I clear my throat, trying to maintain a professional façade despite the fact that my blood pressure just went through the roof. Divorce cookies? What in the hell do I even do for those? A broken ball and chain? A cracked wedding cake? Some kitschy slogans?

Jase, I’m going to kill you.

Right after I kiss you.

“Of course. How many would you like?”

After jotting down the details, my eyes bug out of my head when I see my online ordering system ticker begin to escalate one by one and then by tens at a time.

I immediately call Jase. He picks up on the second ring. “Hey. You never call me during the day. Well, you never call me. Only text. Am I in trouble or something?” he asks and chuckles.

Oh, he knows exactly what’s going on.

“Your post? Your contest? What the actual fuckity fuck?” I shriek.

“I figured you’re helping my career out, so why can’t I help yours a little? A quid pro quo. I tried to think of the best way to promote your niche bakery, and then I figured why not use the two best things you have at your disposal? Your cookies and me.” When I’m silent, when I sit there dumbfounded and overwhelmed, he continues, “You’re welcome.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” I’m both exasperated and invigorated. Like . . . the new orders are populating on my screen to numbers I’ve never seen right before my very eyes. “Don’t you think you should’ve asked if I can handle it?”

“Probably, but this will force you to hire and get help. Don’t worry, I have Nathaniel working on that as we speak.”

“He’s a lawyer, not a baker.”

“He’s smart. Resourceful. Writes a mean NDA as you know that will keep everything confidential. I promise he’ll come through on this and most likely by the end of the day.”

“Jase . . .” I bark out a disbelieving laugh as my head spins.

“Besides, it’s not like people divorce a lot—well, this is Hollywood so don’t quote me on that—but I figured these are one-time customers that you’ll reel into being full-time ones once they taste how fucking good your cookies are. I am the best judge of just how good they taste, no?” His chuckle is suggestive and has me thinking back to last night where that masterful tongue of his spent plenty of time between my thighs. I shiver.

“Leave it to you to crack a joke when you just rocked my world.”

“Last night and this morning.” Another innuendo that has me shifting my feet. “I have faith in you.”

I groan, rubbing my temples. “I can’t believe . . . you’re—”

“The best husband ever. I know. I might win awards for it, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. We’re in the early days yet.”