Page 22 of Macaron Massacre

She shrugs as she indulges in another bite. “From what I heard, it had something to do with his father. I’m still not too clear on it. Regardless, those greedy sisters didn’t mind one bit. They might be kind and sweet on the outside, but the entire lot of them is greedy and bitter on the inside. It was a relief when Gloria let me go.”

“It sounds like it.” A couple of women head in this direction, stopping politely behind me as they wait their turn at the counter. I close up my box of goodies and lean in.

“Hey? You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find Judge Baxter, would you?”

A throaty laugh emits from her as she shakes her shoulders. “Don’t waste your time, sweetheart. He is a looker, but rumor has it, he’s expecting a baby with some cheap tramp he knocked up. It was inevitable, though, the way he tramps about himself.”

My mouth falls open as I start to back away, and the women behind me start right in on their spiel.

Cheap tramp? I should have given her a piece of my mind.

On second thought, who cares what people think?

Come to think of it, all the women Everett has ever dated have been cheap tramps, so I can see how easy it was for her to draw the conclusion.

I head down toward a set of double doors and lean in, listening to the murmurs until I undoubtedly hear Everett’s thunderous voice.

Ha! I knew I’d find him. I just have to see him.

I’m sure if I open the door just one inch I’ll be satisfied. There is nothing hotter than seeing your boyfriend presiding over a criminal investigation, looking lean and mean—not to mention large and in charge all at the same time. And oddly, the same can be said about Noah.

I open the door just a crack and peer inside. There he is. Everett Baxter is shockingly handsome in an unsafe way. I’m beginning to think that bailiff is here just to keep the women at bay. My heart thumps wildly at the sight of him in his stark black gown.

He appears to be raging mad about something. Scratch that. According to that hard V his brows have formed, he is downright furious. He’s barking something to the poor people to my right, and I can’t help but laugh at the fact he’s just as grumpy on the stand as I remember him to be. It’s nice to know some things never change.

I lean against the door and it gives way as if it were hollow, and I end up tripping and falling my way into his courtroom as my box of cookies flies through the air and rains down over me like flour-based confetti.

Every soul in the room turns to gawk at me in horror, but it’s Everett’s eyes that look as if they’re about to reach out and touch me—and not in any good way.

As my luck would have it, the bailiff happened to open the door just as I leaned in. And from all the growling he’s doing, I gather he’s piping mad, too, but my full attention is on that ornery judge as he rises to his feet.

“Lemon?”

“I can explain,” I say, quickly sweeping up all the cookies I can back into my pink crooked box.

“In my chambers, right now,” he thunders as he slams his gavel with all he’s got. “Court is adjourned until further notice.”

And just like that, I get my chamber date with Everett.

Before I know it, we’re behind closed doors, and his chest is palpating against mine. Everett looks both fighting mad and dangerously delicious.

I clear my throat. “Would you believe I happened to be in the vicinity on business?”

His lips curl as a wicked grin threatens to bloom on his face. “Motion to speak denied.”

We don’t use any words—more like grunts and groans. And the things that man can do with his gavel—euphemistically speaking, of course—are perfectly illegal.

Wow.

Just wow.

The rumors are true.

There is nothing hotter than a judge in his chambers.

Chapter 9

Typically, I’m all alone at the bakery in the wee hours of the morning when the sun is still just a theory, and the air has an icy snap to it—even for the month of June, but on this fine day, I’m not here with one but two souls who have decided to haunt me.