The corners of his lips twitch up, his gaze sliding out to the crowd where I’m sure Janelle and Ron are acting like fools. “Did you know in Canada they have a name for this kind of thing? ‘Buck and doe.’ ”
How funny that I’d been thinking about that same trivia tidbit earlier. I won’t read into it, but it’s a fraction of a point in his favor. Instead, I shake my head in disgust. “Iknewthere was something off about the Canadians.”
He laughs again, the sound wrapping around me like a warm embrace. “I feel the need to stick up for a Commonwealth nation, but I fear this is indefensible.”
“I’m just kidding,” I say breezily, eyes flicking to the bartender as he sets down our next round. “I love Canada. My most successful store is in Vancouver. Beautiful city.”
“Store?”
“Ah, that’s right,” I muse, cocking my head to the side as I smile sweetly at him. “You still don’t know who I am.”
My eyes track his movements as he reaches for his glass and—Lord have mercy, man’s got big hands. Long fingers and broad palms, the kind I could imagine doing wicked things.
Too soon, Stella. You’re not ready for that.
“Then tell me.”
I have to take a sip of my drink to wet my suddenly dry mouth before I can reply. “I’m an entrepreneur.”
It’s a vague answer, but there’s not much else that sums up my career and all the things that make it up.
Of course he calls me out on it. “That doesn’t explain why you’re famous.”
“Not famous, per se,” I correct. “Well-known in certain circles.”
He shakes his head, almost like he’s disappointed in me for playing coy. He must not have been lying about liking boldness.
“Give me more than that.” He leans in, our eyes catching again. There’s a curiosity in his gaze that takes me aback because I can’t remember the last time a man looked at me with such interest. “Tell me who you are.”
My heart’s beating faster. This isn’t a competition, but it still feels like I’m losing the upper hand. He’s supposed to be onmyhook. I’m not supposed to be dangling from his.
“What do you want to know?” I ask.
“Start from the beginning. Give me the highlights.”
“The beginning? All right.” I huff out a laugh and settle into my seat. “I was born in Atlanta to the CEO of a major food conglomerate and a corporate lawyer. They met when my father’s company was being investigated for fraud. My mother won his case. He proposed soon after.” I leave out how the man’s been whipped ever since. Or how my vision of true love looks like them. “I grew up doing beauty pageants and modeledas a teenager, then went to college at Georgetown for accounting. And then I…blew up on social media.”
“Blew up?”
This is the actual beginning most people are interested in, but it’s disingenuous to leave out the earlier parts, especially the wealth and privilege I come from. Nothing in my life would have been possible without it.
“I used to bake a lot in college,” I explain. “It was a stress reliever. And I wasverygood at it.” No use being humble, considering what I’ve accomplished. “So I would post my bakes and recipes online. I made little videos, really let my personality shine through—just had fun with it. I was known for my macarons.”
It’s slow, but I can see the recognition beginning to dawn. Oh, he knows who I am. He just didn’t realize there was an actual person behind the name on the storefront.
“I got a lot of messages asking me when I was planning to open my own bakery,” I go on. “It wasn’t until my senior year that I started thinking about it seriously. I mean, a career in accounting sounded stable, but it soundedboring—unless I could work it into something I actually cared about. Like baking. My parents didn’t love the idea, but my father bankrolled the flagship patisserie in DC, and that was it. In eight years, we’ve opened a hundred locations with more on the way.”
Heavy silence follows my story, and Thomas searches my face like he’s seeing me with new eyes.
“You’re not justStella,” he finally says, and I swear there’s a note of impressed awe in the words. “You’re StellaMargaux.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Huh.” He leans back, elbow propped on the bar as he looks me over again, a grin spreading across his face. “How unexpected.”
“About as unexpected as me meeting a race car driver.” I take another sip of my drink, the liquor easing its way through me. “And I’m Stella Baldwin, actually,” I amend. “Margaux is my middle name. I figured it sounded better for a macaron shop.”
“It does have a nice ring to it.”
