by S. E. Law
I chuckle.
“New York socialite brides are hell to work for.”
She nods.
“But it gets worse. I had one woman who had a Cirque du Soleil themed wedding. Who has a circus themed wedding? Anyway, she wanted her cake suspended from the ceiling on a trapeze. There were forty foot ceilings in the ballroom, and the carpentry staff made it happen. I made the garish cake she requested but the kicker is…”
“She tried to cut the cake while it was still on the trapeze,” I finish for her.
“Yes! How did you know?”
I laugh. Whitney’s going to get a kick out of this one.
“Because I was there. I was a guest at that wedding. Actually, I was a plus one. A friend from college asked me to go with her because the bride was an old family friend of hers. Camilla, my date, had just gotten out of a relationship and her childhood rivalry with the bride wouldn’t allow her to go alone, so I was her plus one. If it makes you feel any better, no one at the wedding was surprised when that cake toppled during the cutting. Trust me, everyone knew it was the bride’s fault, and not yours.”
Whitney shakes her head, marveling at the craziness.
“That cake was actually my last one there. The bride blamed me for it and my boss screamed at me in front of her! I had warned her not to cut it like that. Carpentry rigged a pulley to bring it down to the table when it was time, but she just wouldn’t listen. I went home and cried for about an hour and then decided to quit and open SugarTime. I’d had it.”
Our stomachs growl simultaneously, and suddenly, I realize that we’ve been talking for over an hour. The sun has set, and the balmy evening breeze ruffles my hair a bit. In fact, we were both so engrossed in conversation that we forgot all about our cheese and fruit.
I smile and stretch, marveling at how time flies when I’m with Whitney.
“I think it’s time I make dinner. Keep me company in the kitchen while I cook?” I ask reaching for her hand to help her up.
She beams.
“Of course. The kitchen is my favorite room in the house!”
13
Whitney
Peter is so easy to talk to and I can’t believe the lengths he went to for this evening. The dress makes me feel glamorous and sexy. The picnic is so romantic, and I can’t believe he brought real grass all the way up to the penthouse. And now he’s cooking dinner for me, so I feel spoiled.
“I’ve never had anyone cook dinner for me. Because I went to culinary school, every guy I’ve ever dated expected me to cook. They’d always use the excuse that their cooking could never match up to mine. This one guy I dated wouldn’t even microwave popcorn.”
He grins.
“Lame. I’m a popcorn snob myself. I wouldn’t want someone else handling it. Did I show you the popcorn machine in the screening room, by the way?”
“No! Do you have a candy counter and soda fountain as well?”
He chuckle.
“No, but maybe I should. But as for the unsophisticated slugs you may have dated in the past, they were probably just intimidated by you, sweetheart.”
I pull a funny face.
“By me? Doubtful.”
“Why is that doubtful? What did they do for a living?”
I sigh.
“I’ve only dated three guys for any length of time. One was a line cook, one worked in engineering at the hotel, and the third was in between jobs.”
He looks at me pointedly.
“Exactly, sweetheart. You made these guys take stock of their life choices. Whitney, none of them were models of success, and you really are an amazing woman. Opening a bakery in New York City takes a lot of courage. The food and beverage industry is incredibly competitive here, and entrepreneurship is never easy.”
I nod slowly.
“I guess I didn’t really think about how competitive things are in the city. I should have because I may not make it if this quarantine goes on too long. I financed new equipment right before the shut down based on restaurant accounts I had. I’ve been using the money you gave me to pay the loan on those pieces, and to help take care of my employees. I’m grateful, but honestly, I’m behind on rent and utilities. The landlord has been nice about it so far but I’m sure he has bills to pay too.”
I hate admitting this to Peter, but I don’t want him to have unreal expectations of who I am and what I have going on. He thinks a lot of good things about me, but I’m just me. A regular girl, despite what I’ve accomplished. The scent of rosemary and seared beef fills the air. Peter turns his back to grab plates for the mouth-watering dinner he has prepared and seems deep in thought. He pauses for a moment, and then turns back to me, his expression casual.
“Whitney, how much do you think you would need to ensure SugarTime’s survival? These are hard times for everyone, but especially small businesses.”
I shake my head.
“No no no. I didn’t mention my concerns about my bakery’s survival because I expect charity from you. I just didn’t want you to have an unreal view of my business situation. Again, you think all these amazing things about me, but I’m just a regular girl.”
He nods, his expression still smooth.
“I understand that. But you’ve done well, sweetheart. You’re resourceful, and you’ve been doing everything you can to keep your business afloat. I don’t know many women with your training that would decide to become a cam girl under these circumstances. That says so much about you, and what you’re willing to do. Humor me and give me a rough number off the top of your head.”
I am torn on how to handle this. I feel like giving him a number will be like asking for a handout, and it’s something I don’t love. I like to earn my money, and Peter offering like this feels wrong. Even taking money for the cam shows seems more acceptable. I initiated that job and accepted money for a service I performed, however illicit it was.
Peter cocks an eyebrow at me.
“Whitney, if you can’t come up with a number, I’ll have to guess. I can easily figure out what rents in your area are and I can look up the average salary for a baker in the city. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. I know you have the figures in your head. I’d be willing to bet you could give me the bakery’s average monthly expenditures within one hundred dollars. I can tell you have a good head for business.”
I resign myself to the fact that he knows what he’s talking about because he’s right. I’m an entrepreneur, and I know SugarTime inside and out.
“Well, if we can’t open for two months, then twenty thousand would get me by. Saying that number out loud makes it sound so big. My first fiscal year wasn’t anywhere near that amount, but I’ve taken risks over the last few months that maybe I shouldn’t have.”
The handsome billionaire merely smiles.
“I’m going to give you fifty thousand because who knows how long this pandemic will drag on? You said you have one full-time and two part-time staff members. Is it worth keeping them on payroll even while you are closed?”
She nods.
“Yes, and it’d be almost impossible to replace them once it comes time to open. Alvina can do almost everything I do. If I could afford to take a vacation, I could leave her in charge and not worry about the business running smoothly. Felipe opens for me a couple of days and his croissants always look prettier than mine. Marta doesn’t know as much about the baking as she does about running the counter and cash register, but she’s also great with the customers.”
He nods.
“Then, they’re valuable. I want you to be able to pay them while you are closed so you don’t lose these employees. You’d be surprised how hard it is to find good workers.”
I shake my head, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.
“Peter, I can’t accept that. You’re far too generous and you know my cam girl shows don’t add up to fifty thousand at all.”
He frowns.
“Stop that. This is a business investment and has nothing to do with our relationshi
p. Why is the possibility that I believe in you so hard for you to digest? I did the same thing for Luke when he opened his bar. If it makes you feel better, consider it a retainer for your consultation services. I’m going to give you a check so you can close that stupid LiveFans account, and we’ll make this a legitimate business investment, okay? You’re not getting paid for cam-girling anymore. I like you too much for that. Now come on, let’s eat before these steaks get cold.”
I’m speechless and shocked and a million other emotions. I follow Peter back out to our picnic area. I feel like I need to explain and clear the air because my pride is ruining the mood.
I take a bite of the steak and it’s absolutely delicious. He is a wonderful cook. There are no fancy reductions or sauces, just quality food cooked right. Under all the polish is just a simple guy with no professional culinary training, who has taken advantage of all the opportunities presented to him. He’s a bit like me in a way, and I swallow, gathering the courage to speak.
“Pete, I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I was just raised with a certain work ethic. I want to know that my business’s success or failure has been a result of my hard work, and not charity.”
He’s silent and my heart thuds.
“Is this beef from your grandfather’s cattle?” I ask him, changing the subject quickly. His silence is scaring me, and maybe I’ve already completely messed up. Maybe it’s too late to even explain or apologize.
“No, these steaks are from my cattle. My grandfather passed away about ten years ago, and I inherited his ranches. I also bought all the dairy farms that I originally sourced my milk and ice cream from. Why, where do you get your dairy products from?”
I smile. At least he’s talking to me.
“Milton’s Farm in New Jersey. We used to go there for ice cream cones when I was a kid. It’s a small family operation.”
“That’s good, Whit. Supporting small businesses is what makes this country work. If people like you hadn’t supported my grandfather when he started out, I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in.”
I look down.
“I’m sorry you lost him. Your grandfather, I mean. It sounds like you were close.”
He nods.
“We were and I miss him all the time, but having him in my life made me who I am in so many ways. He helped form my character, and without him, my business wouldn’t exist. Which takes me back to my original point. I don’t want to argue about me giving you money for SugarTime. We’ve already discussed how who you know plays a part in your success. But even more important, if you don’t have what it takes for someone to believe in you, even knowing the right people won’t help. I believe in you, Whitney. I want to make that point clear.”
I feel my eyes sting with tears and a single one manages to escape. Quickly shifting our plates to the side, Peter slides beside me and brushes the salty droplet from my cheek with his thumb.
“Why are you crying?” he asks gently.
“The only people who have ever believed in me the way you do are my parents. That’s so overwhelming and I’m immensely grateful, Peter,” I whisper.
His lips claim mine in a soul-destroying kiss, and suddenly all of the bricks around my heart shatter. Somehow, he’s penetrated my defenses and there’s no longer a wall keeping me safe.
14
Whitney
I stretch up to kiss Peter in appreciation and affection. I’m falling for this man and I don’t want to stop it. His lips are tender and taste like red wine. His thumb is still stroking my cheek where the single tear laid its trail, and he reaches for my waist to pull me closer, intensifying the force between our meeting lips and tongues.
He lays me back on our picnic blanket and props himself on his elbow beside me.
“I’ve missed your company so much this past week, Whit. I can’t get you out of my head.”
I blush.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either. I’ve had an unusually large number of sex dreams this week too,” I confess shyly.
“Oh really?” he asks, one brow quirking. He unbuttons the first velvet fastener on my dress and traces his finger across my cleavage. “Did I appear in any of these dreams?”
I giggle.
“You were the star of every single one.”
“What did I do to you in these night musings?”
“What didn’t you do would be an easier question to answer.”
He chuckles, although it sounds a bit raspy.
“Did I do this to your neck?” he asks and then proceeds to place hot, languid kisses from my ear to the top of my bosom.
“Hmm, do it again. It’s hard for me to remember,” I pretend.
He leans over me and repeats the same thing on the other side, this time gently caressing my arm all the way up to my shoulder and landing on another button. I sigh contentedly; I’ve been aching for his touch all week.
“I think something like that may have occurred,” I acknowledge while continuing our playful banter.
“I have to confess that I picked this dress for you just so I could slowly unbutton it to tease you. Kind of like during our virtual picnic. I enjoyed telling you what to do that night, but it was fucking unbearable not to be able to put my hands on you.”
By now, four buttons on the bodice of my dress are undone and Peter can see that I have a surprise waiting under the dress for him. I ordered some lingerie while he was away and one of the items just happens to be a black velvet corset with a plunging neckline.
“Well well well, Miss Porter, it doesn’t seem like you’re playing fair. There’s another layer under this dress.”
I reach for the buttons of my dress to show off my sexy lingerie but Peter pushes my hand away.
“Don’t make me tie those hands up, Whitney.”
“I don’t know. I enjoyed it when dream Peter tied me up,” I say in a coy voice.
The comment catches him off guard and he freezes momentarily, mouth open and brows raised. Then, he takes a deep, shaky breath and crushes his mouth to mine. A hand goes up my dress and strokes the inside of my thigh, making me gasp mid-kiss. Reluctantly, he tears his mouth from mine. My heart is hammering, and my breathing ragged.
“Sorry,” he manages in a raspy voice, “I had to get that out of my system. The idea of tying you up is too erotic, honey.”
“Oh really? Do you have a bit of a bondage fantasy?” I ask in a sultry whisper.
His blue eyes flare.
“Not that I was aware of until now. But not bondage in the way of you being a prisoner, or being held against your will. What turns me on is the idea of teasing you into wanting me so bad you can barely stand it. I love knowing that you’re not being able to do anything about it until I decide to release your desire.”
“You mean like this?” I ask coyly, unsnapping his jeans to feel how hard he is.
It’s his turn to gasp a little but he recovers quickly with a slow, burning kiss as he continues to open more buttons on my dress. The soft breeze on my lace panties and his hard shaft in my hand has kicked my arousal up to the next level.
“Maybe we should go inside,” I suggest in a breathy whisper between kisses. He breaks away for a moment.
“Why? We’re on the fiftieth floor, facing the Hudson River. No one can see us, sweetheart.”
I smile.
“I guess you’re right. Let me take the dress off so I don’t ruin it. I really love it. Plus, I want to take this slow tonight, and relish every minute of being with you.”
I give him one last tug before I pull my hand out of his pants; the teasing goes both ways tonight. He makes me feel so confident, and I stand up on the terrace and drop the dress on a chair beside me. Now, I’m standing on a balcony in New York City dressed in just a velvet corset and lace panties. I peek over my shoulder at Peter still sitting on the blanket and wink coyly at him.
“You’re right, the view up here is stunning. We shouldn’t go inside,” I purr while mincing to the railing of the
terrace. I like this game we are playing, taunting each other sexually. It’s almost like what we did in the video chat rooms, but now with an option to touch.
Peter doesn’t stay put for long. I feel the heat of him come up behind me and my hair is pushed over my shoulder to expose the back of my neck. His lips move across the nape, unhurriedly tasting and sending chills down my spine. Fingertips explore the exposed skin on my shoulders, chest, and thighs. The sensations are making me a bit lightheaded so I keep my hands on the railing, but I can’t help but grind my backside into his hard rod pressed against me.
He moves his fingertips onto my belly, skating thin lines up and down the front of my panties and reaching in to just brush over my nipples. I drop my head back onto his shoulder so his mouth can find the quickening pulse in my neck
“Mmm, yes,” is all I can manage.
This seems to be permission for gentle trace of fingers over my panties to change to full stroking with just the right amount of pressure. I spread my feet a little farther apart to enjoy the sensation.
“You’re wet,” he whispers in my ear.
I giggle throatily.
“I’ve been wet since I got here. Now it’s just soaked through.”
He pushes my panties aside and caresses me. Three fingers up and down against bare, pulsing flesh. I push my bottom against him harder, rotating my hips to give both of us pleasure. He groans and the pace of his hand massaging me quickens.
“Take off the panties. I want to feel that luscious ass against me.”
I reach down to pull them off and hear him stepping out of his jeans. I try to turn around.
“No,” he whispers in my ear, “I love your beautiful, round ass. Let me keep doing what I was, without clothes between us. You are so soft in my hand, and it’s a little taste of what it will feel like to be inside you.”
The idea of just being touched without any sort of reciprocation is thrilling. I put my hands back on the railing, and my fingers tighten around the silver bar. The heat from Peter’s naked body is feverish and his distinctly male scent intoxicates me. I lean my head back, inviting him to kiss me and he obliges. As the naked, hard length of him presses against me, he slides his hand back between my legs and I can’t keep a small moan from escaping.