“You’re out of your mind.”
He shrugged. “I can read women. Especially ones that wear their emotions like you do.”
“Oh yeah? Then you can read this pretty well?” When she displayed her middle finger, he had to hold back a chuckle. She was raw fire and passion and frustration.
“I hear you own the shop,” he said, backpedaling to his earlier comment.
A look of guilt flashed across her face. “I’m just trying to establish my place here.”
“I get that,” Jake said. And he did. “But I’m in this, too. Baughman is important to me.”
“I know.”
“Then we either need to work together, or—”
“Or realize that I will inherit everything and I want what’s best for the business,” she said confidently.
“Oh, you will, huh?” Jake countered, a flare of anger hitting him. “I could always buy you out. Even if your father gave you everything. Which I doubt.”
“Never.”
“Why?”
“Because the flower shop is already mine.”
“I’m not trying to take anything away from you.”
“But you won’t work with me.”
“I won’t put the business in jeopardy, and I won’t finance your flower shop makeover with money the warehouse has earned.”
“I know that you’re this son my father never had, but I’m going to make him . . .” She trailed off, and Jake frowned. She was going to make him what? Surely she couldn’t mean proud? She had to know that Walt was already proud of her.
“Well, my offer stands,” he said and deliberately scanned her body. She noticed, and he liked how much it pissed her off. Almost as much as it did him, because he didn’t want to want her. “On all accounts.”
“Again. I don’t even like you.”
“You don’t have to like me to need me.”
“Oh, now I need you.”
“Yes, you do.” He’d go another route with this if he had to. Because she was stubborn and gambling with Walt’s and his life’s work. However he had to wear her down, he would. Because he refused to let the business suffer. “For your professional sake, if not your personal sake.” He paused to take a good, hearty view of those amazing breasts, which—judging by the beading nipples showing through her silky shirt—were still a bit cold. Or turned on.
She swallowed hard, and his eyes were riveted to the action. Was she technically his competition for the business? Yes. The enemy? Sure. But she was also prime, ready, and sexy as sin.
“You honestly think I could use you professionally?” she scoffed. “I’m a professional. In marketing.” She spoke extra slowly, like he was an idiot. “You don’t even open the whole store on a weekday.”
She was stuck on this flower shop. Again. “I told you once, you want to open the floral shop, be my guest. Just don’t come crying to me when you have no idea what you’re doing with orders or sit there surrounded by crickets. But you know where to find me—in the warehouse, where the real money is made.”
She chewed on her lip a little. “Working together would be . . .”
“Frustrating?” he finished for her.
“Extremely,” she agreed and looked over his chest again. Yeah, they might hate each other, but deep down, she wanted him. Just like he wanted her. And they both knew it. Didn’t mean it was a good idea. Hell, it was a terrible idea.
“Okay, Jacob, I’ll play your little game of hypothetical. Let’s say you’re right,” she said. “Suppose I want you. Personally and professionally.”
“Need,” he corrected. “And I am right.”