse and ran a shaky finger down the dessert section. “You offer various cookies, muffins, sliced pie, sweet breads and Danishes—al are prepackaged, sold in individual servings and relatively inexpensive.”
“And simple to store and serve,” he said. “I don’t want something too complicated to prepare in volume.”
On firm business footing at last, she nodded. “Agreed. I foresee Blythe providing the base element, prepackaged in bulk, with the last-minute toppings—sauces, whipped
cream, etcetera—being added at the coffeehouses.”
“So far, so good.”
Piper reached down to scratch her ankle through the bandage with the end of her pen. “What retail price point are you looking for?”
“To serve two?”
“A serving for two to three.”
“Probably no more than five ninety-five, which means I need the prepackaged product and toppings for less than three.”
Ms. Shepherd chewed on her lip, and Ian watched careful y. He was amazed he’d been able to concentrate on anything she’d said to this point, even though she had exhibited
remarkable insight into what he was seeking. Gone was the opinion that this woman was ditzy—clumsy, intriguing and engaging, perhaps, but not ditzy.
Earlier this morning he couldn’t wait to escape her company. Then he’d fretted about her ever since he’d left. He’d been so fidgety and distracted that Edmund and Ms.
Shepherd’s assistant probably thought he suffered from attention deficit disorder.
He’d simply been concerned for her wel -being, he’d told himself. But he had to admit, he’d been more preoccupied with the way she looked in those loose-fitting jeans when
she removed her jacket in the lab than with the bandage around her ankle or the scraped skin beneath her wispy dark bangs.
Ian sniffed danger. No matter how much he told himself he did not need the entanglement of a brief affair—and certainly not with a valuable vendor connection—he couldn’t
keep himself from eyeing every flat surface in the lab and gauging its sex-worthiness.
“We can do it,” Ms. Shepherd announced.
He inhaled sharply into his cup, sucking hot coffee down his windpipe. Lapsing into a coughing seizure, he barked like a hoarse seal. Ms. Shepherd half rose from her chair,
but he waved her down as reality sank in. While his mind had wandered off into Lustvil e, she was actual y trying to resolve business issues. Ian cleared his throat and careful y swal owed another mouthful of coffee. “I’m sure you can do it,” he croaked. “I’m sure Blythe can do it, I mean.”
“Of course our production manager wil have to have the final say,” she said in a cautious tone, “but at least now that I know what cost range you’re shooting for, I can begin working on the recipe specs. Mr. Blythe informed me we’re not the only plant in the running for your business. If you don’t mind me asking, what am I up against?”
Absurdly, Meredith flashed in his mind. Then he fast-forwarded through the delicacies he’d sampled at the Peoria plant. “Right now, a white chocolate mousse is the dessert to beat.”
Her lips curved into a sly smile. “We’l see about that.” She squinted and looked at the ceiling. “If al goes wel , I should have a few samples by tomorrow.”
Panic rose in his throat. “Tomorrow?” He’d counted on at least a week before going back to Chicago, back to Meredith—and two weeks sounded better al the time.
She steepled her smal hands and looked adorably apologetic. “Sorry. Typical y I’d work much faster, but I’m afraid my little accident is going to slow me down. I’m sure you’re
Similar Books
