Page 4 of Pretty Desperate (Pine Village #6)

Though, I was able to save, thanks to the busy summer tourist season, but it’ll be a few months before the winter crowd arrives. Did I save enough? Spring and fall aren’t always the easiest when you own a small bakery that’s reliant on foot traffic to pay its bills.

Clearing my throat, I reply, “I can understand your passion, Kameron. Really. I get it. Owning a business in this town can be challenging.”

He nods. “Incredibly so. But I’ve got a solid foundation.

I have roots that run deep in this town, and I don’t want to be anywhere else.

I want more space. I need more space. My kitchen is tiny and storage is practically nonexistent.

I had to build my restaurant for the space I had, not what I needed.

I need to grow. I’m stunted.” He holds my gaze, his dark eyes burning with an intensity I can feel clear down to my toes.

“I need this, Jilly. I need your help. You’re the only one I can ask, and I know this is huge. ”

Jilly .

No one calls me Jilly. Not anymore. My parents did when I was little, but I put a kibosh on it back in junior high.

It was embarrassing to me, having your parents holler your nickname at track meets and at the end of plays.

Classmates picked up on it and used it against me, teasing me mercilessly my entire sixth grade year.

That’s when I asked them to stop, explaining how much I didn’t like it, and for the most part, they abided by my wishes.

Every now and again it’ll still come out, but they usually refer to me by my given name.

Hearing Kameron use it doesn’t have the same effect it did when I was younger.

In fact, it’s quite the opposite. The name Jilly rolling off his tongue is more intimate, like an aphrodisiac that goes straight to my underused, undersexed girly bits and pieces.

Even my nipples seem to want in on the action, pebbling hard against my cotton bra and T-shirt.

I have to shift in my seat and tug on my shirt to keep that tidbit of intel to myself.

“I don’t know,” I find myself saying. “I don’t want to lie.”

“I don’t either,” he insists. “It’s not my style, but I’m against the ropes here and am out of options. Think of it as…acting. Like you did in school.”

That makes me sit up straight. “How did you know I did theater?”

He shrugs his strong shoulders. “I was in the play my senior year, and I remember you.”

I remember him too, but probably not for the same reason. He was so gorgeous, so much more than the rest of the boys in school. He was a senior when I was a freshman. We never talked, never hung out. But that didn’t mean I didn’t lust after the hot upperclassman, especially during the spring play.

“You were one of the leads.”

I nod. I was the lead all four years. I loved art, loved drama, loved the stage. Of course, I never wanted to go past high school, never thought I’d make it in the cutthroat world of acting. I had fun, participating in all the plays throughout school, and then moved on.

But that one year, I remember Kameron. He had a small part in Clue: On Stage , a high school stage version of the popular Hasbro board game. I played Miss Scarlet, while Kameron had a role as an extra who made only a couple of appearances. We never interacted, on stage or off.

“Just think of it as a part. You be my pretend girlfriend for a bit, and you’ll be paid for your time.”

My jaw drops. “Paid? Like…a prostitute?”

He blanches at my question. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t expect…that.” I can’t believe it, but Kameron’s face turns a lovely shade of red.

“I can’t take money, Kameron,” I insist, knowing it’s true. Even if I need it, I wouldn’t be able to accept it. Not when my “acting” job was based on a lie.

“Okay, fine. What else can we work out? There has to be something you want or need?” he insists, leaning a little closer as he waits.

I think about my bakery, how difficult it can be to make ends meet from time to time.

How there’s always something I need to spend what savings I have on.

Work on my fridge, oven, a roof leak, and new display case.

All things I’ve had to dip into my savings to pay for over the last almost-five years.

Not to mention the cost to self-publish my cookbook.

I know I’ll need a good chunk of change for that too.

Of course, the dream would be to have it published through an actual publishing company. The promotional resources alone would be well worth the investment, but I’m not ready to pitch my idea quite yet. Not only do I need a few more recipes, but I’m not sure my heart can handle the rejection.

“I can see your gears turning,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “Lay it on me.”

I need something to help sustain me during the slow seasons, and an idea starts to take shape. It might just help me achieve both dreams. I could make enough to save during spring and fall, and also put money away to produce my cookbook, while continuing to do exactly what I love to do.

“I want to contract with you to provide exclusive desserts to Prime.”

He seems surprised by my request. “You do?”

I nod eagerly. “I can provide dessert options each week or on a mutually agreed upon schedule. I would offer different desserts than what I sell in my bakery, more gourmet, decadent choices that fit your menu and prices. I’d even deliver.”

“Deal,” he replies instantly, as if he didn’t even have to think about it. “Actually, I feel terrible for not considering this sooner. Those cheesecakes you made for me were a hit.”

I can’t help but smile.

But that smile falls off my lips just as fast. Could I lie to everyone, including a sweet old woman? For a business contract? For a little more cushion in my bank account?

No, I don’t think I can.

“Jillian,” he starts, dropping his voice and leveling me with a vulnerable gaze. “You’re my only hope. I can’t do this without you. Please.”

I drop my head to the table, mostly to avoid those dang intoxicating eyes.

They’re the prettiest shade of blue, the color of the ocean under a brilliant summer sun.

All I know is I can’t think straight when looking at them.

They make me want to go along with this cockamamie scheme.

And that’s exactly what this is. An absurd, ridiculous, outrageous idea that shouldn’t even be on the table.

But it is.

“This is insane,” I murmur, mostly to myself.

“It absolutely is,” he confirms, yet not backing down from his massive request.

Lifting my head, I meet those damn eyes once more. They’re pleading with me, and I realize, right now, in this moment, I’d agree to about anything. Including being his pretend girlfriend for an undetermined period of time.

It’s quite possible I’ve lost my marbles.

Especially when I say the words I never thought I’d speak. “I’ll do it.”