Page 104 of Falling for the Billionaire Best Man

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DORIE

Ipulled up to Kaisen’s mansion in Cape May, my new SUV packed to the brim with everything I needed to bake seven multi-layer cakes and decorate the groom’s cake. When I went into the bakery this morning, I was ready to work. Unfortunately, my oven was not. It was irreparably broken. It was done. It gave up the ghost and there was no coming back. So, not only was the bakery business fucked, but I had to get Eliza’s cake done. There was no way she’d find someone else to make the cake she wanted on a week’s notice.

It was a disaster. Eliza’s wedding was this weekend, and I had no time to waste. If I didn’t get these cakes baked tonight, I wouldn’t have time to ice them before the big day. I couldn’t throw together some store-bought mixes and hope she wouldn’t notice it wasn’t the cake she dreamed of.

Kaisen was waiting for me on the front steps. He was wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I felt bad for backing out of our dinner date, but this was a priority.

“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got the double ovens going inside. Everything’s going to be fine, Dorie. We’ve got this.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I hope you’re right. Because if we don’t pull this off, Eliza might actually kill me. What countries don’t have extradition policies?”

He chuckled. “She’s not going to kill you. And even if she tries, I’ll protect you.”

I managed a small smile, though my nerves were still frayed. “You’d better.”

“Okay, tell me what to do,” he said.

I used the key fob to open the lift gate. “I am so glad you have a big kitchen. I’ve got a ton of stuff.”

He grabbed a couple of the larger boxes from the back of the SUV. “Lead the way, Chef.”

I grabbed another box and we went inside.

Kaisen’s kitchen was already warm from the preheated ovens. He had clearly prepared. The countertops were gleaming. The center island had been cleared. The coffeemaker, toaster, and everything else had disappeared. It looked like one of those pretty test kitchens. I was almost afraid to bake in here. My bakery was always a mess—flour dusted every surface, bowls piled up in the sink, and ingredients scattered everywhere. This kitchen looked like it belonged in a magazine.

“Where do you want this?” he asked.

“Just set it on the counter,” I said, moving quickly to unload the box. “I’ll need to get started right away if we’re going to get all these cakes done.”

Kaisen watched as I began organizing everything, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Tell me what to do first.”

I glanced at him, surprised by how serious he looked. “You really want to help?”

“Of course,” he said, stepping closer. “Just tell me what you need.”

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. First, I’ll need you to measure out the flour and sugar for the first batch. And make sure you sift the flour—it’s important for the texture.”

“As soon as you tell me what sifting is and how to do it, consider it done,” he said.

I couldn’t help but laugh. The poor man was so far out of his element.

I handed Kaisen a measuring cup and a sifter, trying not to grin at the look of utter confusion on his face. “Alright,” I said, setting a bag of flour in front of him. “This is your mission. Measure out three cups of flour, then pour it into the sifter. The sifter is that thing that looks like a metal cup with a handle. Got it?”

He picked up the sifter, turning it over in his hands like it was some kind of alien artifact. “Okay,” he said slowly. “And what does this do exactly?”

“It gets rid of lumps and makes the flour lighter,” I explained, already measuring out my own ingredients for the next cake. “Just hold it over the bowl and twist the handle. It’s not rocket science.”

He gave me a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

I shook my head, hiding a smile as I cracked eggs into my mixing bowl. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him pour flour into the measuring cup with all the precision of someone defusing a bomb. He got to three cups—mostly—and then held up the sifter like he was presenting Excalibur.

I loved that he was taking all this so seriously.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Over the bowl,” I said, nodding toward the empty mixing bowl in front of him. He positioned it, twisted the handle, and nothing happened.