by Laura Pavlov
“From UC Berkley. I’m guessing you’ve heard of it?” She sat back in her chair and smirked.
“I wasn’t aware that Berkley had a baking school?” I challenged.
“I graduated from Berkley with a degree in business and a minor in marketing. I then attended a prominent culinary and baking school, Ecole Ducasse, in Paris this past year, and voilà, here I am.”
“Lucky us,” I said, my voice dripped sarcasm as I flipped another page and tried to hide my surprise at her projection.
“Well, if you give me this shot, I do believe you’ll be lucky. We’d all win.”
“And why would I do that?” I asked.
“Well, for starters, you ran an ad looking for exactly what I’ve brought you—an opportunity. And, according to every article printed about you, you’re a smart businessman, or at least people think you are,” she said, and my brothers laughed. Traitors.
“You’re correct, we are in the business of making money, and if your desserts have any say in the matter, I think you’re going to make it big,” Harrison gushed, a ridiculous attempt at flirtation.
Pathetic.
She batted her lashes and played right into him. “That just might be the best compliment I’ve ever received.”
“Well this is definitely the best cupcake I’ve ever had.” My baby brother shamelessly winked. Completely unprofessional. Jack had been the starting quarterback at USC all four years, and had offers to go pro, but chose to join us at the family business instead. The guy oozed charm and he had no problem using it to his favor.
“Jesus. You’re a walking HR violation,” I mumbled under my breath. “Well, thanks for taking the time to meet. We’ll be in touch.”
“Okay. Thank you,” she said, pushing to her feet and hesitating like she wasn’t quite done. “I just want to say, that I wouldn’t take this opportunity lightly. I’ve dreamed of opening DeLiciously Yours for many years, and I promise if given this opportunity, I won’t let you down.”
Oh, please. This was going to play right into my brothers’ hands. The girl was brilliant. She’d done her homework on all three of us.
“We will definitely be in touch,” Harrison said.
“Let me walk you out.” Jack rushed to help her with the door, and I rolled my eyes.
Harrison looked at me when they stepped out of the room. “I like her.”
“No.”
“Well, we’ll have to see about that, Ford. We each get a vote, and Harley DeLuca gets mine.”
I pushed back from the table and stormed out of the conference room. This day had gotten off to a terrible start.
And I wasn’t in the mood to battle Thing One and Thing Two.
Chapter Two
Harley
I dropped to sit on the couch in my small studio apartment. My best friend, Molly, stopped by to celebrate.
“I can’t believe you got it,” she said. Her blonde hair rested on her shoulders, and she leaned forward to open the bottle of champagne she brought. “Champs for my champ.”
I laughed. “Nice. Thanks. I’m actually shocked they chose me.”
DeLiciously Yours would be opening in the hottest location in San Francisco, in the famed Montgomery Media building. Floor-to-ceiling windows, lots of natural light, and most importantly, endless foot traffic. It was more than I could have even dreamed up, and I’d been thinking about opening this bakery most of my life.
“I’m not. I mean, who better to take a shot on. And I doubt anyone else offered them a piece of the pie, so to speak,” she said with a wink.
I’d taken out a small business loan, and my grandfather had co-signed, using his home as collateral. To say the stakes were high, was an understatement. Offering the Montgomerys a percentage of the company was much better than allowing the monthly rent to eat away at my budget. I’d offered them ten percent, and they’d countered back with fifteen percent, and we’d settled in the middle. I’d never expected to be in such a popular location, which would allow me to cater to the busy professionals downtown.
“Well, I’m excited. What did your dad say when you gave your notice? Was he upset?” I asked. Molly wanted to help me get the bakery off its feet, and she was tired of working for the family business while applying to law school during her gap year. Her parents, Dave and Caroline Lolly, owned over a dozen dry cleaners. They were the reason that I was able to move out of my grandfather’s place in Oakland so I could be closer to the business. Being in the city would make my life much easier. The Lollys had a small studio apartment above one of their dry cleaners downtown that they rented out. The place had come available and they’d given me a great deal. It was small, but I was proud to call it home.
“Nope. He took it pretty well. He knows I hate it there. And working at the bakery will be a nice change.” She glanced around the apartment. “Wow. You’ve been here for two weeks and you’ve already worked your magic.”
“Yeah? Thanks. It’s cozy, right?” I had a bed in the back corner, and I used floor-to-ceiling bookshelves to create a little wall to make it slightly more private. I purchased a small white slip-covered couch, a coffee table and a little dinette set which worked as a makeshift desk as well as a table to eat at.
“Only you could make this dump look like a cool, hipster pad. I see you brought your prized possessions,” Molly said, glancing at the bookshelves. Books were something I’d collected since I was a little girl. Heidi had been the first hardcover book I’d read, and from there I’d collected hundreds more. I had dozens of baking books, but over the past few years, I’d collected all the classics and romance novels had become my kryptonite. There was nothing like fiction to help you escape your daily life.
And no one needed an escape more than me.
I laughed. “I think Gramps was sad to see them go, but he’ll have more space now in the living room for his own things.”
She filled two glasses and handed me one. “To my beautiful best friend who continues to chase her dreams.”
“Ooh, that’s sweet,” I said after taking a sip and scrunching my face.
“Is that your polite way of saying it’s cheap?” She fell back against the cushion and chuckled.
“No. You know I love a good deal,” I teased.
“So, what’s the update on your mom?”
Molly and I were roommates at Berkley, and she knew all the gory details of my relationship with my mother.
“Gramps said he hasn’t heard from her since I got home from Paris.” I’d been attending culinary school abroad and hadn’t spoken to my mother in over a year. The last time I’d seen her, she and her pimp slash drug dealer had left me beaten in an alley. This was par for the course with her.
She’d been in and out of my life since the day I was born. My mom was a train wreck. A walking disaster. If you looked up hot mess in the dictionary, there would surely be a picture of her next to it.
I’d spent my entire life trying to be different, striving to make something of myself that was far removed from my mother.
My grandparents had always taken her back whenever she’d attempt to turn her life around. I hated to think about all the ways she’d taken advantage of them and preyed on their kindness. But after Grams passed away, and Mom didn’t bother showing up at her funeral, something hardened in Gramps where she was concerned. The problem was, she always showed up when you least expected it. You could never really prepare for the storm.
Living in Paris this last year was my first real clean break from my mother. And yes, I worried about Gramps every day. But I actually felt like the weight on my shoulders had lifted off while I was gone. A weight I’d carried with me my entire life. I knew I needed to return home, because Gramps had always been there for me, and I couldn’t leave him to deal with her on his own. Ever since Gram passed away, it’s just been he and I against the world. Or at least he and I against m
y mother. Valentina DeLuca, aka the spawn of Satan.
“Maybe she’ll just finally disappear into thin air. But no way are we letting bitchy V bring you down. There’s too much to celebrate. Tell me about the Montgomery brothers,” Molly said, making me laugh about the nickname she’d given my mother the first time she’d met her when my mom found me at the coffee shop Molly and I had worked at near campus our freshman year. The woman had no shame. She’d taken every penny I had to my name that day, and I’d given it to her willingly so she’d leave Gramps alone.
Molly opened my laptop and typed in the Montgomery brothers, just as hundreds of search bars opened up. They were the closest thing you got to royalty in San Francisco. People called them the Kennedys of the west coast. Beautiful, ridiculously wealthy, and photographed everywhere they went. I’d never paid much attention because let’s face it—they weren’t really my crowd. I wasn’t big on Hollywood gossip or the tabloids. And now I’d be working with them. It didn’t even sound real when I said it out loud.
“I don’t think I can tell you anything you can’t find online. I barely know them. I’m still in shock that they picked me, to be completely honest.”
“Stop selling yourself short. Of course, they picked you. Just thinking about your pastries makes me hungry. God, they’re so freaking hot though. Which one is this?”
I moved to sit beside her. “That’s Ford. He’s a complete asshole. He’s the one who has come in every single day during renovations to give me his unwarranted opinion. Cocky, arrogant, and condescending. He may be pretty to look at, but that’s as far as it goes.”
She chuckled. “Nothing hotter than a good-looking asshole though, right? The other two are nicer?”
“From what I can tell. You know how I feel about rich, entitled men.” I laughed. “That’s Harrison and that one is Jack. They’re all beautiful, but at least these two don’t act like pretentious assholes.”
“Come on, Harls. None of these guys make you want to come out of your dry spell? No pun intended. You know, I read an article last night that claims if you go too long without sex, your vagina can actually close,” Molly whispered, like she was telling me some deep, dark secret.
I reached for a throw pillow and hit her over the head. “Shut up. You’re lying. And it hasn’t been that long.”
“Dude. You were gone for almost a year, and you’ve been back for a few weeks. You haven’t had sex since before you left for France.”
“What are you, my therapist? Big deal. I’m not missing anything. Sex wasn’t really all that exciting, if I’m being honest. And I went to France on a mission to learn, not to find a man,” I said, shrugging her words off. Trust did not come easy for me, and to say I’d misread Todd Birmingham would be a massive understatement.
“Well, Toad is a psychopath. You know I never liked him from the beginning.”
I chuckled. “It’s Todd, but I won’t fight you on calling him that anymore because you were right about him”
Todd and I had dated my junior and senior year at Berkley, and the last few months of our relationship had gone from bad to worse. It was like a light switch had gone off with him. He became jealous and possessive overnight. He’d wait for me outside my classes and accuse me of cheating with every guy that spoke to me. I didn’t recognize him anymore. His behavior was the motivation I needed to study in France this past year, I was eager to get as far away from him as I could. The last few weeks he’d become verbally abusive and after a lifetime of training as Valentina DeLuca’s daughter, I’d learned early on that words could be used as a weapon, and I wanted nothing to do with it. But breaking up with Todd had been a challenge. He was persistent, angry, and refused to accept that we were done. I’d blocked him on all social media as well as on my phone, and I’d moved to France for a year. I remember the distinct feeling of a weight lifting from my shoulders the day I’d arrived in my new home. Todd had gone radio silent, and hopefully he’d moved on.
“He’s a manipulative prick. You were always way too good for him. I called that shit right out the gate. And he best hope he never runs into me in a dark alley, if you know what I mean.”
I tried to cover my smile. Molly always had my back, and I’d always have hers. She hadn’t trusted Todd from day one, and I should have listened.
“Are you traveling down a lot of dark alleys these days?”
“I’m just saying he better watch himself. Nothing Todd does surprises me. He just hid who he was well in the beginning. But that blows your whole rich boy/poor boy theory,” she said, refilling our champagne flutes.
“It sure does. I guess it just means all boys suck.” I’d always had this theory that rich guys were entitled narcissists. I can thank my rich, non-existent father for that one. And I’d been proven wrong because Todd had no money—so apparently, they were all assholes.
“Well, except for Oscar.”
“Except for Oscar. The one wealthy, kind, devoted boyfriend on the planet,” I said, lifting my glass to hers. “Cheers to you finding the only good one out there.”
She clinked her glass to mine and we both laughed. “Here’s to new beginnings. To you, opening DeLiciously Yours, and to me, working for you while I wait to be rejected by law schools.”
Molly had just taken the LSAT and would be sending out applications over the next few months. She’d give me a year at the bakery, and I couldn’t ask for anyone better to have beside me while I launched my new business.
“They are going to be lining up to have you attend their school. You know that, right?”
“I know no such thing. Let’s get back to discussing the fact that your vagina is closing as we speak,” she said, and we both fell back against the couch cushions and cackled.
My sex life was the least of my concerns.
I stood in the center of the dining area of the bakery and moved slowly in a circle as I took it all in. The contractor had finished the build-out on time and actually stayed right on budget. The black and white tiles resembled the flooring in my grandparents’ home when I was growing up. I loved it. Everything was vintage and in great contrast to the modern building where I was currently setting up shop—but it worked. When you stepped inside DeLiciously Yours, you entered a special little world.
The floor-to-ceiling windows would allow for a ton of natural light, but right now it was just a little past six o’clock in the morning, and the sun hadn’t come out to grace us with its presence just yet.
The walls were pale pink, the tables and chairs were painted in an antique white, and three vintage chandeliers hung above the dining area. I’d been collecting things for this day for as long as I could remember. I’d stored everything in Gramps’ garage and was thrilled that it was finally all being put to use. The glass-encased pastry display sat beside the counter with the register. I’d baked a whole lot of options for opening day over the weekend, ranging from cupcakes, donuts, and brownies to macarons, chocolate ganache tarts, and crème brûlée. I would feel out my customers and adjust what I offered on the menu around requests and seasonal treats. Molly was in the back, in the kitchen, getting the coffee and tea started. I just needed a minute to myself to appreciate the fact that this was really happening.
Today was opening day.
A knock on the door startled me. There were two doors in the bakery. One that opened to the street, and one that opened to the lobby of the building. The knocking came from the lobby door. I didn’t think Montgomery Media opened the doors until seven a.m., but when I turned to see Ford Montgomery through the glass, standing there on the other side, looking like the annoyed asshole he was, I wasn’t surprised. Of course, he’d be up early. He’d probably come by to tell me once again that he didn’t care for my design choices. He’d turned his nose up last week when he took in the flooring and told me that it looked “dated.”
Yeah, that’s the point, genius. It’s called vintage décor.
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I unlocked the door and opened it to him. He was after all, a partner in this business. “What can I do for you?”
“What time are you opening the doors?” he asked, his gaze made a slow perusal of me from head to toe, stopping at my feet and huffing. “Do you own anything aside from tennis shoes?”
I rolled my eyes. “We open at seven, which is when you open, correct?”
“That’s when the building opens. I get here by six-thirty, and the Wilsons always had a cup of coffee ready to go for me,” the smug bastard said, looking around and taking in all the details. “This actually looks—nice.”
I laughed. “Thanks, I guess.”
“So, I haven’t found another place that makes coffee like they did. I was hoping you make a decent cup and I could stop here on my way up in the morning and grab it.”
“Well, I won’t be staring out the window waiting for your arrival, but you’re welcome to stop by, and we’ll pour you a cup to go, your highness.”
“That’s fine. As long as you can actually make coffee that’s tolerable.” He smirked. Ford wore a black suit, and a white dress shirt, tailored to fit his broad, chiseled body just so. His brown hair was a bit longer on top and styled to perfection.
“I can’t wait to hear how high maintenance your order is. I mean, this ain’t Starbucks, bud.”
He rolled his eyes. “I take my coffee black.”
My head fell back, and I barked out a laugh. “Black? And you’re being dramatic about it? How hard is it to make a cup of black coffee?”
“It’s all about the beans.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised a brow at me. Smug bastard.
“You know, this is why rich men get a bad name. You’re ridiculous,” I said before shouting out to my bestie in the back. “Molly, can you grab me a cup of black coffee to go. Use the real swanky beans, okay?”
He chuckled. Ford freaking Montgomery the forty thousandth actually laughed. I was surprised to see he had an actual sense of humor under his arrogant, annoying demeanor.