The Beat and The Pulse Box Set 2

by Amity Cross

  I knew she was coming from a good place, but her standoffishness was beginning to irritate me. Mark had done nothing to hurt me, at least nothing directly, and his attempts at saving me from harm had backfired. I promised to give him a chance, but now I doubted even that. Thanks, Macy.

  “I can’t deny what I feel for him,” I said after a moment. “I won’t be silly enough to fall into a situation that’s bad for me, but I can’t walk away when there’s a chance of something real and good with him. He needs someone in his corner. He needs someone to listen. Isn’t that a good start? It’s not exactly diving headfirst into a pool of piranhas.”

  “I’m just worried he’s lying,” Macy said.

  “I saw the look in his eyes,” I replied. “I saw it, and I believe him. I just…” I stared into my cup of coffee. “There’s something there.”

  “Just be careful, Callie.”

  I nodded. “I always am.”

  Macy smiled halfheartedly, and I knew she didn’t quite believe me. It didn’t matter though. This was between Mark and me, and only we knew the truth of what we felt.

  “I’ve got to get to work,” she said after a moment. “I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Yeah, I guess. No plans so far.”

  “All right. See you later.”

  Sipping my coffee, my stomach churned, and I made a face. Tipping it into the sink, I detoured past the bathroom for a shower before grabbing my laptop and settling on my bed.

  Opening my email, I scrolled through my messages and notifications. I would have to get my cake to the shop somehow. I wondered if I could rent a van or con a mate into helping me transport it.

  Amongst all the newsletters and ink mail, one email popped out at me. There was a message from a Hector Vanderhall, and my heart skipped a beat. Opening the message, I scanned the contents and almost vomited.

  Hi, Callie, I saw your cakes online and heard about the fire at your shop. I’m terribly sorry to hear about the damage. I’m writing to see if you would like to come meet me. I would be delighted to hear more about your desserts, and perhaps we could help one another with future ventures in food? Here is my number. Call me anytime.

  Hector Vanderhall? The Hector Vanderhall?

  This had to be some kind of prank. This guy was a genius—he was the celebrity chef known for his theatrical food—and he was emailing me with his private mobile number? I fanned my searing cheeks. The only way to find out for sure was to call, right?

  Picking up my phone, I dialed the number with shaking hands.

  “Hello, this is Hector.”

  His British accent washed over me, and I immediately knew this was not a joke.

  “Hello?” I said haltingly. “This is Callie Winslow. I’ve just seen your email…”

  “Callie!” he exclaimed, sounding rather excited for eight in the morning. “I’m so glad you called.”

  “Thank you for the email. I’m rather curious…”

  “Are you free today?” he asked, talking to me like we’d already met.

  “Today?” I replied, a little shocked. “Sure, I, uh…”

  “Great,” he declared. “Come see me at my restaurant in the city. Any time you’re able. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Great! Oh, great cakes, by the way. Spectacular!”

  The line went dead, and I stared at the screen, completely frazzled. I knew the guy was eccentric, but this was weird. I felt like I’d just been spun around by a colorful whirlwind and left dazed.

  I was going to see Hector Vanderhall about a job. Holy fuck.

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the bustle that was Fortune, Hector Vanderhall’s flagship Melbourne restaurant.

  The warm and homely scent of food wafted around me, and my unsettled stomach began to ease. The entire tram ride over here, I was deathly frightened I might shit my pants I was that nervous. Total brown trousers time. My emotions were at an all-time high what with last night’s date with Justin, the deep and meaningful I had with Mark, our night together, my conversation with Macy…and now Hector.

  Nothing for my entire life and then everything all in the space of a month. Talk about one hell of a roller coaster.

  I approached the hostess, and she smiled, then looked me up and down. She was tall, thin as a rake, and beautiful with her perfect makeup, flawless complexion, and long chocolate-colored hair. I immediately felt like a tub of washed-out lard.

  “Name?” she demanded.

  “Winslow, I’m—”

  “Do you have a reservation?” she interrupted, looking stern.

  “No, I…”

  “We’re fully booked,” she said, flipping her hair back over her shoulder.

  “Oh, no, I’m here to see Hector. He’s expecting me.” I pointed to myself. “Callie Winslow.”

  The hostess blinked at me, not looking very impressed. “Just one moment.”

  Ugh. Would I ever get over my insecurities? Fiddling with the strap of my handbag, I watched as she disappeared into the kitchen. What kind of job was Hector talking about? Did he want me to work in the kitchen here? I had my own shop to think about, and taking on an apprenticeship seemed like a pretty large step back.

  When the hostess returned, she pouted and said, “This way, please.”

  Following her through the restaurant, she opened the kitchen door and ushered me inside. Within the staff-only area, it was a complete sensory overload. Hustle and bustle had nothing on the chaos that sat inches from the calm and delicate restaurant where people were currently enjoying their artfully arranged lunch.

  Recognizing Hector by a stove, I approached him, forgetting about the haughty hostess entirely. He was very tall with a shaved head, pale skin, and a certain flair about him. He was known for his eccentricity, and everything he touched turned into an elaborate theatrical presentation. There was a reason he was a celebrity chef.

  “Callie!” he exclaimed when he saw me. “So good to see you!”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I replied, peering curiously at the stove. He was cooking something sweet, the scent of caramel becoming stronger the closer I came. Even though we’d just met, he welcomed me like an old friend, and it put me at ease.

  “Here, taste this.” He grabbed a teaspoon and dipped it into the steaming pot of sauce. Holding it over his hand, he blew on it before moving it toward me. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  Not sure what to do, I awkwardly let him hold the spoon to my lips. Tasting the sauce, my eyebrows rose. Caramel with hints of cinnamon.

  “Classic, yes?”

  I nodded. “Brown sugar, butter, cinnamon, and vanilla.”

  “I thought it was only fair I brushed up on my dessert skills before I met you.” He smiled and turned the heat off. Clicking his fingers, a member of the kitchen staff came running and grabbed the pot as he guided me through the maze of prep areas. “Now, let’s find a quiet spot and have a chat.”

  Glancing around, I wondered where that would be. The restaurant was in full swing with its lunch sitting. Chefs and kitchen hands were running back and forth, shouting orders and bashing pots and pans furiously as they plated up. Outside, punters were talking loudly, the din almost too much to handle. Corks were popping off the top of wine bottles, glasses were clinking, and laughter abounded, and as Hector led me through it, my head spun. This was how a real-life successful restaurant looked.

  We sat at a table by the window, set apart in a little alcove. It was shielded just enough that the noise from the restaurant was muffled slightly.

  “Tell me, Callie, is food your passion?”

  “Desserts are,” I replied. “Ever since I was a little girl.”

  “And what is your favorite thing about desserts?” He waited patiently, and I wondered what he wanted to hear.

  “They bring people together,” I said, just saying what I believed. “They make people happy. That’s a great thing. If it tastes amazing, then even better.”

  Hector laughed, looking pleased as punch. “You
’re right, you know. Food is all about sustenance. We need to eat to survive, but who said it couldn’t taste great? Art is everywhere, and you and I are artists.”

  “Your food is certainly an inspiration,” I said in agreement.

  “Why thank you, my dear. Now, you must be wondering what all this is about.”

  “Yeah, I was a little surprised to receive your message.”

  “I’m truly sorry to hear what happened to you and your shop,” he went on. “I’m so glad you’re okay and it is being rebuilt. Such an inspiration.”

  “I just did what had to be done.” I shrugged.

  He smiled mysteriously and then became rather animated. “To hell with it! I’m just going to say it. I want to work with you, Callie.”

  I blinked, suddenly overcome with shyness.

  “I have a string of restaurants all over the world,” he continued. “We specialize in theater. Every meal is an event, designed specifically to delight and amaze, not just through taste and delicious food but a total sensory experience. Your mind, your ideas, your creations. I want you to bake for me, Callie. Help me develop desserts for my restaurants, teach my staff, learn from me, and I’ll take you right to the top.”

  I stared at him blankly, completely overwhelmed by his speech. “The top of what?”

  “The food chain, of course!” He laughed. “Tell me, have you ever applied to be on a reality cooking show?”

  I nodded. “I have, but I was never selected to audition.”

  “Forget about being a contestant. After a year with me, honing your skills, I can get you a guest appearance. No competition required.”

  “Do you really think I have the talent?”

  “Yes, you certainly do, but I’ll be honest with you, Callie. This won’t be easy. You’ll hate me just as much as you love me. I’ll push you to the edge in my quest to make you the best. You will cry tears of frustration, but at the end of it, you’ll be surpassed by nobody.”

  He said it with such conviction and passion, I believed him. Inspiration had been struck in my heart, and I began to think of all the places I wanted to see and people I wanted to learn from. I could be sitting where Hector was now. Never afraid of being bankrupt, not wanting for a paying customer, and having my name on the lips of the most influential people in food.

  “You’ll travel the world, Callie,” he went on. “Paris, New York, London, Rome… I have restaurants in all those cities. In fact, I’m going to supervise the opening of a new site in Amsterdam in a few weeks. I would like for you to come.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. This was exactly what happened to Mark. He got an offer he couldn’t refuse, he did whatever it took to make it a reality, and it turned around to bite him in the ass. But I’m not Mark, I thought to myself. I can handle this.

  “Just like that?” I asked, shocked. “You haven’t seen me bake yet…”

  He laughed, throwing his head back. “This isn’t an episode of MasterChef. If you would like to cook for me, then you can. I won’t say no. Perhaps I can come by your shop and see this cake everyone is making such a fuss about?”

  “Sure. If you like.”

  “It’s a big decision,” Hector went on, not even taking a breath. “Take some time, and think about it. I’m willing to give you a break, Callie. I know your shop is opening within the fortnight. I can help you with finding a suitable manager to keep it going, not to mention staff from my own ranks. Training and new experiences are vital parts of the culture here. They could learn a lot from the simplicity of cupcakes. It’s a true art form.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I nodded and forced out something polite. “I will. I’ll think about it.”

  “Tell me, have you ever thought about expansion? Taking The Fitzroy Cake Company to the world?”

  Outside, the air was clear, and I breathed in the crispness. Melbourne was bustling. I stood on the street corner, watching people walk to-and-fro as a steady clip of trams rumbled down Swanston Street.

  One thing was certain. I wasn’t sure how to take Hector Vanderhall. Was he patronizing or encouraging? I just couldn’t place my finger on it. Everything he said was wonderful. Learning, traveling, expanding my experience…those were all things I wanted, but at what cost?

  Thinking about The Fitzroy Cake Company, I sighed. Wasn’t a simple dream enough? I’d started out wanting a little shop where I could do my own thing, but now I was being told I needed a chain of them, along with a cookbook, television appearances, and a range of signature bakeware.

  I wasn’t sure that life was for me. Then there was the elephant in the room. Mark.

  If I took the job, I would have to leave him behind. There was no way we could continue the kind of relationship he needed with me on the other side of the world. Even if he came, my time would be severely limited. Coming home to a hotel room, exhausted and grumpy didn’t make for a healthy situation. Mark needed to be loved, and we were still new… Deep down, I knew it was him or the job. I couldn’t have both.

  What was I going to do?

  21

  Storm

  I had a weird feeling in my chest when I woke. Usually, I felt sluggish like a weight was sitting right on top of me, but today, it wasn’t there.

  Maybe this was what hope felt like. What a trip.

  Staring at the ceiling, I thought about Callie. My beautiful, ashen-haired, emerald-eyed Callie. I opened up and let her see some of the darkness inside my heart, and she believed me.

  My phone pinged with a text. Like I’d call out to her telepathically, it was from Callie. If you’re free, come to the shop.

  Sitting up on the couch, I pulled my boots on, grabbed my jacket, found my keys, and legged it downstairs. Any excuse to be with her was a good excuse. Actually, I didn’t need one of those. She was so passionate, bright, and damn cheerful about everything it was beginning to rub off. Even when she was deep in a serious conversation about my moronic ways, she was a ball of positivity.

  I could learn a lot from a woman like Callie Winslow.

  The back door was unlocked when I arrived at The Fitzroy Cake Company. The sweet scent of cooking filled my nose as I pushed the door inward and stepped into the stock room. This was where we’d met. This very spot. It looked a fuckload better without all the smoke damage.

  “Hey,” I called out as I stepped into the kitchen.

  “I have a kitchen,” she said with a sexy smile. “Isn’t it just perfect?”

  She was wearing a cute little skirt that showed off her legs and a tight blouse. The top few buttons were undone, and my gaze fell to the swell of her breasts. Then there were her sexy as fuck lips…and the rest of her.

  “I don’t know much about it, but if it makes you smile like that, I’m all for it.” I peered into the stainless steel bowl she’d put down when I’d come in and wondered what she was making.

  “It’s chocolate ganache,” she said. “I’m making miniature fruit cakes with white marzipan icing with chocolate drizzle. Then on top, I’m putting little sculpted flowers and dusting them with these silver flakes.”

  “Sounds complicated,” I said, picking up the container. The label read edible silver luster flakes.

  “If they work out, I might add them to the menu for opening week.” She snatched the container off me and put it back on the counter. “They’re a little involved. It might be more trouble than it’s worth.”

  I dipped my little finger into the chocolate and stuck it into my mouth. “Tastes good, though.”

  “Hey!”

  I went back for more, but this time, I wiped it onto her nose much to her horror.

  “Mark!” She wiped at her nose, smearing chocolate on the back of her hand.

  “What you going to do about it?” I asked wickedly.

  Rolling her eyes, she picked up a spatula and mixed it through the chocolate like a pro. “Who am I to start fisticuffs with an actual real life cage fighter?”

  “Even with the broken arm?”

 
“Especially with the broken arm.” Whipping the spatula into the air, she slapped the end against my cheek with a crack.

  The kitchen fell silent, and her mouth fell open in shock. For a minute, nothing happened other than the chocolate running down my cheek, and then all hell broke loose. Snatching the spatula from her fingers, I gave her a taste of her own medicine as I wiped the other side down her face and shoved the end down her top…right between her breasts.

  Callie stood there in stunned silence before bursting out into fits of laughter. “You didn’t just shove that between my boobs!”

  “I’m going to have fun licking that off…” I said darkly, lowering my head. Tugging her blouse, the top button popped open, and I ran my tongue over the curve of her breasts. “You make a real fucking good ganache, by the way.”

  She moaned softly before dipping her finger into the bowl. “Where can I put this? It seems only fair.”

  “Wherever you like…” My cock might be a good place to start…

  Her other hand went to my fly and started to fiddle with the button, but then she slipped her finger into her mouth and sucked.

  “Tease,” I said.

  “Did you just pout?” she asked.

  “No way.” I puffed out my chest.

  “You did! You pouted!”

  Grunting, I darted forward and caught her with a kiss. This felt real fucking good. Things were beginning to become easier. I could talk to her, and she seemed to believe me. This could really work. Maybe, just maybe, I could be happy again.

  “I went to a job interview yesterday,” she said sheepishly before sucking on her finger again.

  My gaze dropped to her lips, and I swallowed hard. “But you already have a job.”

  “Hector Vanderhall requested to meet me himself.”

  “Hector who?” I frowned. I knew nothing about her world, and it began to bother me. I should pay more attention if I was going to keep her, right?

  “He’s a celebrity chef,” she explained. “He’s got restaurants all over the world, has his own line of knives and pots and pans, and he’s been on TV a lot.”