Free Back for Seconds by Ginger Voight Page B

watched them go. Her eyes met Xander’s. “I guess I’m all yours,” she said without thinking, then immediately cursed herself afterwards.
    His mouth tugged with a smile, but he didn’t call her out on it. Instead he grabbed the bottle of wine. “Let’s go to my office where we can talk privately.”
    Her legs shook as followed him to one of the offices on the second floor, which had a big window overlooking the action downstairs. It sat next to Lillian’s office, which was overrun with paperwork. Xander’s office was quite neat in comparison. There was a large desk, a wingback leather chair and bookshelves, fairly generic as offices went. The only personal touches were the certificates on the wall, which awarded him honors from various companies for his exemplary contributions. He held the door open for her and she walked towards one of the chairs facing his desk. He closed the door behind them before he followed. “Let me officially congratulate you on your new business,” he said as she sat.
    “Business,” she snorted. “I’m a homemaker. I bake cookies.”
    “You bake cookies that sell,” he corrected. “It’s okay to own how special they are. In fact, it’s necessary.” He poured himself a glass of wine. “I’m glad that you decided to do this, actually. Your talents would have been wasted in some nine-to-five office job.”
    Again she scoffed. “A little presumptuous of you to say that, don’t you think? You don’t know me.”
    His gaze never waved. “I know that you wouldn’t be sitting across from me right now if you didn’t see the potential in this whole thing. Starting a business is a risky venture. If you are the kind of person who can gamble on that kind of ‘What If,’ you’re not the kind of person who would ever be satisfied with some mediocre job working for someone else.”
    He had her there. The thought of baking goodies, something she’d always done for fun (and for her own mental health) for more years than she could remember, sounded way more appealing that beating the pavement day after day, begging for ill-fitting jobs she never really wanted. She wanted to believe Back for Seconds could work. It seemed a hell of a lot more fun. “So how do I do this?”
    His smile widened. “I’m so glad you asked. I’d like to formally introduce you to our clientele. We’ll make it an event. TV ads, print ads. We’ll sell you, the daughter of Lillian Murphy, a homemaker with a heart of gold and a touch of class.”
    She snickered in spite of herself. “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. No one is going to believe I’m special.”
    He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk, as his eyes pierced hers. “I never want to hear you say that again. If you want to sell something, anything, you have to convince the customers it is special enough to buy and well worth the cost. Every single one of those customers who tried your cookies today fell in love with them. They’re special, and by default that makes you special. That’s the brand you need to sell. It’s up to you to make them believe that anything that has your name on it will knock their socks off. And it will. We’ve got the receipts to prove it.”
    There was no arguing that point.
    “In order to set your brand apart, we’re going to treat you as an independent contractor. We supply the marketing and distribution of your products, for which we will take a 15-percent cut of the total price. We’ll pay you weekly for products sold and you handle the taxes and the business expenses out of your profit.”
    She nodded. It sounded simple enough. “Do I just bring what I bring or will you want a specific amount of items to sell?”
    He smiled. “Good question. Now you’re thinking like a businesswoman. I was thinking three to five dozen units a day, six days a week to start. We can meet again at the end of the month and see where we stand at that point, amending where necessary.”
    Her eyes widened.