Donna looked up from assembling her favorite contribution to the Manleigh Cheese menu, the Twisto Azteco chocolates, because someone was knocking on the door. Logan was in the middle of dealing with the madness of making cheese, and was not to be bothered, which left it to her to deal with visitors.
Swearing under her breath, she marched over to the steel door. One glance at her cheese and chocolate covered food service gloves gave her enough pause to take them off. No point in covering the doorknob with tasty mess.
Outside the door was an unusual pair of people. Amanda Yancy Burns of Yancy Pants Bakery stood side-by-side with a dour Secret Service Agent. Amanda’s cool exterior was slipping away, and it made Donna wonder what had happened before they came to the door.
“Ms. Abrams?” The Secret Service man asked, offering his hand.
“Yes.” She shook it.
“Paul Carpenter.” He introduced himself. “We spoke last week. I’m here with the detail to pick up the truck.”
“Yes, I’ve got the keys right here.”
Donna turned around and walked over to the counter to retrieve the keys. When she turned around, she noticed that Amanda had come in, and taken a seat by the telephone. Agent Carpenter, however, had not moved an inch, but his foot was keeping the door open.
She handed him the keys to the truck, and exchanged pleasantries. He left and went about what he’d come to do.
Amanda cleared her throat as soon as the door closed behind the Secret Service Agent. When Donna glanced over at her, the look on Amanda’s patrician face was hovering between fear and annoyance. It wasn’t a pleasant look.
“Would you like to tell me why I got frisked at gunpoint when I pulled up in the driveway?” Amanda’s sexy alto voice was harsher than Donna had ever heard it. “They ran my Social Security number, my driver’s license, and found out my credit score. I feel violated.”
“Cool your jets, Amanda. They probably investigated you guys sometime last week. This morning was just a formality.” Donna waved a dismissive hand in her guest’s direction.
“Why? What the hell is going on?”
“I can’t tell you. I’ll just reiterate what Logan said: you really want to give us a pile of your business cards along with the baguettes.”
“What do you mean you can’t tell me?” Amanda started the inexorable slide from fear into annoyance. It was a well-worn path for her.
Donna put a hand on her hip and arched an eyebrow.
“You got frisked and escorted by the Secret Service. Your IQ is high enough. Piece it together.”
“Jesus, Donna! Do you even have a compassionate bone in your body? That was a scary experience!”
“Look, you lost your credit with me when you broke Logan’s heart. I still don’t know why he works with you, but I don’t have any say in that. So, just leave the bread, your cards, and go. Okay?”
“Donna, it was almost four years ago. Are you that good at holding grudges?”
“Amanda, you have no idea. Just drop stuff off and go. I’ll have John tack the four-dozen baguettes to the monthly bill, and send you a check. Okay? Things are stressful enough without your drama.”
Amanda checked her anger. It was difficult, because Donna pissed her off… every single time they were in the same room. Intimating that the drama was her fault, when Donna was the person who couldn’t let the past go, was profoundly annoying. Still, she managed to hold it back.
Donna watched her pull a stack of business cards out of her trendy Coach purse, drop them on the table, and retrieve the cartons of bread she’d left right outside the door.
Moments later, the thorn in Donna’s side was gone.