Better Than Chocolate Part 33

"Don't think this isn't tearing me up inside," he said.

Then why can't you help me? She didn't voice the thought. He'd just told her why. He had obligations of his own, other people to answer to, other people depending on him. It wasn't his job to save her and clean up her mess. She'd known that all along, deep down, where she didn't want to look.

She should say...something. But it was hard to talk around the lump in her throat so she simply nodded.

"I wish I could help," he said. "If anyone deserves a break it's you. If I owned the bank we'd be having a very different conversation."

She stood wearily. "We still have sixteen days."

He stood, too. "Anything can happen in sixteen days."

Yes, she thought as she walked out of the bank. Anything could.

And something would, she told herself, determined to be positive. They'd get their eleventh-hour rescue. Bailey's new friend would pa.s.s on the chocolates and Mimi LeGrande would love them. How could she not? Samantha's dream had been a sign and a gift. They were going to pull out of this.

On that upbeat note she went to the office to catch up on calls and prepare for success.

Blake stared unseeing at his computer screen. He wished he'd told Samantha about the things he'd done behind the scenes to try and help her. Then maybe he wouldn't have felt so useless when he looked into those big tear-filled eyes.

Except he'd probably have come off as an incompetent braggart. So what if he'd moved things along for the permits? Big deal that he'd gone to Seattle and done some schmoozing with the paper and that producer. None of it had paid her loan. He was all talk and no action.

"I hate being impotent," he muttered.

He heard a nervous cough and the rustling of papers and turned to see his secretary, Sheri.

"I know a good doctor," she said, her cheeks pink.

Great, just great.

"Que bonita!" Elena exclaimed when Samantha gave her a sample. Elena tasted the chocolate rose truffle and closed her eyes in ecstasy. "Ah, chica, this is going to sell like crazy."

"That would be fine with me," Samantha said. All they needed was a nod from Mimi LeGrande. And how could they not get it once she tasted those chocolates?

Samantha went into her office, sat down at her desk and looked over at the family pictures on the wall. "We're going to make it, everyone," she a.s.sured them. Then she booted up her computer and got to work.

She was still there when Bailey called.

"Oh, Sammy," her sister wailed.

This was not the way to announce good news. Samantha's stomach tensed.

"I'm so sorry."

"Sorry about what? What's happened?"

"The...the...candy," Bailey sobbed.

Oh, no. Samantha braced herself. "What happened to the candy?"

"I-I... Ohhhh."

s.h.i.+t. "You what?" Samantha prompted. Did she really want to hear the gory details?

"I dropped them."

"You...dropped them." Surely one or two had survived. "Well, brush them off and-"

"And they got run over."

"They what?" Samantha asked weakly.

"I was on my way to baggage claim and showing them to this nice older man I met and, well, I just don't know how they fell."

With her sister the klutz it wasn't hard to imagine.

"Anyway, they kind of skidded across the floor and before I could get them..." Bailey started wailing again.

"It's okay," Samantha lied. "What exactly happened?"

"You know those carts they drive people around the airport with?"

Samantha was glad she was sitting down. "One of them ran over the chocolates," she said dully.

"Squashed them flat. Oh, Sammy, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Samantha said even though it wasn't remotely okay.

"Send down another box," Bailey begged. "I promise I won't drop it."

Samantha heaved a pained sigh. If you wanted anything done you had to do it yourself. "Never mind. I'm coming down," she decided. "And we're skipping the middleman. Find out where Mimi LeGrande eats. We're bringing her chocolate for dessert."

"Okay," Bailey said, and sniffed. "Sammy, I really am sorry."

"I know you are," Samantha said, and thought, Never send a girl to do a woman's job.

She had barely ended the call when Cecily's ringtone started.

"What are you, psychic?" Samantha answered.

"Are you okay?"

"Bailey called you?" She couldn't have already. They'd hardly finished their conversation.

"Yes."

And then it dawned on Samantha. "She called you first."

"She was afraid to tell you."

Afraid of her big, bad sister. "Am I that much of an ogre?"

"No," Cecily said. "But she felt so bad."

"It's not her fault really," Samantha said. "I should have gone myself."

"No. You were right to delegate."

"Not on something this important." And not to Bailey.

"You can't do everything yourself. You need people in your corner."

To sit on you when you're down.

"What's our next move?" Cecily asked.

"My next move. I'm making a fresh batch of candy and taking it down tomorrow." Another hit on her poor credit card, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No. I appreciate the offer, but I'm fine on my own." The last thing she needed was any more help.

"Okay. By the way, I ran into Emily Brookes."

p.i.s.sy's underling. What did that have to do with anything? "And?"

"Well, remember how those permits for the festival suddenly came through? You'll never guess who was behind it."

"p.i.s.sy," Samantha cracked. That would be the day.

"Blake Preston."

Samantha nearly dropped the phone.

"After I learned that, I got to thinking and I did a little poking around, made a couple of calls," Cecily continued. "Remember how I was getting no response from the producer of Northwest Now? Well, guess who went over to Seattle and tracked her down and talked to her in person."

Not... "Blake?"

"Yep. He was also behind that article in the Seattle paper."

"Oh," Samantha said weakly.

"Yeah, oh," Cecily said. "I saw when you left the ball."

Oh, boy. Here came a well-deserved lecture from her sister the matchmaker. "I didn't feel good," Samantha lied. That was nothing compared to how she felt now. Shame coated her heart.

"Maybe you felt more than you wanted," Cecily countered. "Anyway, I thought you ought to know."

Samantha said goodbye and sat at her desk, staring out the window at the gray sky. The weatherman was forecasting heavy snowfall for the following afternoon. Finally. She'd be long over the pa.s.s and at the airport by the time it hit, but first she'd have to stop by the bank to deliver a peace offering.

People weren't all good or all bad. Blake was no cartoon villain, but he'd made a great scapegoat. So had Waldo. She'd sure made a habit of blaming other people for her problems-ironic considering the fact that she liked to manage everything and everyone.

She pushed away from her desk with a sigh. Tomorrow was Valentine's Day. Oh, Cupid, please be kind to me. I could use some help.

It wasn't easy going into the bank the following day feeling like a fool who had to eat an entire humble pie, but Samantha did it, anyway. Blake saw her coming. He ran a hand along his s.h.i.+rt collar like a man preparing for something unpleasant-hardly surprising in light of their previous encounters.

She sat down across from him and pushed a box of her newest creations across his desk. "I need to thank you."

He looked at her warily. "For what?"

"I just learned about some of the things you've been doing behind the scenes. I'm sorry I was so awful to you."

He shrugged. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"You did a lot. You could have said something."

"Would it have made a difference?"

As in, could they have gone out, become an item? If they'd slept together would it still have been like sleeping with the enemy? "I don't know," she said honestly. In the end his bank still wanted to swallow her company. She wasn't sure she could get around that.

He nodded slowly.

"That's our newest product," she said, indicating the box. "It's pretty amazing stuff."

"I'm sure it is," he said.

"I'm off to L.A. to see Mimi LeGrande."

He gave her a look that asked, Who is that?

"She's the host of All Things Chocolate, the show on the Food Network that I mentioned yesterday. I don't have to tell you what that'll do for our business if she features us."

"I hope it does great things for you," he said.

She smiled at him. "I believe you do," she said, and stood.

He stood, too. "Good luck. And happy Valentine's Day."

Oh, yeah. That.

"Let me walk you out."

Once they were outside the bank and at her car, he said, "Maybe, when you get back, we could-"