Yet, somehow, Scott managed it all without looking frazzled. After a long session in the studio, without sleep, Keiran was liable to scare small children with how haggard he looked. Scott was always chiding them about proper skincare—perhaps he was onto something there. Keiran didn’t live that ashy life, but it couldn’t hurt to be more moisturized.
“Oh, so you see me over here now?” Keiran was still toting feelings about being ignored.
Scott gripped his shoulders, smile huge as usual. “Jealous much, K-2?”
Keiran rolled his eyes. Only Scott could get away with using that ridiculous nickname. “I’m just saying you sped by me like a full bus to greet Cherisse. Yeah, I’m going to feel some kind of way.”
Scott patted his cheek. “No worries, you’re still my fave, but Cherry’s cool. I know you two have a thing. Why do you two get on each other’s nerves like that? Unresolved sexual tension? Rivalry by osmosis? I mean, Remi and Maxi used to go at it like whoa, so I get wanting to have your sister’s back, but you two gonna fight to the grave?”
“I’ll take sexual tension for 500, Alex,” Eric piped up, and Keiran wondered if it was too late to trade in his friends for more loyal models.
“There’s no sexual tension.” What were they even getting at? Cherisse couldn’t stand him, and whatever ill-advised teenaged crush he’d had on her had long evaporated from his system.
Eric and Scott went on as if Keiran hadn’t spoken.
“I’m telling you, there’s something there,” Scott insisted. “You two would be cute together, too.”
“Right? If it’s wrong to ship people, you know I don’t wanna be right.”
Keiran frowned. “You’re saying a lot of words that don’t mean anything to me, and there’s no world in which Cherisse and I will ever happen. She’s going on a date with Tyler anyhow.” Why was he even mentioning that? Who Cherisse dated didn’t mean a damn to him.
The idea of them as anything but two people who had mutual friends but preferred not to interact—if they could help it—was too absurd to imagine.
Scott and Eric exchanged shocked glances.
“Tyler?” Eric’s nose wrinkled.
“And Cherisse?” Scott looked like the idea was the most farfetched thing he’d ever heard. Finally, a sensible response. The only reaction one should possibly have to that news. Sure, opposites attracted sometimes, but in this case, Keiran just couldn’t see it.
Nice. Tyler had said she was nice. The concept of Cherisse being nice was so foreign to Keiran; he couldn’t fathom how Tyler had arrived at such a conclusion. Okay, he knew how. Cherisse had carefully cultivated her persona, but how could Tyler not see the barely-contained fire underneath all that niceness? Or did it only come out around him?
And what was Cherisse’s angle in all this? She’d done a complete about-face within minutes. His curiosity was working overtime. Was Cherisse going on this date to please her mother? Keiran knew how overbearing West Indian mothers could be. They were good at making you feel bad if you didn’t at least try the thing they suggested, trotting out the ‘after I carried you for nine months and had to go through X number of hours of labor, you can’t even do this one thing for me?’ guilt trip.
Keiran ignored Eric and Scott as they also wondered aloud how this date would play out and whether Tyler would bore her to tears. Most likely. His gaze wandered the spacious back yard, seeking Cherisse out. He spotted her with Ava, their parents, and Remi. As if she felt his stare, she looked over. He could see her forehead creasing from here.
He smiled, and she looked away, but not before she casually tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear with her middle finger.
Keiran laughed at the move. The months leading up to this wedding were going to be quite interesting.
Chapter 3
MARCH
Cherisse
THE CAMERA FLASH STARTLED her. She’d been staring at the dessert station way too long, obsessing over the setup. She glared over at Remi, who was still circling, taking photos from various angles.
“Just getting some shots of all this before the hordes descend and devour everything.”
“Good plan.” Next to her, Cherisse’s PA, Reba, had her phone out doing the same. “We’ll get some more good ones for Instagram and Twitter when we have some people around.”
Right. It was why she’d hired Reba as her assistant. Reba stayed on top of stuff like that. Cherisse had forgotten all about photos, too busy fussing with the various stands that held the desserts for the post-awards cocktail party. Remi was there in her work capacity as a photographer for Island Bites.
With Reba and Remi dealing with the photos, Cherisse made one more circuit of the room. The formal portion of the People’s Choice Soca Awards ceremony would be letting out soon enough, and hungry guests would be flooding this room in no time.
Last year, she’d attended the awards show as a nominee’s date. Her then-boyfriend, Sean Daley aka Swagga D, had been nominated in a bunch of categories. Even though he’d imploded their relationship by being a lying ass cheater, she could still admit—grudgingly—that he was talented. He’d been nominated again this year, so Cherisse prepped herself for a run-in.
Reba had offered to stick around to dismantle everything, so Cherisse could spare herself from seeing Sean with possibly one of the women he’d cheated with, but no way would she pass up free eats, wine, and networking opportunities because her ex was a piece of shit.
Reba came over. “You good?”
“Yeah, everything looks great.” Knowing Reba like she did, she wasn’t referring to that, but Cherisse was tired of the concern. She could handle seeing her ex in public for the first time in almost a year without wanting to choke him out, right?
No matter what, you keep your cool. Don’t let them see you sweat.
One of the many bits of advice her mother had given her over the years and something she struggled with. Why did she always have to be the one to keep her cool? Although ignoring that advice last year hadn’t done her any favors. That video of her cussing Sean out backstage at the Pastry Wars studio hadn’t been her best moment.
Reba peered at her over the top of her glasses, telegraphing that she knew what Cherisse was doing. Avoiding. Which she planned to do all tonight. It was best for everyone. Even though she’d push through, deal with it if she and Sean ended up in the same breathing space, she rather they didn’t. The media would love that, hoping for another meltdown.
Sean’s popularity had climbed steadily over the two years they’d been together, thrusting her in the media’s eye too by sheer proximity. Her blow-up with him in public? Yeah, that had brought the thirsty gossipers out for blood.
The way random media still trotted it out when she did an interview, they clearly wouldn’t let her live it down, which was fucking bullshit. Sean was the cheating ass, after all. She sure as fuck wasn’t having a repeat performance because Sean would smile and charm his way into looking like a repentant angel. His fans had even spewed accusations of her using his fame to boost her business, which...fine, being with Sean had brought her better networking opportunities, but she hadn’t gotten with him because of that. She hadn’t set out to date a celebrity. They’d met at one of his events where she had been hired to cater the dessert. Even though they had hit it off immediately, Cherisse had been reluctant. The gossip about men in the music business was rampant, but she had decided to throw caution to the wind for once. Not that his die-hard fans cared. After obsessively checking comment after comment, she’d had to stop. Some fans had gotten seriously vile.
“Don’t worry.” Reba patted Cherisse’s shoulder. “We got your back.”
Tonight, Reba looked like a living, breathing Starburst, with her pastel pink hair in loose waves around her deep brown shoulders. Her tight off-the-shoulder dress was a deeper shade of pink than her hair, but it worked. Her eyeshadow was an explosion of orange and yellow. She looked sweet and fruity, but the determination reflected in her eyes said she would
deal with anyone who tried to cross Cherisse. Her look alone would bring anyone to their knees.
She grinned at the thought of Reba destroying Sean with cleverly coded sarcasm. According to Reba, it was her one superpower, besides her baking skills. Reba wasn’t just her PA; she was her Assistant Pastry Chef, too.
“It shouldn’t come to anything serious. I’m staying clear of any annoyances in the form of Sean Daley,” she assured Reba, and Remi, who had strolled over, camera slung around her neck.
Remi rocked a black jumpsuit and her signature wedges, and her miles of curly hair were trapped in a French braid tonight, with some strands coming loose around her face. She towered over Cherisse, who was wearing heels, making Cherisse feel small and very squishy, which was ridiculous and, she knew, just her nerves. She’d thought she looked pretty in her sleeveless royal blue dress with its beaded Peter Pan collar, opting for something cute and comfy because this was still work, even if they’d already set up and were free to enjoy the cocktails. She had to be in networking mode, break out her sweet-talking skills to secure more business for Sweethand.
“Sean is insignificant,” Remi said, nose scrunched as if the very thought of the man disgusted her, which was accurate. Remi hadn’t minced words when she, along with the entire island, had found out about Sean’s infidelity. “I should warn you, however, that Keiran’s here.”
“What?” Could she not be free of him?
“Have you forgotten he’s in the music biz too? He and his fellow producer got nominated for their Hopscotch Riddim.”
Cherisse hadn’t forgotten what Keiran did for a living, couldn’t forget when her experience with men in the industry had left a bad taste in her mouth, but it had slipped her mind that he’d be present. Dammit.
“Who’s Keiran?” Reba asked, dark brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. “And that riddim is wicked, though.”
Great, another Keiran King fan. The riddim was a hit, and Cherisse found herself grooving along to that particular background instrumental accompaniment on the various soca tracks that radio stations had been blasting since last year, but she’d never admit it. Whenever she listened to the songs on the riddim, she conveniently wiped all knowledge of Keiran having a hand in the music from her mind.
“He’s her nemesis,” Remi said helpfully. “Since secondary school, actually. Although...” She tapped her cheek. “I think it’s nemesis by proximity. I didn’t get along with his twin. Hardcore rival back in the day.”
“Not the only reason. Called me stuck-up plenty times just because I didn’t hang with them like Ava did. Making it out like I was too good for them when my ass was failing at school. I didn’t have time to fawn over a bunch of annoying fellas. He didn’t even know one shit about me but made all these assumptions based on gossip from the street. I wish he’d fall into a black hole,” Cherisse added, getting heated at just the thought of seeing Keiran right now. The damn island was small, but Jesus, she’d gone so long without seeing him around, and now, he was just everywhere.
“Wow.” Reba raised a brow at her rant. “Why haven’t I heard about him before?”
Cherisse didn’t like the glint in Reba’s eyes. “He’s not worth my breath.”
“Is he cute, though?” Reba asked Remi, completely ignoring Cherisse’s rolled eyes.
Remi, the traitor, was enjoying this way too much. “Cute? Girl, no. Bunnies are cute. Keiran King is surface-of-the-sun hot. His siblings, too.” She winked at Cherisse, who rolled her eyes again, refusing to confirm or deny that last statement.
“I don’t see you denying this supposed hotness.” Reba’s eyes full-on sparkled with mischief.
“I don’t have time to debate this.”
Reba tapped her fingers against her pursed red lips. “Your silence on the matter is telling.”
“What do you want me to say?” Cherisse asked, exasperated with the turn of the conversation. “Is he good-looking? Fine, yes. It doesn’t make him any less annoying.”
“Annoying can be overlooked.”
“For what? There’s no way in hell Keiran King would ever be a consideration for anything. Ever.” The idea was ludicrous. “Besides, I have a date.”
“With Tyler Gray. Some boring finance guy your mother thinks would make a suitable husband because he’s loaded,” Remi so helpfully replied. “Who also finds the idea of Carnival to be a stain on our dear islands?”
Reba gasped dramatically, looking ready to keel over at that little nugget of information. “He dissed Carnival, and you’re still going out with him? You love Carnival! How the heck did this date even happen?”
How indeed? Cherisse loved a good party occasionally, and Carnival when she managed to secure a free costume, but that was mostly because networking for business was essential. She found most of her clients by referrals, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have to sell her brand herself. Getting contracts to cater fancy all-inclusive parties and Carnival fetes, high-end weddings, and corporate events didn’t happen just by word of mouth. She needed to be visible and sell herself as a sought-after pastry chef to the stars. Of course, she took jobs from anyone, not just those in a higher income bracket, but it didn’t hurt when she secured a wealthy client. Bills didn’t pay themselves. So, she had to go where the local celebs went while not earning herself a reputation as a wild party girl but someone who happened to know the right people.
“He’s very nice to look at.” It was the truth. Tyler’s monotone voice didn’t take away from his good looks. It couldn’t hurt to give him a chance, could it? Besides, he had a nice, safe, boring career, nothing close to the entertainment industry like a certain Mr. King.
She needed safe in her life right now.
After Sean, Cherisse had steered clear of men in the music industry, keeping any relationships she formed there strictly about her business. As much as she hated to even consider it, dating Tyler could help distance her from Sean and his shit. He didn’t seem the type to create a scandal, and she didn’t need another one of those. Ever.
The buzz of guests entering the cocktail reception prompted them to shift gears into professional mode.
“Hottie nemesis alert,” Remi whispered, and Cherisse tensed. Surely they could be civil here, surrounded by all these people. She wasn’t worried about him so much. She couldn’t seem to control her damn mouth when Keiran was around.
Reba craned her neck to see, eyes following Remi’s jutted chin movements. “Oh. My.”
Cherisse refused to look. But even with her back turned, she knew Keiran had come up behind her. He just exuded this ‘I’m here to ruin your day’ vibe. She refused to allow him to do just that, especially already being on edge at possibly seeing Sean.
“Keiran.” Remi’s voice lost all its warmth. She’d joked about him earlier, but right now, her tone could freeze the entire room and its guests. Cherisse could always count on her to go into protective bestie mode.
“Wow.” Reba’s was filled with awe and amusement.
Cherisse considered keeping her back to him forever. Almost said fuck it, but she had to be the effervescent Sugar Queen they all knew her to be. The pressure to keep up appearances was real and fucking exhausting. Always needing to be “on” because of those damn bills. Adulting was the ultimate scam. She wouldn’t let Keiran make her act a fool. She pasted on her best smile and turned to face one of the two men she would trip down the stairs and feel no regrets.
Reba’s “Wow” had been an understatement.
He was wearing a suit. She’d never seen Keiran in a suit. Ever. Had known she would see him in one for the wedding but hadn’t even lingered on the thought. Why would she? She didn’t care what he wore, only that his presence would annoy her. But now, he was in this suit, and Cherisse stared, blatantly drinking in the fit of his blue suit jacket on those broad shoulders, the cut of his pants on his trim waist. He had his jacket unbuttoned, and there were a few buttons undone on his white shirt as well, assaulting her eyes with a sliver of brown chest. Cheris
se was attacked by a too-vivid image of her pressing her hand to his shirt, right above the waistband of his pants to test what lay beneath all that fabric. She’d been drinking him in, eyes taking it all in, from his shiny brown shoes right up to that bit of exposed skin, and when she finally got to his face, he was smirking, as if he knew just what wayward thoughts floated through her head.
Holy. Shit. This was the moment she hated Keiran King more than ever. Because he was too much in that suit. His goatee was perfectly trimmed. It framed those quirked lips perfectly. His smile was dangerous. She moved past it to the rest of his face. Those deep-brown eyes never left her face and brimmed with amusement. His hair was low, brushed down into black waves, the edges marked to precision.
She wanted to topple one of the dessert towers on him. Mess up that damn suit. Anything to ruin the picture of contained sexiness he gave off as he stood there.
“We match,” he said, annoying smile growing wider.
Cherisse said nothing, refusing to acknowledge that they did indeed have on the same shade of blue. What were the fucking odds? And who gave him the right to walk around an event like this with that much chest exposed?
“Hey, lemme get a shot with your award?” Remi’s question jolted Cherisse to her senses. She’d been hardcore staring at Keiran, having semi-lustful thoughts. She needed a drink or two, possibly more.
Remi got into work mode and posed Keiran and his co-producer, Dale Anderson, next to one of the dessert towers. Cherisse could always count on Remi to get in promo for Sweethand no matter what. Dale hammed it up for the camera, handing Keiran one of the two awards she hadn’t even noticed Dale had been holding. Hell, she’d barely noticed Dale, which was unbelievable because his suit was this loud, shiny maroon number with a multi-colored pocket square that would probably singe her eyes if she got too close.
Dale plucked one of the small rose-shaped desserts from the tower and popped it in his mouth. “Lord Jesus, perfection as always.” He grinned at Cherisse as he chewed. “Sugar Queen, you never disappoint.”
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