“Good. Chicago’s only a little more than two hours away, and I like driving. Sometimes I sing really loud. It’s awesome.”
Molly laughed and brought her forehead to Jordan’s, cradling her cheek. “Is this completely crazy?”
“Yeah. But sometimes crazy pays off big, and I’m betting on us.”
*
“So a partnership?” Molly asked. She looked across the table at Grant Tranton while struggling to understand his proposal. It was after three on Thursday, and she’d closed the bakeshop early for the meeting and gave her employees the afternoon off. There was a plate of Knock Yourself Out Blueberry muffins sitting between them on the table, two of which Grant had already wolfed down.
“Exactly. I’ll, of course, hold controlling interest of the venture, as it’s my capital that will get the production up and running. I’ll also be the one handling the business side of things. In return, you’ll retain forty percent ownership of MollyDollys, which also means you’ll receive forty percent of any and all profits. He slid a sheet of paper across the table to Molly. “This is what I’m thinking we can do in sales next year. That bottom line would be your take.”
Molly lifted the sheet and did her damndest to mask her surprise at the figure.
He held up a hand. “It’s a projection, but my projections are right more often than not.”
“Okay.” She swallowed and looked again at the really nice number. She wanted to frame that number. Maybe take it out for dinner sometime. “Can you walk me through how all of this would work?”
“Essentially, we go into business together. Sign a few documents. You bring the truffles. I bring the distribution channels, the know-how, and my connections with several well-known retail outlets. Together, we make lots of beautiful money together. Sound good?”
She shook her head slowly. “But to produce that many truffles, I’d be working night and day. I don’t think—”
He laughed out loud, and there was something about it that made her feel foolish, like she knew so very little that he thought it was cute. “Understand we’d have to commercialize the process a bit. Produce the truffles on a grander scale at a facility in Chicago. We’d hire a group of workers. Correction, I’d hire them.”
“Mass production? The recipe isn’t designed to work that way.”
“Not to worry. They’ll still be handmade, just as they are now. Just in larger volume. We’ll actually be cutting costs in the end. By a lot.”
Molly tried to take it all in. “And what would be my role in all this?”
“That’s the best part. You’ve already done it. You’ve created the recipe. Added a cute little name and a story. I might need you for PR now and then and to sign off on an occasional business decision. But essentially, you get to sit back and reap the rewards.”
Reap the rewards. That could be nice. She could definitely get behind reaping. It was time for a little reaping in her life. She thought of the past due notices that were piling up, the letters from the bank. “How long?” she asked. “Before we actually see money coming in?”
“Well, it’ll take time to get deals in place. We’d have to find a facility and get it up and running. Plus, there’s packaging to think about, Web design. I would love to have MollyDollys out to the world in six months.”
Six months.
The back mortgage payments wouldn’t wait six months. Felix at the bank had already granted her extension after extension. He couldn’t shield her from foreclosure much longer. She asked the question she didn’t want to have to ask. “Is there a possibility of a cash advance?”
He tilted his head and frowned, grappling to understand. He looked around. “Is this place in trouble? Level with me. If we’re going to work together, I need you to be honest.”
She nodded. “I’m a bit behind.”
He sighed and she somehow felt as if she’d let him down. “How much do you need to get by?”
It was a number she hadn’t divulged to anyone, but it was time to swallow her pride. Do or die time. “Seventy-five thousand.”
He whistled low but didn’t say anything. He sat there looking pensive as the tension in the room grew exponentially. This was her last shot. Whatever came out of this man’s mouth next would decide the fate of the shop, her family’s legacy, and her hopes for the future all tied into one. It sounded dramatic but it was all very true. It was one of the most terrifying moments in her life.
Finally, he gave her a long look. “Understand that this money will go against your share of the profits until it’s repaid in full. It would be an advance, not any kind of signing bonus.”
“I understand completely.”
Another never-ending pause. “We have a deal. I’ll put the advance in the paperwork,” he said and extended his hand. They were the most glorious words in the history of words.
“We do?” She felt the most amazing smile break across her face as she stood. Relief flooded her senses, and her body felt so much lighter, like she could easily float away. She shook his hand, but it wasn’t enough. She full on hugged the guy and jumped up and down a few times afterward.
He laughed at her antics and eyed her strangely at the same time. “I’ll leave this paperwork with you and be in touch soon regarding the advance.” She was still rocking out to the imaginary victory music when he left.
Things were coming together. They were going to be all right. She looked at the photo of her parents on the wall and felt such gratitude for what they’d built for her. And she hadn’t let them down. She hadn’t. And with MollyDollys to put Flour Child on the map, business would return to how it had been in the pre-Starbucks era.
When her dancing mellowed to a controlled hopping, she no longer knew what to do with herself. Except that she did. She fumbled for her phone. There was one person she had to share this with.
*
Flour Child was seemingly deserted when Molly came into work that next day, but with the new plan in place, she tried not to let that bother her. She’d given herself the late morning shift so she could enjoy a quiet, celebratory morning at home after the events of the day before. Deserted, of course with the exception of Mr. Jeffries, who was nursing his coffee a bit longer than usual and watching the world go by from his seat by the window. She greeted him, which earned her a customary scowl in return.
She made her way to the back of the shop to put on her apron and get to work. She’d be off by six, and that left plenty of time for evening plans, about which she had a lot of ideas.
She should probably go over the morning’s receipts to see how they did and—“Holy hell!” She was ripped abruptly from her thoughts at the sight of Eden and Damon engaged in a heat infused lip lock for the ages. She covered her eyes out of respect and because these two hadn’t been just making out. They’d been climbing all over each other in some sort of aggressive, passion-filled groping session that they clearly did not intend for her to see. Holy hell, again.
Okay. What in the world was she supposed to say here? Carry on? Nice technique? Her brain wasn’t working. Better just to talk sans the thinking. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your making out. Sorry. Your time, I mean—HOLY HELL! What is happening right now?”
Because quite honestly, she was at a loss on every count.
They’d stepped away from each other as soon as Molly walked in, and now Eden seemed to be sending Damon secret signals with her eyes. But he wasn’t understanding, which only complicated things, so the three of them stood there in the most awkward triangle of confusion as Molly prayed the floor would open and swallow her up and away. She was tempted to jump and see if she could make that happen.
Eventually, Eden inclined her head in the direction of the door. “Scram, hot sauce. Let me talk to Molly.” He nodded a few times too many and finally left them in the kitchen with a quick “sorry about that” thrown in Molly’s general direction as he passed.