“Good afternoon…” Turkey neck muttered...
Suddenly a slick Lexus LFA came roaring into the parking lot. The tires let out a chilling shriek as it slid to a halt. The door flew open, and out sprang Drake. Even as he clambered out of the car, his eyes were locked onto the most beautiful target he’d ever scoped.
Drake left the car running as he came sprinting to the side of Sir Turkey neck. As quickly as he came screeching to a stop, caddy cornered in the parking lot, he grabbed the paperwork from the state aide’s hand and began to shred it to bits. He then pulled out his own documentation on the matter of the land and shredded it. All the while staring into the eyes of Hannah.
“I adore and desire you! I cherish you with no ounce of doubt. You are a prize that I have a failing weakness for. I want to worship you, savor you. I want to let you in. I want you to let me in. I want nothing more than to know you! Really know you.” Their eyes never unlocked as tiny square shreds of paper danced upon the breeze. They fluttered and twirled and swirled this way and that, landing softly as snow on the plush grass. “I want to tell you everything.”
Hannah couldn’t stop her next move, as it seemed to be an out of body type experience. She jumped into his open arms. She locked her lips to his as he picked her up, and thrust her into the air.
“Uhm, sir, excuse m…”
“Fuck off…” moaned Drake through tooth, claw, and nail. “It’s all taken care of! We will be updating the Youth Recreational Center!”
Hannah jumped back from Drake, “We will be what?!” Her excitement couldn’t be stifled. Her eyes filled with tears, the happiest tears her eyes had ever shed. Drake gently raked them away with the edge of his pinky. The tear rolled down the cold gold of his pinky ring, causing it to shimmer in the warm sun rays.
THE END
Baking For A Billionaire
ZOE
A dick cake.
She was holding a dick cake.
And Christopher was staring at her.
Zoe felt a shiver race through her. It left an army of tiny hairs on her arms standing on end as if the very air held a positive static charge.
Still, she stood in her chef’s jacket, holding her chin high and daring anyone to say something. No one did. No one even met her gaze.
Except him.
She knew Christopher by reputation and reputation alone. He was worth more than her whole family, all her friends, and everyone she’d ever met combined. A guy like that had no reason to associate with her.
He had even less reason now that she was holding a giant dick cake at his birthday.
Her cheeks stung red as she met his gaze. But she refused to back down. With her chin held high, she studied his startling emerald eyes. He was standing shoulder to shoulder with a couple of his spoiled friends. But while they were laughing and talking in an animated fashion that left her pondering the old adage that women are like hens in a hen house, Christopher was quietly focused on her. He seemed serious, scarily so, and Zoe suddenly felt certain he’d have her thrown out.
Bring it on, she thought, narrowing her eyes at him in a clear challenge.
As if he heard her thoughts, he shifted. It was a tiny change, an almost unperceivable one. But the fighter in her felt the change rather than saw it. The subtle shift of his weight to the balls of his feet. The flex of his jaw as if he’d clenched his teeth. The sudden tension anchoring every fiber of his being.
He was in fight mode.
And she watched as he excused himself from his friends, who nodded and continued talking to each other as he left the little group. The way he cut through the crowd reminded her of the fin of a shark parting waters in a truly terrifying way.
And he was coming right for her.
CHRISTOPHER
He was pretty certain she was cowering internally, based on the way her eyes clouded at his approach. The pretty clear blue became stormy, turbulent as an ocean, and he knew he was in for a battle.
But she maintained a smile.
“Happy Birthday, Mr. Cartel.” Her voice was sweet, pretty like her, but had a surprising edge to it. He doubted she’d take shit from anyone, even him. Especially me, he thought, watching her eyes harden as her sleek little body went taut. She had goosebumps up and down her arms where her chef’s jacket was rolled at the sleeves.
He took her in, sizing her up, and found her eyes once more. Her pupils responded with just a hint of a spasm and he knew he had her. Her body was responding to him. And the pink twinge in her fresh cheeks wasn’t makeup.
She was uncomfortable. Bothered. And obviously innocent, judging by her juvenile nervousness holding the dick cake.
He’d thought it was a joke at first. Like one of his friends must have made the order in a childish attempt to humiliate him on his birthday.
That friend must not know him well, he’d concluded.
When he’d learned it was actually the bakery’s fault, he’d decided to let things be to see how it all played out despite multiple offers to kick the baker out. His father had been disgusted, but his mother had seen right through him. She’d given him a hug and whispered in his ear, “She’s beautiful, but be careful.”
A mother’s worry was something he both understood and hated. At thirty, he’d obviously always been careful. He didn’t have kids. He didn’t have any ex-wives. Hell, he’d never told any woman he loved her.
Because he hadn’t.
Maybe that made him a dick – he was well aware of his reputation – but he was honest. It seemed worse to him to lie and hurt people or string someone along. He’d rather be transparent and tell everyone where they stood.
Which brought him full circle to his reputation and the dick cake.
ZOE
He was just standing there. So close she could smell the heady scent of his cologne, the warmth of his damp skin, the heat of him that set off primal warning bells in her brain. God, he was so sexy.
Shaking her head a tiny bit, she tried to clear her senses of him.
“Now what?” he asked, startling her.
She found herself captive in his emerald eyes. What was he asking her? Why couldn’t she keep her thoughts straight? Her lips parted, but only a sip of air entered her lungs. His eyes left hers to trace her lips and her heart began to pound so hard she felt faint.
“It was a mix up,” she said, her words a sheer whisper. Suddenly, she just wanted to be done. She wanted to leave. Be done with all of this, with the insane reaction she seemed to have around this spoiled rich boy.
“A mix up,” he said, but the way he said her words back wasn’t right. He said it like she’d intended this, like she’d planned to humiliate him.
“A mix up. We had two orders come in and my assistant wrote the wrong things on the wrong forms.” Feeling lighter now that she’d finally been able to unburden her soul, she breathed a sigh of relief.
His emerald eyes met hers. “You fired her, right?”
“Him,” she corrected without thinking and the sudden heat from Christopher startled her. His eyes narrowed a fraction and she sensed he was ready to breathe flames though nothing else betrayed him. “And I did not.”
“Fire him,” Christopher said, his tone deadly serious and quiet.
“No.” Standing firm, she had the sudden urge to shove the cake in his face. The only thing that stopped her was the look in his eyes. “You’re not going to bully me into firing my assistant because he did something you didn’t like.”
At her words, Christopher’s eyebrows shifted up just a tiny bit. Satisfaction roared through her. She doubted anyone had ever told him no before. It felt good to be his first. She doubted he had many firsts left. Money allowed people to experience everything, but some things in life were far more valuable than money could cover.
Like being put in his place. She knew by the slight surprise behind his nearly unreadable eyes that he wasn’t used to being told where he stood. And she’d spelled it out for him
. Let him chew on that for a while. Let him come to terms with the knowledge that she didn’t give a damn who he was; he wasn’t going to turn her life upside down.
“It’s more than that-” he began, but she cut him off.
“It’s not. You’re too used to getting your way. I’m not going to bend so easily.” She stood, toe to toe with him, aware of the throng of people swirling around them in an ebb and tide of pompous rich bastards enjoying the finer things in life. She was out of her element here.
“Let me explain my position,” he said, his reasonable tone sending red flags flying in the back of her mind.
“So explain,” she said, “I’ll listen.”
“Not here,” he said, and she felt the net closing around her. “Over dinner.”
Zoe felt her mouth drop open. A business mogul wanted to sit down with her and talk shop? Hell yes! She could pick his brain around his pushing her to fire Porter. She was certain she’d be able to run him in circles long enough to at least get some good tips out of him on running her business.
“A business dinner?” she asked, wanting to be certain she’d heard him right.
Christopher nodded, his eyes locked on her face.
“Sure,” she said, her heart thumping uncomfortably behind her collar bone. Everything in her screamed that it was a bad idea, but he was a billionaire, someone who could help her with information. Information she could use to catapult her business into the stratosphere.
“What kind of cake?” Christopher asked.
Confused, she stared at him, her mouth open. He nodded to the cake in her hands. Snapped back into the present, she felt like an idiot. “Oh, yeah, it’s strawberry cream cheese cake.”
“So it’s cheese cake?” He asked, arching an eyebrow at her.
She shook her head. “It’s cheese cake flavored sponge cake.” How many times had she had to explain that to people? Why didn’t anyone ever listen to her? With a sigh, she watched him stand before her. Her arms were aching, but she knew the drill. Part of her job was to stand until the birthday came to the point of singing. Then the birthday person would cut it and it would be distributed.
She had a feeling it wouldn’t work out like that this time.
To her shock, he whisked it out of her hands and placed it on the table behind her. She watched as he unceremoniously shoved a stack of gifts and bottles of champagne out of the way with the edge of the decorative baking tray. She held her breath that he wouldn’t topple gifts or tip bubbly bottles on the damn cake.
Though part of her wanted to see the god damned thing destroyed. He glanced over his shoulder at her as if proud of himself. She wanted to throw something at him, but the only thing in her pocket was her luckiest knife carefully nestled in the homemade leather sheath her dad had made for her.
Killing Christopher at his birthday might not be the best recourse.
He grabbed the pretty silver cake cutter and raised both hands. The party became suddenly silent as all eyes found him and all lips shushed at his silent order. Zoe was impressed. He had a way of leading the room, of guiding the activities. But the speed with which he brought everything under control was an art.
He faced the crowd of uncomfortable onlookers and flashed a dazzling, slightly off-center grin that left his stern face almost boyish. The transformation stunned her and she felt herself freeze as she stared at him.
He spoke in a tone that was full of laughter to the crowd that was still very much on edge.
“Well, she nailed the scale, the sheer impressiveness, and even gave it a sweet and tart strawberry cheesecake flavor. Give it up for Zoe of Zoe’s Bakery!” His voice ended on laughter from the crowd and Zoe winced as applause filled the room, drowning out the laughter.
Ever the diplomat, she bowed, but spoke words intended for only the rich jackass himself. “If I made it true to life it wouldn’t feed the whole room, would it?” she muttered, arching an eyebrow at him.
To her surprise, he didn’t respond in anger. No, his voice was calculated, as was the intensity behind his stare. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I absolutely would not,” she said, feeling her cheeks stinging as he began cutting up and serving the cake with a grin for everyone who accepted a piece. His jokes and banter elicited laughs, but she knew he was focused on her. She could feel it. He was leaning her direction, his head cocked to listen to her, his whole being seemed like an antenna tuning to her frequency.
Her knees went weak as he flashed her that sexy grin and simply said, “Not even a little bit?”
She shook her head, feeling very like she was waving her fingers over the flame of a candle. Sooner or later, she’d get burned. “Not even a little bit.”
With that, she bade him farewell, needing to be free of him, of the day, of all the issues she’d faced. Nothing sounded better than a bath, a glass of wine, and some decompression TV time.
CHRISTOPHER
Christopher watched her leave with her head held high. She’d taken his humor with grace. She’d played along with him, but hadn’t thanked him for saving her ass. He’d covered her, but she’d responded with a snark that told him she didn’t give a damn about him, or the damage she might have done to her business.
It was a shock.
Christopher was used to people kowtowing, ass-kissing, or boot-licking for some praise, a good review, a tidbit of advice, anything.
Zoe didn’t give a fuck. She’d make or break without him.
He had to respect her spirit. She was a fighter. It took balls of steel to stand here, in his home, holding a dick cake before his friends, family, loved ones, and people in his circles. But she’d persevered to the end. She’d reacted with grace, with poise. Sure, she’d shifted the blame to her assistant, but she was the one standing here, shame-faced in the wake of a mistake that she’d not had time to fix.
He liked her.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he admired her spunk. And she’d agreed to dinner. He could tell she thought it was just a business meeting. She likely thought he’d just pressure her to fire her idiot assistant. But it was a date. He was going to get to know the girl behind those mesmerizing baby blues.
And she was going to like it.
He would make sure of it.
ZOE
Zoe breathed a sigh of relief and sank into the lavender-scented steaming hot water. The sting on her skin was heaven. She’d be red as a lobster later, but it was well worth it. Her skin would be coated in a layer of lavender oil and she’d be smooth as the day she was born. It would be amazing to sink between the sheets of her bed and sleep, naked and silky.
Resting her head against the back of the claw-foot tub, she closed her eyes and thought about the confusing – and sexy – Mr. Cartel.
He’d been oddly sweet. Sure, he’d been lewd, perverse, but he’d handled the whole situation with humor. No finger pointing, no humiliation. He’d resolved a conflict like a diplomat.
She hadn’t expected that. Not from him.
Hell, not from anyone. Most people she’d screwed up with had been loud, angry, even violent. People could get downright abusive when they spent money on something only to have it not be exactly what they envisioned.
Generally, she hit it out of the park, but she wasn’t perfect.
A knock at her door startled her into opening her eyes, but she shrugged it off. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Whoever it was could have called.
As if reading her mind, the phone began to ring.
She glanced over at it, deciding if she could play off an excuse. Would it confuse someone enough if she answered, said she was dead, and hung up? Nah, anyone she knew would freak out and call hospitals. Or call her back telling her she wasn’t funny. Good snark just isn’t appreciated enough.
With a sigh, she answered the phone with her dry hand.
Porter was on the other end, sounding frantic. “Zo, we need to talk, answer the door, please. I know you’re home, I
saw your car, we need to talk now!”
Bad Boys Rule Page 35