Page 1 of Choosing the Rejected Mate

Chapter One

Sugar, Smoke, and Bad Decisions

Holly

The mixer dies at five seventeen in the morning.

Not quietly.Not with dignity.No, that would be too kind, and apparently the universe wakes up every day, stretches, cracks its cosmic knuckles, and asks,How can I personally inconvenience Holly Black before sunrise?

The mixer gives one violent metallic shriek, coughs twice like a dying raccoon with unpaid debts, and launches a puff of flour directly into my face.I stand there, frozen behind the counter of Sweetique Bakery, covered in white powder from my eyelashes to the collar of my shirt.

The bowl wobbles, the dough inside slumps, and the mixer lets out one final pathetic groan and goes still.I stare at it.It stares back.

Well, no, it doesn’t.It’s a machine.But if it had eyes, they would be smug little bastard eyes.

“You dramatic piece of scrap metal,” I whisper.

From the prep table behind me, Maisie snorts.“Are you talking to the mixer again?”

“I’m trying to keep this professional.”

“You threatened to bury it behind the dumpster yesterday.”

“Yes, but in my defense, it knows what it did.”

Maisie wipes her hands on her apron and leans around me to inspect the machine.She’s human, which means she can’t smell the smoke curling from the motor, but she has common sense, which is sometimes more useful than supernatural senses.Not often, but occasionally.Like now.

“That smells expensive,” she says.

“It smells like betrayal.”

“It smells like you need a handyman.”

I close my eyes.There are words in the English language that should not be spoken before coffee.Handyman is one of them.Taxes is another.Moist is always banned.No exceptions.

“I can fix it,” I say.

Maisie looks at me, and I look at her.The mixer gives a tiny, spiteful click.

Maisie lifts one brow.“You tried to fix the freezer last month.”

“I did fix the freezer.”

“You trapped yourself inside it for twenty minutes.”

“That was a strategic cooling period.”

“You screamed for help.”

“I was motivating the staff.”

“You were alone.”

I point a flour-covered finger at her.“Your tone is ugly this early.”

She grins, completely unbothered.“Call the new guy.”

“No.”