A Baxter's Redemption

It was two o’clock, and Isabel was due anytime now. He sat at a table near the back, assuming that Isabel might appreciate some privacy when it came to her business concerns. He’d been surprised that she texted him to begin with. He had a feeling that she didn’t trust him—whether that stemmed from her relationship with her father, or some “first” impression, he had no idea.

After a milk shake at the local ice-cream shop—heavy on the cream—he’d taken Jenny back home and dropped her off. She seemed to be in relatively good spirits, but he always worried. Life wasn’t easy for Jenny. People didn’t always understand Down syndrome, and they oftentimes expected things from Jenny that she couldn’t deliver. She lived in a world that didn’t “get” her, and she was always trying to prove that she wasn’t any different. Except that she was.

The front door opened and James turned to see Isabel step inside. She wore a white, breezy summer dress that scooped down in the front—not enough to sacrifice modesty—and flowed over her figure in the most flattering way. A broad, pink belt cinched her narrow waist, and she pressed a matching pink purse between her side and her elbow. She glanced around the diner, and a few truckers looked up from their meals admiringly. She still had it—the ability to draw all the attention when she walked into a room. She just didn’t seem to realize it.

James stood and she smiled and headed in his direction. James sat when she did, and he gestured for the waitress.

“What can I get you?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing.” She shook her head. “I’ve already eaten.”

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Sure. Thanks.”

The waitress came by and poured another cup for Isabel.

“Anything else?” the waitress drawled. “We have some specials today—”

“No, thank you.” Isabel smiled up at the waitress easily. “Coffee is fine for me.”

The waitress retreated, leaving the two of them in relative privacy, and Isabel heaved a sigh. “Thanks for meeting up with me. I have a lease for you to look over.”

“Oh?” James accepted the papers that she slid across the table, his trained eye moving down the page, identifying the typical clauses and subclauses of a commercial lease. He raised his eyebrows in interest and looked at her from over the pages.

“You’re leasing the old bakery?”

“Yes.”

He turned back to the lease and perused the last of it. It looked like she’d negotiated a surprisingly low price for the place, too.

“This looks pretty straightforward,” James said. “It’s a month-to-month lease—open-ended so that you can get out if your business fails or you want to take down your shingle, for whatever reason.”

“No surprises in there?” Isabel asked.

“Not one.” James handed the paperwork back and regarded her curiously. “Do you mind me asking what you’re planning?”

She arched a brow. “So that you can report back to my father?”

James leaned back in his chair. “If you were afraid of that, why did you ask to meet me?”

She shook her head. “You said before that you were willing to keep my business private. Does that still stand?”

“Of course.”

She nodded. “Do you know how difficult it is to be watched all the time?”

“No,” he admitted.

“It’s hard. People think that money brings freedom, but my father taught me early on that nothing comes without strings, and that money he signed over to me comes with so many strings attached.”

“Only if you let it,” he said. “It’s in your name. You can do what you want with it.”

Not exactly the advice Mr. Baxter wants me to give.

“I’m willing to bet that my father wants you to keep an eye on me,” she said.

James didn’t flinch, but he didn’t answer, either. They sat in silence, and he wondered if Isabel would say more. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders, and for a moment, her reserve slipped and he saw conflicted emotions in those big, dark eyes. Men had always fallen for Isabel, and it wasn’t only her beauty that drew them to her. She was gentler than she liked to let on, and he felt himself softening toward her despite his best intentions. She was like Helen of Troy—men would go to war for her. Andrew had gone to war early because of her...not quite the same thing, but a woman like Isabel could stir a man’s heart and shove him into battle. The end result for Andrew had been the same.

“I’ve decided to open a chocolate shop,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “That’s why I’m renting the old bakery.”

James pulled his mind back to the job at hand. George had given him a brief description of Isabel’s business ventures so far. Did she have what it took to start up a new business like this?

“I didn’t know you made chocolate,” James said.

“I imagine there is a lot you don’t know about me,” she said, a smile flickering across her lips. For a moment, he thought she might be flirting, but just as quickly, the playfulness evaporated. “And I have no idea what my father will say about it.”

“You should ask him,” he said. He’d much rather that father and daughter hashed this one out alone.

“I will.” She nodded. “Eventually. I don’t really want to listen to his depressing lectures right now.”

George’s lectures could be a bit tedious—James knew this firsthand—but the man did have a great deal of business experience that his daughter could benefit from.

“So you don’t think he’ll approve...” he guessed.

Isabel sucked in a slow breath and held it. “He liked my chocolatier classes because he saw it as a hobby. I let him believe that. It was easier. He was more supportive that way.”

“What did he want you to do instead?” James asked. “You’re his only child, right? The logical one to take over the business eventually.”

He was fishing here—he knew his boss’s opinions about his daughter’s business abilities, but maybe she didn’t.

“I’ll pry the reins out of his cold, dead fingers. He’s never been one to actually think about his own mortality. As far as my dad’s concerned, he’ll live forever.”

James smiled at her imagery, then took a sip of his coffee. “So in the meantime, you open your own business.”

“You make it sound like I’m killing time until my dad dies,” she retorted. “First of all, he’ll live to be ninety-five, and probably have another wife after Britney. And secondly, this isn’t a hobby. I intend to prove to him that I can start a business, build it and make it flourish. I’m going to come out of this with a profit. He did it with Baxter Land Holdings, and so can I.”

“Fair enough.” He eyed her with grudging respect.

“So I have one more question,” she said. “Is there any legal reason why I couldn’t use the Baxter name for my business?”

“No legal reason,” he said. “As long as the company name is different from your father’s.”

“I’m calling it Baxter’s Chocolates,” she said. “And my father is going to hate that.”

James was inclined to agree. “So why not call it something else?”

“Because I don’t want to. My father is a Baxter and so am I. I’m no less a Baxter because I’m a woman, and I have every right to use my own name.”