“Nope,” Molly said, eyes gleaming. “She’s pregnant. I don’t know what she’s going to do now.”
“Hopefully talk to a lawyer about child support.”
Mouth dropping open, laughing, Molly shoved my shoulder. “You’re horrible.”
“That’s not horrible. It’s just the logical thing to do.” Raising my hands in surrender, I walked backward toward the closet. “Tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing.”
“Actually, I wasn’t.” Molly said over her shoulder, lowering her voice. “Because the owner was here when I got in this morning. They were in Andrew’s office, and the tone didn’t sound good.”
With a huff, I grabbed the wet floor sign. “Like he was in trouble?”
“Like he was inbigtrouble.”
“I guess karma’s finally coming for him.” I nudged the mop bucket with my foot. “Wait, isn’t it Julia’s grandpa who owns this place?”
The stainless steel door swung inward. If Molly had taken two steps back, Andrew would’ve smacked her in the head with it.
Arms open at his sides, his bushy brows dropped deep into his gaze. The dark beard over his jaw and chin covered their roundness, making his tiny nose and big lips look a bit less feminine. Andrew was a stocky guy, just a few inches taller thanmy five foot five, but heavyset in the structure of his body. His face, while pleasant enough to look at, was nothing special.
In another life, I would have found him attractive. In this one, he was just my asshole boss.
“Last I checked, I wasn’t paying you to gossip,” he said. “I told you I need you back here on cakes, Gwen.”
I held up the wet floor sign. “Also told me to mop first.”
He glared. “Molly, you handle the floor. Gwen, in the kitchen.”
Passing Molly the wet floor sign along the way, I gave a joyless smile. “Yes, sir.”
As I rounded the bend into the kitchen, my shoulders slumped. At least a dozen crumb-coated cakes waited for me on the twelve-foot-long steel table. A note card with customer’s requests accompanied each of them. A hundred sticks of softening butter sat out on the white countertops along the walls. One of the stand mixers whirred with buttercream. Powdered sugar coated the countertop beside it.
It wasn’t unusual for crumb-coated cakes to greet me when I came in. Andrew often had the cakes baked, filled, and stacked. My job was anywhere he wanted me, but often back here. I was the best decorator on staff.
Whatwasunusual was the quantity. Approaching the table, I counted eighteen. Eighteen cakes. On a four-hour shift.
Suffice it to say, I was not getting out of here at 6.
By 4 p.m.,I was seven cakes down and had eleven more to go. Thankfully, Andrew came in and got a few batches of buttercream ready for me. I would still need a couple more before I was done, but it was helpful. For as long as it lasted,anyway. His shift ended at 4. He told me to—didn’taskme to—stay until I had all the cakes done. Just clock out when I’d finished. The overtime was approved.
As I decorated the cakes, sculpting each individual flower, writing happy birthday wishes or congratulations on each top, I didn’t have time to think about my night. My eyes were heavy, neck aching from bending over for so long, and my stomach still growled. But at least I wasn’t thinking about last night.
At ten ‘til 5, now with nine cakes under my belt, Molly walked into the kitchen. Gazing down at the table of unfinished cakes, she swallowed hard. “Andrew left already?”
“At 4, yep.” Focused on the drop lines on the side of the heart shaped cake in front of me, I only spared her a glance. “Why? What’s up?”
“He was supposed to work the counter,” she said. “My shift ends at 5 and I have a class that starts at 6.”
Molly was nineteen, in her sophomore year at the local community college. On Thursdays, she always got off at 5. Not like it was my job to remember, since I wasn’t the manager, but Molly was a friend. Unlike me, this was just a part-time job to her. Getting her degree was more important.
Grunting my annoyance, I laid my piping bag on the table. “Get outta here.”
She frowned. “I can’t leave you with all this. Don’t these all have to be finished tonight?”
“Youaren’t leaving me with anything.” Arms stretched overhead, I rolled my neck from side to side. “Andrew did. But it’s fine. I’m getting overtime. I’ll finish the cakes after I close up.”
“Are you sure?” Her voice was soft, expression timid. “If you need me to stay a little bit longer?—”
“I don’t.” I smiled. “I need a break anyway. I’ll drink some water and eat a pepperoni roll between customers.” I gestured tothe ones I’d finished. “Just do me a favor and pop these in the cooler before you clock out.”
