“I hope you don’t mind me calling the bakery. I didn’t have your number,” he starts, softly, as if approaching a wounded animal. Which would be a close description to how I feel.
“For good reason. What do you want, Elton?” I snap back. My heckles are raised, protection mode activated.
He sighs, not out of frustration or anger. It is something else.
“Those cupcakes I bought last week. They were for my niece. She loves them and used to bake with her mum all the time but …” He pauses as he considers his next words. “Well, for reasons I’m not going to get into, she doesn’t anymore. And she wants to. So maybe, you could teach her?”
I pull the phone from my ear and stare at it, looking for answers I’m obviously not going to find there. My brain must be short-circuiting, because I can’t quite work out what he is saying to me.
“I would like to hire you to give my niece baking lessons,” he explains slower. Less words this time, easier to grasp.
“Your niece?” I ask, coming out of my shock but still not entirely sure of what is happening.
“Yes, my niece. Not my daughter. I don’t have kids. Or a wife.” He tacks on the last sentence quickly.
“No wife?” Heat creeps up my neck, my face burning. The pit in my stomach opens as I fall further in on myself.
“No, Reilly. I’m single. I wouldn’t have spent the night with you if I hadn’t been.” His tone is soft and gentle, almost understanding. I close my eyes, willing a few moments toprocess my thoughts.I called him a wanker. After running out on him. Judgemental much?
“I … I … I don’t. I’m … Oh god, Elton, I’m so sorry. I assumed. The phone call, and I …” I was at a loss for words. It wasn’t like me to judge so harshly. Though I guess it was like me to make a decision and run with it.
“It’s okay, Reilly. I would have preferred it if you’d asked. I could have explained, and we could have spent the next morning together.” His voice is soft, almost sad. Clearing his throat, he continues, “We should move on. Neive loved your cupcakes, and she is desperate for baking lessons. I just want to make her happy.” This man … a man who not only buys cupcakes for his niece, but then bites his pride and calls the woman who ran out on him. Butterflies flutter in my stomach, as I admire his maturity. Then shame washes over me at my lack of any.
“Elton, that’s not a good idea. I am truly sorry. But this would be too awkward.” Running away again, but my self-worth doesn’t have enough space left to face him.
“I’ll pay you,” he rushes to say. “Whatever you want to charge. You’re working on opening your own place. This can help you, Reilly.” I stare at the rejection email still open on my phone. “Plus, you kind of owe me.” There’s a smile in his voice. He doesn’t sound mad at me. Thank god. My own anger at myself is hard enough to bear. I do owe him, and I could use the money.
I look around at the sad lonely bakery I slave away in. This could be the push I need to get my arse in gear.
“It would need to be in the evenings, after work. And I can’t cart my baking appliances around, so you’ll need to supply them.” And I should stop being so demanding! “Erm, if that’s okay? Probably best to get Neive kitted out anyway if she wants to take baking seriously.” Am I trying to talk him out of it? Stoptalking, Reilly, cart your baking stuff over there. Let his niece muck around and not give two shits. Just anything to see him again.Wait, what?No, this is about the money. I need it to pay off my debts and follow my dreams. “I guess we should probably discuss pay?” Eurgh I feel sick even saying it. This is a man I have slept with, and now what am I doing. Jumping straight back into the frying pan.
“What do you normally charge?” Direct and to the point. This is business Elton.
I need a business Reilly persona, this is just business. Yes he’s hot. Yes, he’s the best sex I’ve ever had. Those things mean nothing if I run at the first sign of trouble. I’ve got too much to work through right now without trying to manage a relationship with such an imbalance of power. Plus he probably hates me now anyway.
I’m so flustered by this situation, I’m still trying to calculate a decent rate. One that makes it worth my while but not so much that I’m taking advantage.
“What would be helpful for you, Reilly?” he asks, his tone softened.
“Ha, 10,000 would do it.” That’s right, Reilly, crack a joke. This is why no bank will loan me money.
“Deal.” He sounds serious and not at all surprised at my request. Wait, am I being punked?
“Elton, I’m joking. You’re not paying me £10,000 to give your niece a couple of baking lessons.”
He is either joking, insane, or has way too much money. Probably all three considering we are even having this conversation. I’m definitely pushing myself into insane territory.
“Okay, so let’s say ten sessions at £1,000 a session. You need the money. I have the money. Don’t argue with me on this, Reilly.”
“That’s madness. You can pay me £50 a lesson and provide all the equipment and ingredients,” I say, convinced it’s a fair price, although I probably should have googled the going rate.
“We can discuss this further next week. Does Tuesday night work for you? Neive has a tutor after school, which she hates, so ideally I’d like to keep her spirits up. She needs this right now,” he says with a sadness in his voice I can’t place. He keeps saying things to melt me. Calm down, Reilly, they all start out this way. Sweet talk and attentive; give it time and he’ll be hating my dungarees and demanding more and more of my time.
“I’ll send a car for you at five?”
“I can drive. Send me your address.” I rattle off my number with a shaky breath. This isn’t a smart move, but my cake orders have been few and far between recently.
“Thanks so much, Reilly. Neive is going to be so excited. This might make me uncle of the year.” He chuckles.Aw, swoon.
