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“I have a catering function until nine.”
“Then I’ll pick you up at ten.”
“Ten thirty,” I said. “You should ask for my address.”
“You circled it when you sent back the words ‘FUCK YOU’ on your tail light ticket this morning.” He smiled. “Speaking of which, how exactly would you like me to do that?”
“I wouldn’t.” I bit my lip. “It wasn’t meant to be taken literally.”
“Tell me you haven’t had one thought about me fucking you since our first date and I’ll believe that.”
I couldn’t bring myself to lie.
“That’s what I thought.” He smiled and stood to his feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow at ten thirty.”
CINNAMON “SEDUCE ME” STREUSEL
2 tablespoons butter or margarine
2 tablespoons brown sugar
¼ cup whole wheat flour
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
CHRISTINA
** The next day **
THE BEST TWO PARTS of being a pastry chef were always the same for me year after year. Number one: Having a front seat view and a hand in the creation of a concoction from start to finish. Number two: Seeing the smile on the customer’s face once they devoured it and asked for more.
Unfortunately, the client I was baking for tonight was giving me more scowls than smiles, and she was making my short-handed staff feel as if they were walking on eggshells.
I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of this hotel kitchen, and I was sure a night with Nathan would make me forget all about it.
“Can you make these raspberry tarts any sweeter?” The client, my ex-best friend from high school, pursed her lips. “I mean, they’re good, but not as good as the ones from Tinsel Bakery.”
I bit my tongue. Tinsel Bakery didn’t make raspberry tarts, and their baking skills were nowhere near the league of Sifted Perfection.
“I’m also not sure how I feel about these dessert towers,” she said, walking over to the six-foot display of mistletoe-inspired cupcakes. They were in the exact formation that she’d requested—a replica of the Eiffel Tower where her current fiancé (my first serious boyfriend who she stole) took her when he proposed last summer.
“I’m sure they taste amazing, but …” She frowned. “Can you add some of those pretty brown crumb layers onto them? What are those called?”
“Streusel.” I felt my blood boiling. “If I add those, then the cupcakes won’t be gluten-free, which is specifically what you requested. I’ll also have to make new cupcakes as the streusel has to be baked directly onto them. I’ve made plenty of other sweets with a streusel that I’m sure your guests will enjoy.”
“Well, isn’t there such a thing as gluten-free streusel?” She gave me her best ‘I’m going to make this night a living hell for you’ smile. “Can’t you just whip some up? You are standing in a state of the art kitchen, after all.”
“We only brought alternative flour for the things on your original invoice.”
“Well, I suggest you go get some more from your little bakery, huh?” She picked up a cupcake and took a bite. “The customer is always right, after all.”
I stood still, glaring at her, resisting the urge to pick up something sharp. She’d booked this job under a different name, knowing damn well that I would’ve refused to bake anything for her and my cheating ex-boyfriend. If it weren’t for the fact that she’d invited most of Cedar Falls’ elite and some of my best clients to her over the top holiday party, I would’ve bailed hours ago.
“My fiancé also wants to add two dozen strawberry soufflés, since we plan on holing up in a pretty nice suite for the rest of the week.” She held out her gaudy diamond ring and stared at it. “You can have that done by ten, right?”
I said nothing.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, stepping back. “By the way, thank you and your staff so much for doing away with the silly chef uniforms and complying with the black dresses and skirts like I asked. It makes you all look more elegant, I think.”
I waited for her to get the hell out of the kitchen and looked up at the clock.
Nine o’clock …
There was no way I could make all of those adjustments in time to go out with Nathan at ten thirty. I ordered one of the junior chefs to get to work on the additional soufflé order, sent out my newest hire to get the gluten-free flour, and then I took off my apron and walked outside.
Leaning against the bricks, I sighed as snowflakes fell over me. I pulled out my phone and scrolled to Nathan’s name, grateful that he’d insisted on us exchanging numbers.
I let out a breath and hit call.
It rang once. It rang twice.
“Hello?” he answered, his voice deep. “Hello?”
I hesitated before answering, caught off guard by how sexy his voice was. “Hi.”
He let out a low laugh. “Hi. Is your event over early or something?”
