own your time for six weeks. End of discussion.” He picked up a cookie and ate it. “Take the pins out of your hair.”
“I can do the baking here in the kitchen, in moments when I have spare time. It’s only Wednesdays and Saturdays. Mable says she delivers on Wednesday and can pick up the desserts. You’ll be going to town on Saturday and can carry them into her.” Eleanor continued explaining her plan and was rewarded with his indifference.
She noted Mr. Burke’s penchant for closing topics she wished to discuss and ignored his hairpin comment.
He reached behind her head and removed the tortoise shell comb holding her hair in place. Two pins later her sedate coif became heavy waves cascading down her back.
”If you have spare time, I’m paying you too much.” He squinted at the strand between his fingers as if measuring its worth. “I’m not hauling cupcakes for you.”
“All right.” Eleanor braced for battle. Mr. Burke wore stubborn with pride. “I’m sorry we couldn’t agree. It has been interesting working for you.” Her hair slid from his grasp when she stood.
He growled, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You cuttin’ line one day into the contract?”
“My contract with Mable supersedes my deal with you.” Eleanor started toward the stairs, despairingly sure she’d left herself no wiggle room. If he called her bluff, he’d be depositing her at the Mercantile’s back door. Nevertheless, she made her voice firm when she said, “I’ll get my things.”
“Sit down and explain this agreement you have with Mable.” He spoke curtly.
“I already did.” Eleanor kept walking, reaching the base of the steps.
“Tell me again,” Mr. Burke said sternly. “If you intend to go into business, learn to negotiate. You gave up too soon.”
Eleanor disagreed. She felt rather euphoric and triumphant looking down at him as he found reasons for her to stay.
Cyrus had a sneaking suspicion he’d just been maneuvered. She wanted him to think her eager to leave and he wanted her to turn around and come back to her chair.
But she didn’t. She climbed halfway up the stairs and then sat on a step looking down at him with her hands clasped before her.
Good negotiating strategy, make your opponent look up at you… He stood, which put them just about on eye level and she squirmed a little, having a hard time meeting his gaze.
“It’s a matter of honor,” she told him. Her words were sedate, calm. “Of course I would also like to further my bakery enterprise. But foremost, it seems important to fulfill the pledge I made.”
“You promised to supply Mable with rolls and such twice a week, right?” Cyrus mulled it over, piecing together the strands of the conversation he’d ignored.
“No,” she corrected him. “Just desserts. The order has grown quite impressively since we began our venture and Mable reports she’s getting special requests if I have time to fill them.”
“Then why move here?” he asked gruffly.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you. I should have mentioned the reason I need a place to stay. After visiting very pleasantly with Uncle Henry and Aunt Millie for several months, circumstances in Hartford changed. Grandfather Alcott ordered me home and Uncle Henry insisted I obey.”
“Anything else you forgot to mention?” Cyrus relaxed, getting comfortable in his stance as he watched Eleanor compose her answer. Curiouser and curiouser… She’s been in town for months and Henry didn’t mention her.
Nibbling her bottom lip, she assessed him and shifted uneasily on the hard step.
“You could come back down here and we’ll both sit down to finish the talk.”
She didn’t move, remaining fixed to the step and staring at him.
“Why’d your late husband set you aside?”
“Who knows, really? We were childless, he wanted an heir. He formed a liaison with another woman. He wanted control of the Alcott-Lacey Bank…” She flinched,
“I can do the baking here in the kitchen, in moments when I have spare time. It’s only Wednesdays and Saturdays. Mable says she delivers on Wednesday and can pick up the desserts. You’ll be going to town on Saturday and can carry them into her.” Eleanor continued explaining her plan and was rewarded with his indifference.
She noted Mr. Burke’s penchant for closing topics she wished to discuss and ignored his hairpin comment.
He reached behind her head and removed the tortoise shell comb holding her hair in place. Two pins later her sedate coif became heavy waves cascading down her back.
”If you have spare time, I’m paying you too much.” He squinted at the strand between his fingers as if measuring its worth. “I’m not hauling cupcakes for you.”
“All right.” Eleanor braced for battle. Mr. Burke wore stubborn with pride. “I’m sorry we couldn’t agree. It has been interesting working for you.” Her hair slid from his grasp when she stood.
He growled, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You cuttin’ line one day into the contract?”
“My contract with Mable supersedes my deal with you.” Eleanor started toward the stairs, despairingly sure she’d left herself no wiggle room. If he called her bluff, he’d be depositing her at the Mercantile’s back door. Nevertheless, she made her voice firm when she said, “I’ll get my things.”
“Sit down and explain this agreement you have with Mable.” He spoke curtly.
“I already did.” Eleanor kept walking, reaching the base of the steps.
“Tell me again,” Mr. Burke said sternly. “If you intend to go into business, learn to negotiate. You gave up too soon.”
Eleanor disagreed. She felt rather euphoric and triumphant looking down at him as he found reasons for her to stay.
Cyrus had a sneaking suspicion he’d just been maneuvered. She wanted him to think her eager to leave and he wanted her to turn around and come back to her chair.
But she didn’t. She climbed halfway up the stairs and then sat on a step looking down at him with her hands clasped before her.
Good negotiating strategy, make your opponent look up at you… He stood, which put them just about on eye level and she squirmed a little, having a hard time meeting his gaze.
“It’s a matter of honor,” she told him. Her words were sedate, calm. “Of course I would also like to further my bakery enterprise. But foremost, it seems important to fulfill the pledge I made.”
“You promised to supply Mable with rolls and such twice a week, right?” Cyrus mulled it over, piecing together the strands of the conversation he’d ignored.
“No,” she corrected him. “Just desserts. The order has grown quite impressively since we began our venture and Mable reports she’s getting special requests if I have time to fill them.”
“Then why move here?” he asked gruffly.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you. I should have mentioned the reason I need a place to stay. After visiting very pleasantly with Uncle Henry and Aunt Millie for several months, circumstances in Hartford changed. Grandfather Alcott ordered me home and Uncle Henry insisted I obey.”
“Anything else you forgot to mention?” Cyrus relaxed, getting comfortable in his stance as he watched Eleanor compose her answer. Curiouser and curiouser… She’s been in town for months and Henry didn’t mention her.
Nibbling her bottom lip, she assessed him and shifted uneasily on the hard step.
“You could come back down here and we’ll both sit down to finish the talk.”
She didn’t move, remaining fixed to the step and staring at him.
“Why’d your late husband set you aside?”
“Who knows, really? We were childless, he wanted an heir. He formed a liaison with another woman. He wanted control of the Alcott-Lacey Bank…” She flinched,
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