“So how’d it get there?”
Isabella’s eyebrows ski-sloped downward as she glared beyond the bathroom door, lifting an accusing arm and pointing her finger in that direction. “Sawyer Fucking Patterson. That’s how.”
Chapter Six
Sawyer was mystified. Who the hell was this woman who was so enraged with him? He could totally understand her being upset about his spilling the drink. No excuse for that, but he tried hard to be apologetic, to help her to clean it up. He had no idea she was even the princess until Clementine referred to her as such, just before the woman stormed off.
Maybe that was the problem: she was your typical pampered princess, so accustomed to playing the diva that she couldn’t even find it in herself to forgive an accident. It’s quite what his parents would expect: a princess who acted like a princess. What a shame, as he was so smitten with her beauty when he caught that first glimpse. Though now that he knew she was royalty, he also knew there would’ve been no chance of taking her out on a date anyhow, so just as well.
He’d barely dared even look at her while attempting to dry off that spilled drink, because he was too busy trying not to drop dead of humiliation while also tamping down an encroaching erection, one of those damned involuntary things that crop up when you’re inadvertently putting your hands on a beautiful set of breasts that belong to a woman you’ve insta-crushed on. The slight consolation was it was near impossible to maintain that hard-on when someone was screaming at you and making a public fool of you to boot. Talk about a buzzkill.
As soon as the women fled the scene, he retreated to the kitchen staging area to regain his composure and try to get this night back on track. He knew this would all be cleared up when she saw that gorgeous cake, and all would be forgiven.
He was shaken by that scene, though. It was good for him to tuck away in a corner for a minute to try to quiet his mind by doing some breathing exercises. Even as a small child, he’d found that when things were at their worst, if he could block out all the noise, the shouting and fighting, and the sounds of his father hitting his mother, he could almost get past the stressors in his life and not let them overwhelm him. It had been years since something had even come close to resurrecting that feeling he felt flashing through his mind, that sensation of someone else’s uncontrolled rage affecting him. It was something that always hurt him to the core. But he knew he couldn’t control others, only himself, so after a few minutes of breathing with his eyes closed, he returned to the kitchen, feeling somewhat revived, the episode put out of his mind for the time being.
It was approaching eleven, which was the designated time for the cake reveal. He found Louie, who’d snuck outside for a smoke, something Sawyer could not abide.
“We’re in a food service business, Louie,” he said. “You can’t be reeking of dirty smoke when you’re handling and passing food. I feel like I’ve warned you about this before, and I don’t want to have to bring it up again. Now please, go wash your hands—I need you to help me with the cake because it’s time to remove the draping surrounding it.”
“Right, boss,” Louie said with what looked to Sawyer like a grin, oddly enough.
~*~
“Wait a second,” Clementine said. “This baker guy was at your boarding school? And he stuck a vibrating dildo in your backpack? What the hell?”
“I didn’t even know who the little prick was,” Isabella said. “I was just minding my business taking a test. Being a wallflower. Hoping no one would notice me, just like I did every other day.”
“So why did he do that?”
“Hell if I know. Maybe he thought it would be a great meet-cute scenario to put a remote-control dick in my backpack,” she said, pinching her lips together. “You know that scene from the movie Carrie? If I could have, I’d have probably pulled a Carrie that day, I was so freaked out. I’m sure the little weasel was so proud of himself, everyone laughing at his joke, but all at my expense.”
“In all the years we’ve been friends, how come I never heard about this?”
“Are you kidding? I was mortified. I left that school that day and never spoke of it again. Ever.”
“Oh, Bella, I’m so sorry,” she said. “And here I thought you’d be a good match for the man, not realizing all this time he was your nemesis. Damn. Well, look, you’re grown up now and well past that nonsense. Your best revenge is that you moved on, right? So let’s go up there, head held high, and not let it ruin your party, okay?” She tucked some stray strands of Bella’s hair behind her ears.
“I’d kind of rather just call it a night and head home,” Bella said.
“That would be worse, Bell. Everyone would want to know why you left your own party, which would just compound things. Even if the guy was a total asshole as a kid, he’s a grown-up now and until he accidentally knocked drinks into your cleavage, the party was absolutely perfect, right? He’s done a good job. The food’s been terrific, the drinks excellent. In fact, maybe we need a few more of those now...”
Bella shrugged, pouting.
“Supposedly he’s made this amazing cake for you, so let’s just be a big girl and go out there and pretend nothing ever happened. Deal?”
“Oh, all right, fine. But then I don’t want to ever see his miserable face again.”
“Consider it done.”
Chapter Seven
When Clem and Bella returned to the group, everyone circled around to see if she was all right.
Clementine played down the whole kerfuffle from earlier, placating them all. “Relax, everyone, it was a crazy misunderstanding,” she said. “Isabella’s totally fine. Now, let me get the band to announce it’s time to sing “Happy Birthday,” and Bella, if you could come over here near the cake.”
Sawyer and Louie stood off in the shadows awaiting the big reveal, so at least Bella wasn’t forced to face the man until she absolutely had to.
Clementine asked for a drum roll. “Welcome everyone, and thanks for being here to help celebrate Isabella’s special day,” she said. “We hope you’re having a fantastic time, and let’s hear it for Isabella!”
She held her hands up high, clapping, and the crowd whooped and cheered and finally Isabella looked as if she was starting to warm up to the festive mood again.
“And we’ve got an amazing cake, I think we all can’t wait to see, so without further ado, gentlemen,” she motioned with her extended arm to Sawyer, who had emerged from the shadows, visible flop sweat beading on his upper lip as all eyes focused on where the cake awaited.
Sawyer gave Louie a nod, and in tandem, they drew back the curtains to reveal Sawyer’s masterpiece.
Only to realize it wasn’t his masterpiece at all.
In place of the gorgeous edible horse-drawn carriage and all of those lovely princesses, stood a giant flesh-colored penis, pointed erect and upward like a spaceship ready for blastoff, surrounded by two large mounds of cake in the shape of testicles, all artistically settled in a nest of spun sugar “pubic hair.” Emblazoned in bright red icing across the testicles were the words: Good Riddance to the Big Dick.
A murmur rose from the crowd as people strained to see it. Clementine stood there, just blinking. Sawyer looked at Louie, his face a mask of rage. And Isabella? Well, suffice it to say she was not happy.
“You bastard!” she screamed as loud as the words would come, staring right at a stunned Sawyer. “You miserable creep. What is your problem? What do you have against me? Are you satisfied that you’ve humiliated me yet again? It wasn’t enough, the remote-control dildo, was it? And then spilling the drink down my dress. Did you do that just so you could cop a feel, knowing your whole plan was to just lay it on as thick as possible with shaming me? And now this? This is my special birthday cake? An edible cock? You want to know who the big dick really is? Well, I’ll tell you: it’s you. And good riddance, to you, you big dick. Cause you’ll never bake another cake in this town if I have anything to say about it.”
With that she turned
on her heel and stormed out of the ballroom, not even waiting for a car to get her and instead flagging down a passing taxi.
~*~
Sawyer grabbed hold of the cart and quickly wheeled it away from the crowd before any more gawkers could get a good look at it. Not that the handiwork wasn’t good on the thing, but it was without question the wrong audience. On his way out he collared Louie as well.
Once they were back in the kitchen, he slammed his fists on the metal prep counter.
“What the hell was this all about?” he said, trying hard not to yell but not succeeding. He drilled his finger into Louie’s chest, his face right up on his employee’s. “I trusted you to do this. You knew how important it was to get this right. You knew how hard I worked to make the cake that was supposed to be here. The one that the poor divorcee is probably thinking was a deliberate mockery of her, what with the “fairy tales do come true” theme. And you did this to what might have been my best client yet—my best client. This could have been a windfall of regular business for me. It could have perpetuated DaVinci’s for another generation, it was that important. Against my better judgment, I will give you the benefit of the doubt, and maybe you can explain to me why you delivered the wrong cake to the wrong location.”
“Let’s start with you taking your finger off of my chest,” Louie said, grabbing at Sawyer’s hand and pushing it away. “You want to know why I did it? I’ll tell you: because DaVinci’s was supposed to be mine. Not yours. Mine. I’ve worked here for twenty years since I was a teenager. Showing up before dawn, working my ass off, laying the groundwork so that one day I’d take over from DaVinci. His kids didn’t want to be part of his business. They couldn’t have cared less who took it over. But then they got greedy, and when the old man got sick and had to unload the business, they asked for too much money for it. I couldn’t afford it. Plus, they wanted someone young, someone with a reputation to build on,” he said, sneering. “As if my skills weren’t enough. I learned under DaVinci himself—and that counted for nothing?”
Sawyer stood there, his mouth slack with incredulity. “So you destroyed the reputation of the entire company just because you didn’t get what you wanted?”
Louie shrugged, stone-faced. “It wasn’t fair.”
Sawyer laughed one of those sad, defeated laughs that was anything but funny. “I think you’ll understand why I’m letting you go. Hand over the keys to the van and the shop.” He held his open palm out. “I’m not sure why you thought this was the best course of action. Now, not only are you unemployed, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before DaVinci’s is no more, its doors permanently shuttered. Thanks for nothing.”
~*~
There were many times in his life that he felt like crying, but Sawyer wasn’t one to accept defeat very easily. Tonight, though, it was a real struggle to hold back the tears. But he had to keep it together for the sake of his staff, so he pulled his shoulders back and forced himself to return to the ballroom to pick up the pieces of his destroyed career.
Chapter Eight
Isabella took a bite of her sunny-side-up eggs as she scrolled across her iPad during breakfast.
“The cake could’ve done the Washington Monument proud,” Isabella read on a gossip blog that recounted the entire birthday party debacle, shame by humiliating shame.
“Sweetheart,” her mother Ariana, the queen, said. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by rehashing the whole thing. Put that iPad away, maybe go for a run or something, or go to the gym. Work out your anger in a boxing class.”
Isabella shook her head. “He humiliated me in boarding school. That was bad enough. But then last night—first the Cosmos all over my boobs and then that phallus cake.”
Her mother held back a laugh but her twinkling blue eyes gave her away.
“Mother! How could you be amused at my expense? Don’t be cruel! Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Darling, there aren’t sides here,” she said. “Of course, I’m sorry that this happened. But you have to admit, it’s all a little bit hilarious if you could remove yourself from it a bit.”
“Oh, yeah, freaking hilarious. So funny I want to cry.”
Her mother gave her a hug. “You can choose to let this define you, or you can rise above it. You decide. But I know what I’d do.”
Isabella mocked her mother with the response she expected, her mouth first moving with no words coming out. “It was an honest mistake. And a kind of funny one. The young man must feel awful about it. Blah blah blah. Whose mother are you, anyhow?”
“Imagine how badly he must feel, Bella. Here he was, so excited to be presenting his handiwork to the princess of Monaforte, and then—” Ariana’s laugh burst out despite herself.
“Stop!” her daughter said. “It’s not funny at all. Now everyone is going to make horrid penis jokes about me.”
“Oh, nonsense. This whole thing will be forgotten in days unless you choose to perpetuate it.”
Zander entered the dining room, singing, “Ding, dong, the chef is dead,” and burst into laughter as he emphasized the word “dong.”
Isabella grabbed a piece of bread, tore off a chunk from the soft middle, rolled it into a ball, and lobbed it at her smart-aleck brother.
“Hey,” he said as it hit him in the temple. “No need to get violent. Speaking of violent, thank God you didn’t pick up that entire pastry penis and hurl it at the chef.”
“Mum, will you please have your son stop?” Isabella said, gritting her teeth.
“Zander,” Ariana said, crossing her arms and lifting an eyebrow in warning.
“Sorry, Mum,” he said. “Don’t mean to rib Isabella, but it’s just so irresistible.”
“Knock it off or I’ll start pulling up pictures of you in that swimming pool in Las Vegas,” Isabella said.
Her mother put the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, attempting to stave off the headache she likely felt coming on.
“Tell you what, children,” she said, underscoring that word despite the fact that they were all adults now. “Let’s all be supportive of one another in good times and in bad, and let’s not add to anyone’s upset if we can help it. And while we’re at it, how about no more discussing last night. No point in beating that dead horse.”
Only thing Isabella wanted to beat was Sawyer until he was senseless. Shame she couldn’t get away with that. Maybe she should have flung that damned cake at him.
Shortly after breakfast Bella’s phone rang.
“You okay?” Clementine asked with hesitancy in her voice.
“Bloody marvelous, thanks,” her friend said. “After all that celebrating, how could I not be?”
“Bell, again, I am so very sorry. I mean in a million years, I couldn’t have imagined this scenario.”
“Pretty sure no one in their right mind could have.”
“Look, I talked to Sawyer and—”
“Do not speak that name.”
“But he feels downright awful,” she said. “He really wants to apologize to you in person.”
“Yeah, right. Are you mad? No doubt the cretin will start wielding his own penis now that he’s running out of simulated options.”
Clementine laughed. “You do know he’s not going to show up and waggle his cock at you, under the worst—or even best—of circumstances. And I say best because, well, lest we forget, Sawyer Patterson is hot. Do you think he modeled that bulging cake on his own?”
Bella shrieked in exasperation. “How can you even be trying to sell me on his virtues at this point? The man’s made me the laughingstock of Monaforte.”
“No one’s laughing at you, Bell,” she said. “They’re laughing with you!”
“Oh, that’s rich. That’s like saying a fat girl has such a pretty face. Trust me, I’ve seen some of the Internet comments and blog postings today. No disputing they’re laughing at me.”
“Okay, so let’s just play out some scenarios here, just to be fair.”
> “I think it’s pretty fair that I didn’t castrate the man on the spot.”
“That would have been regrettable.”
“No more so than what happened.”
“Perspective, Isabella, perspective. Sure, what happened was a bit mortifying. But not worth going to jail for.”
“Fine,” Bella said, thrusting her lower lip out in a pout. “But there must be some way I can retaliate against him.”
“What if it wasn’t even his fault? Why don’t you talk to him and find out?”
“You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone who gives a shit about the man.”
“Bella,” Clementine said. “The poor guy was on the verge of tears when I spoke with him. He was absolutely crushed. He tried so hard, and then this happened. At least give him a chance to explain.”
“What? And have him come knocking on the palace door? I let him in, he tells me some half-cocked story—excuse the pun—and then I offer him some tea? That sounds awkward.”
“It could be the more grown-up thing to do.”
“Like being force-fed Brussels sprouts. Why would I eat them voluntarily?”
Clementine laughed. “He’s the human version of Brussels sprouts, then?”
“And that’s being generous. More like he’s one of those enormous, slimy, orange fungi that grow in the woods after a big rain.”
“Okay, so I get it. You don’t think highly of poor Sawyer. But I’m going on record as saying I truly think you should give the man a chance. Imagine how he must feel.”
“Why is everyone so bloody damned concerned about how he feels? I’m the one who should be garnering sympathy here.”
“All right,” Clem said. “I’ve spoken my piece on this. You know what I think you should do. But enough about this now. What time are you picking me up for that party at Gabriella’s on Friday?”
“Ugh,” Bella said. “I don’t even want to go out to see people for fear they’ll just resurrect the whole thing. Maybe I can hide in my cave until it blows over.”
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