“Damn, I love coming here.”
I gestured to the kitchen bar. “There’s a couple of shavings. Help yourself.”
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, as I headed up the narrow stairs to my bedroom.
“Because I haven’t yet developed any protection against the Rosie lip.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I get that.”
I stepped into my bedroom and stripped out of the cake-batter-covered tee and tossed it at the laundry hamper, tugging a clean, white blouse over my head instead. Not that I would be wearing it long. Rosie handed me the bikini I was to wear inside the cake before she left, careful not to look me in the eye as she did. I had a few choice words, but they fell in an empty room. She was already halfway to Jackson’s arms before I could even form the words.
Why was I doing this? Three hundred bucks was good for such a simple task, but I could have made that much in tips at the bar. Instead, I was rescuing my little sister and putting myself in potential danger for reasons I couldn’t even begin to figure out.
“Let’s get out of here before I change my mind,” I said, as I came down the stairs.
Rahul was sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen bar, scarfing down every bit of the cake shavings I’d left there for him. He grabbed one more piece and shoved it into his mouth as he crossed the room, reaching the door before me so that he could hold it open.
“Such a gentleman.”
“Least I could do,” he said around his mouthful.
I just shook my head and walked out into the hall, tugging my bag closer to my side. We went down to his pickup, the massive pieces of the cake tied down in the back with the boxes of actual cake that would go around the outsides sitting on the bench seat. He opened the passenger door for me and held out his hand.
“My lady,” he said, a little flirt in his voice.
“Thank you.”
He winked before he closed the door and ran around to the other side.
Rahul was a character. He was Rosie’s supervisor, assistant, and bodyguard all wrapped up in one person. He drove her around to her jobs, preferring his truck to her tiny Prius. But Rosie was rarely ready when he arrived—sometimes not even home—so he made himself at home on my couch, sharing whatever snack I might have out, commenting on the shows I often waited weeks to binge on. Rosie thought he had a crush on me. I thought he was just an incorrigible flirt.
“There’s going to be real cake on the outside this time?”
“Not as good as yours. Just some cheap yellow cake they bought at a local bakery.”
But I knew the name on the boxes, and I knew it wasn’t just cheap cake. It was one of the best bakeries in town.
“This client must be paying well.”
“Eight hundred bucks.”
I glanced around the boxes at him. “The last time I did this for Rosie, it was only four.”
“Yeah, well, this client is someone important. Everyone at the office was all excited when we got his call this afternoon. That’s why they decided to do it even though there was so little notice. Any other client and they would have turned him down flat.”
“Do you know the name?”
He shook his head. “They only give me addresses and times.”
It took nearly forty minutes to get there. Houston is a huge city, and there was quite a geographical difference between the part of town where I could afford the housing and the side of town where this guy had his big, fancy house. We pulled up to the gate and the security shack was more impressive than the house I grew up in in Sugar Land.
“Name?”
Rahul handed him a card and the security guard immediately pulled himself up to his full height. There must have been something about it that impressed him.
“Take a right here,” he said, gesturing to the road spread out just in front of the gate, “and follow it all the way around to the back. It’s the last house on the right.”
Rahul put his truck back into gear and it made a loud clanking sound that clearly embarrassed him if the sudden tightness in his jaw meant anything. The gate opened as we inched forward. I stared out the windows at the beautiful brick and stone houses we passed. Most of them were colonial, a few ranches, but mostly colonial style. The big porches, the balconies. They were absolutely beautiful.
“You should live in a house like this,” Rahul said.
“I’m barely making my rent every month. I don’t think I could even dream of affording something like this.”
“Yeah, well, a lady like you deserves a home like this.”
“Life isn’t always fair.”
The houses grew further and further apart as we made our way deeper into the community. And they got bigger. One had turrets, like a castle. Another seemed to sprawl for acres, the wings of the house flowing over the grounds for what seemed like miles. There was no doubt that the elite of the elite lived in this community.
Finally, we turned a corner and the road dead ended. On the right was an imposing, three-story house made of gray stone that looked down on us like an Englishman with his nose up in the air. The house sat on at least three acres of land with no telling how much land behind it. The driveway was long enough to park a dozen cars, but there was only one car sitting in the circle that divided the front yard from the front entrance.
“That must be the client,” Rahul said. “He’s supposed to let us in.”
As he said it, a woman in linen pants and a silk blouse stepped out of the dark Lexus and crossed her arms over his chest as she watched the truck come to a stop slightly behind her car. There was something about her, something familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“You’re the cake people?” the lady asked, as she came to Rahul’s side of the truck.
“We are.”
“Great. Let’s get this set up. I need to get home.”
Rahul glanced at me, his eyebrows slightly raised.
“That’s the client?”
“I thought it was a guy, but, you know. People are weird these days.”
“Maybe she’s his sister.”
“And maybe I’m Prince of India.”
“I didn’t think India had a prince.”
“Just a figure of speech.”
He climbed out of the truck and quickly came around to help me down before I could do it myself.
“Should I carry one of these cakes?”
“Let me get it. You just go in and have a look around.”
The client had already unlocked the front door and stepped inside, leaving one side of the double doors open. I climbed the marble steps and hesitated in the doorway. I could see that it was a beautiful place, the entryway larger than my living room back home. There was gray marble everywhere. The floors. The walls. The massive stairs that spread out at the back of the entryway and disappeared as they turned to the left. The ceiling went all the way up, revealing open space behind what looked like hand-carved railings that ran upward in an illusion that was almost dizzying. It was breathtaking. I was almost afraid to step on the floor, afraid that my lower-middleclass presence would somehow diminish it.
“Come in,” the woman said. “I don’t know what time he’s going to be home, but we should probably do this quick in case he decides to call it a day a little early for once.”
Still, I hesitated. But then Rahul came up behind me with a massive piece of lumber, all business now that there was something to do.
“Where do you want her set up?”
“Here, in the entryway,” she said, gesturing to a space just to the left of the stairs. “I think no matter which way he comes inside, he won’t be able to miss it here.”
“It’s pretty big,” Rahul said.
“Yeah, well, you don’t know my brother-in-law. He can be pretty distracted most of the time.”
Rahul and I exchanged a glance. I almost smiled as he mouthed, Wow!
I knew what he was thinking, too. Why couldn’t I have a sister-in-law like that?
T
he cake goes together pretty simply. It’s just three or four pieces that form a rounded cake with three layers. Rahul had done it often enough to be able to do it in half the time anyone else might have done it. And then I helped him arrange the baked cakes around the sides, using my little bit of knowledge of cake decorating to make them go together smoothly. When we were done, the three of us stood back and studied the finished product.
“He’s going to hate it,” the client said.
“Then why did you order it?” Rahul asked.
“It was my husband’s idea. He thinks his brother works too hard, and he wanted to remind him to have a little more fun.”
“That’s nice,” I said.
The woman shrugged her slight shoulders. “Can you handle it from here? I really need to get home.”
“No problem,” Rahul said.
She hesitated a second, her eyes moving over the cake once more. Then she glanced at me.
“Good luck.”
And then she was gone.
“That was weird,” Rahul said.
I just stood there, still looking at the cake. The last time I did this for Rosie, it was at a baby shower. I jumped out of the cake wearing a bonnet and a cute little pink dress. The ladies at the party thought it was hilarious. They even invited me to stay for lunch. But this…I had this sinking feeling in the middle of my chest. If this guy wasn’t going to be happy about this, what would he do when I popped out and began to sing?
“You should go change,” Rahul said, handing me my bag.
I sighed. “Why does Rosie do this? Why did I agree to do this?”
“The Rosie lip.”
I just shook my head. “No. I’m just stupid, that’s all.”
The client had pointed out a small powder room under the stairs. I went in there and closed the door, overwhelmed by the amount of marble in this room, too. It was more of a rose color than the marble in the entryway, but it was still impressive. I ran my hand over the edge of the counter, blown away by how cool and smooth it was. My counters were Formica from the 1970s. And they weren’t nearly this clean and smooth.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror and saw the dark circles under my eyes. What kind of man was going to want to come home on his birthday and see a girl like me jump out of a cake? I shook my head, opening my bag and tugging out my makeup kit. I didn’t usually wear that much makeup, but I was going to need everything I had tonight.
A little concealer under my eyes, lots of base. A little blush. Heavy with the eyeliner and the shadow. Some bright red lipstick. I almost looked like a clown trying to play at being a woman. But the lighting was dim in the entryway, so it might work for the few minutes the poor guy was going to have to look at me. I pulled my hair up into a high ponytail, teasing a few curls out. And then…time for the inevitable.
I undressed and slipped into the bikini, cursing a little when I realized that the top didn’t quite fit me right. Rosie was smaller than I was, if you know what I mean. I was spilling over the top and the bottom somehow.
This was not going to go well.
“Don’t say anything,” I said, as I walked back out to the entryway, stowing my bag behind the cake.
Rahul’s eyes moved slowly over the length of me, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. His expression said it all.
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hide a little of the spillage.
Rahul came over and held out his hand. “I’ll help you in.”
He was polite. He didn’t say anything. But I could feel his eyes on me. I felt like a nudist who’d somehow wandered onto the wrong beach.
“Are you going to be okay? Maybe I should stick around.”
I shook my head. “If he sees your truck, it’ll give everything away.”
“I could move it down the street and come back, hide behind the cake.”
I shook my head again. “I’m okay. I have pepper spray and a cellphone.”
“Text me when it’s over. If I don’t hear from you by one, I’m coming back.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stared down at me for a minute longer, then carefully set the tissue paper I was supposed to explode through over the opening at the top of the cake. It got darker than I expected it to, but there was still enough light for me to see my hands in front of me. And my phone. I had my phone with me so that I could play Candy Crush while I waited.
Rahul tapped the side of the cake. “Okay. I’m going. Don’t forget what I said.”
“I won’t.”
I heard the door slam a moment later. I settled back, trying to make myself as comfortable in the cramped space as I could. It really wasn’t as bad as it might seem. And, hopefully, it wouldn’t be for long.
I got into my game, wishing I’d thought to bring earphones so I could watch a little Netflix when this got boring. It couldn’t have been longer than twenty minutes and my eyes began to droop. I fought it, telling myself that just another few minutes and the guy would be home. I could go, crawl into my nice warm bed, and sleep a solid four or five hours before I had to go to work in the morning. But thinking of my bed just seemed to make it worse. Before I knew it, I was sound asleep.
Chapter 4
Jason
I found myself staring at a man I had always thought was a friend. Frances Thomas. He’d been with my company since its inception. We spent many a long night trying to make a deadline, downing coffee, and yelling at each other until finally it was all done and we could fall exhausted onto the floor. And then we’d laugh, swearing we’d never let things get that out of control again. But they always did and he was always there, doing everything he could to make sure we did what we had to do to please the client.
But things had changed. I wasn’t sure where or when, but they had changed.
“I’m telling you, Jason, it has to be the creative team.”
“Why would a creative team inflate a bill? What would they get out of it?”
“Then the accountants.”
I shook my head, aware that he knew I knew. He tried to maintain the wounded look of a friend unfairly accused, but it was a struggle.
He glanced at Shelly, then back at me. I made a gesture, and Shelly left the room, carefully closing the double doors behind her.
Then he leaned forward, pressed his hands to his knees, and let his guard down.
“I’ve been here since the beginning, since it was just you and me and Shelly.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Yet, Shelly sits outside your office door, running everything you don’t want to be bothered by. And I’m stuck downstairs in a role that any asshole off the street could fill.”
“So you decide to steal from me.”
“Not from you. The company.”
“Which is worse.”
“Is it?” His eyes narrowed. “If it weren’t for me, this company wouldn’t be where it is now.”
“You’re taking a lot of credit on yourself, aren’t you?”
“Are you telling me you could have done it without me?”
I sat back and crossed my arms, trying to keep my temper under control.
“You stole from the company. You stole enough to pay one of the creative teams’ salary for three months. Am I supposed to just forgive that because you were once my friend?”
“Once?”
“Clearly, something has changed. Or else we wouldn’t be here.”
Frances stood, his face reddened.
“I only took what I felt I was entitled to.”
“That’s the problem, Frank. You’ve always felt like you were entitled to things that you weren’t.”
“I gave up the opportunity to work for a larger firm for you. I could be sitting in your spot right now, or at least at a CFO spot. But I gave that up for you—because I believed in you. I believed that you would give me what I deserved.”
“I did.”
His eyes narrowed. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Now it was my
turn to stand. “Your work has been half assed for years, Frank. You overlook flaws in the finished product that never should have gone to the printers. You take three hour lunches and don’t bother to call in when you aren’t going to show.” I pointed a finger at the center of his chest. “If not for our history, I would have fired your ass years ago.”
“Maybe you should have.”
“Yeah, well, I’m doing it now. Get out of my office!”
“Gladly. But don’t think this is the end of it, Jason. You haven’t seen the last of me.”
I didn’t feel that deserved a response. I watched him storm toward the door. His hand was on the knob when he turned to face me again.
“If this is the way you treat your loyal friends, you’re in trouble, my friend. One of these days, you’ll find yourself in a pinch, and there won’t be anyone there to help you out.”
“I suppose that’s my problem. Not yours.”
Frank shook his head, looking at me like I was a piece of trash stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Then he walked out, his head held high.
I sat back down in my chair, feeling as though all the energy had suddenly been sucked out of me. I hated this; I hated having to be the bad guy. Now I understood when my father had those nights when he came in, ignored all of us, and locked himself in his home study. I always knew he wasn’t working in there and, as a child, I was deeply offended. But now I completely understood.
I wanted to go home and lock myself in a room and pretend my life didn’t completely suck today.
Shelly tapped on the door.
“Philips and Collins will be here at eight tomorrow morning.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Shelly.”
She walked over to the desk and set a small package on the blotter in front of me.
“Happy birthday.”
I grunted as I picked up the box. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Of course I should have. It’s not the expensive perfume you got me for my birthday, but I thought you might like it.”
I moved around the desk and kissed her cheek lightly.
“Thank you, Shelly. I don’t know how I’d do all this without you.”
“Go home,” she said, touching my face with a mother’s caress. “Get some sleep.”
SEAN: A Mafia Romance (The Callahans Book 3) Page 55