Westbrooke for five years and I happen to know he despises sweets of any kind first thing in the morning!” Stivers’s voice, always modulated and respectful, bellowed through the halls and echoed through the house. In the study, Dane rolled his eyes to the heavens, wondering if he would ever catch up on the Westbrooke Shipping contracts. “And I happen to know you are wrong, Herr Stivers!” Greta snapped. “Herr Westbrooke adores my tarts … at any time of day! Now, stand aside while I take some to his study. The man works far too hard; he needs to keep up his strength!” The sound of the kitchen door slamming made Dane wince. Resignedly, he put down his quill pen and massaged his temples. His once-peaceful home hadn’t been the same all week long. But then, he was married to Jacqueline now. So had he really expected anything short of utter turmoil? “Come in, Greta,” he called, grinning as the very walls shook with the force of her knock. He rose, bracing himself against the side of the desk as Greta marched in and deposited a tray full of strawberry tarts on top of Dane’s towering pile of paperwork.
