Turns out the gorgeous guy who witnessed me mackin’ down donuts at the farmers market wanted to buy my bakery out from under me. Where I also live.
I’ll never let Clayton Hale buy the bakery. It’s my mother’s last legacy.
My resolution is strong, which is obviously why I get wine drunk over our overly fancy five course business dinner and read him the riot act. And accidentally call him hot. Yikes.
The point was to figure out how to do business in the same city without tearing each othe...
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