Love Connection

by Crimson Romance

  Richard knelt beside his daughter, steadying her with a hand on her back.

  “What do you think, Candace?” Scanning the row of old-fashioned bins of candy beside his toddler, his heart was full enough to burst.

  “Pretty,” she murmured, her big brown eyes wide with wonder. “Lollipop.”

  “Yes, baby, lollipop.” He plucked a glossy pink confection from the bin and placed it in her chubby little hand, much to her delight.

  Rising to his feet, he took in the atmosphere of the new store, grinning from ear to ear. The candy shop that meant so much to him as a boy was long gone, but this was a close second, and it felt like home. Yvette strode in, the door on the bell chiming behind her.

  “Mommy!” Candace squealed, toddling to meet Yvette, who managed to avoid the sticky lollipop as she pulled her into a hug.

  She dropped a kiss onto Richard’s cheek and looked around, beaming. “It’s really something, huh?”

  Yvette had overseen every aspect of the store’s development, from conception to completion, to be sure it was as close to the original Morgan store as possible. Framed black and white pictures of the Morgan family hung on the walls, the employee aprons were replicas of the originals, and for the grand opening, the prices were even the same as they’d been on the original store’s opening day.

  “It’s perfect.” He slung an arm over her shoulder and kissed the top of Candace’s head, breathing in her sweet baby shampoo scent.

  The young reporter covering the store’s opening approached the family, handheld recorder ready to roll. “Mrs. Morgan? I’ve interviewed some shoppers and employees, so I’m ready for you whenever.”

  Yvette placed Candace in Richard’s arms and led the reporter to a quieter corner so she could answer questions. He bounced his little girl in his arms, loving the sound of her giggle.

  “Down, Daddy, down!” She squirmed in his arms, determined to gain her freedom.

  With her feet back on the floor, she wandered around the bins again, enjoying her lollipop while she contemplated the array of colorful candies lining the row. Listening to the shoppers as he followed Candace, Richard knew the store was going to be a success. The neighborhood they’d chosen was perfect for the concept, and the people were looking for new family-friendly places to shop. His eyes fell on a picture of his mother, a huge smile on her face, standing in front of a big bin of colorful candies. She’d be glad to know that he’d found Yvette, would’ve adored Candace. Probably would’ve spoiled her rotten.

  As he wandered, he’d made it to the corner where Yvette was finishing up her interview. The reporter held out the recorder. “One more thing and I think I’ve got everything I need. Saffron bought Morgan Confectioners, correct?” They nodded. “How did you ever convince the Morgans to agree to that?”

  Richard scooped Candace up into his arms and answered for his wife. “Well, Yvette made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” He winked. “Let’s just say it was a sweet deal.”

  About the Author

  Monica Tillery lives in Texas with her handsome husband and two sons, where she loves playing Bunco, reading, and hanging out with friends. She loves to hear from readers and can be found on Facebook at www.facebook.com/monicatilleryauthor or Twitter @monicatillery. Check out the latest news and happenings at www.monicatillery.com.

  The Confection Connection

  Monica Tillery

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Copyright © 2015 by Monica Tillery.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-8870-8

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8870-9

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-8871-6

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8871-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123RF/Sven Bannuscher and Shutterstock/wavebreakmedia

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  For Christine Grazioli, who always knows

  when to show up with cake

  Chapter One

  Carly Piper hung up the phone and blew out an aggravated breath. Last week, a refrigerator went out, costing her several hundred dollars she couldn’t exactly spare, and now an oven? Her bakery, Caketopia, couldn’t do without it, and with the biggest pitch of her life happening in less than an hour, she didn’t have the time to deal with it. With a quick roll of her neck and shoulders, she mentally tallied the extra time it would take to handle the pitch without an assistant. Speaking of, her employee’s heels clacked on the tile floor, announcing her imminent arrival. How Layla Jameson managed to work in those shoes confounded Carly.

  “Hey, I was just about to find you. I’ve got a repair guy coming for the oven, so I need you to stay here. I’ll have to go on the pitch alone.” Carly untied her apron and hung it on a hook.

  “Are you sure? That’s a lot of stuff to carry.” Layla towered over Carly, especially in those ridiculous shoes. “It’ll be crowded, and you might have to make more than one trip. With nobody there to help you—”

  “I don’t see any way around it. If we don’t get this stupid oven fixed, we’ll fall behind on this week’s orders. With my luck, the other one will probably go out, too.”

  Layla laughed, then stopped when she saw that Carly wasn’t joking. Between the constant repairs, the economy, and competition, Caketopia struggled to remain successful. Getting this job could mean the beginning of a new era for Carly and her business. Sure, it would be easier to concentrate on the pitch if Layla went with her, but she was a professional. She could win over the celebrity couple planning their wedding without help. She had to.

  “All right,” Layla said. “I’ll go load the van, at least. You just get ready, and I’ll see you outside.”

  Carly packed her bag with binders that held photos of her work, Caketopia information she could leave with the couple, and a contract ready for them to sign if things went her way. After kicking off her rubber clogs, she slipped her feet into much less comfortable but infinitely more flattering shoes before swiping fresh gloss across her lips and heading out to the van. Hopefully the desperation would be replaced by her usual calm professionalism by the time she arrived at the swanky uptown hotel.

  A blast of warm air greeted her as she crossed the parking lot to her refrigerated van. Layla, ever the mind-reader, had already turned the van on, ensuring that it would be nice and cool for the drive to the hotel. There, Carly would either secure the biggest job of her career, guaranteeing more business than she could dream of, or come back to the same old thing, paying bills she could scarcely afford. Before she second-guessed herself any more, Carly opened the door and slid in, noting with satisfaction that she could at least afford the new van. Now she didn’t have to worry about snagging her clothes on the ragged vinyl of her old delivery vehicle. The smooth new seats and cold air conditioning reminded her of how far she’d already come.

  She
rolled down the window. “Wish me luck!” What she meant was more like, Cross your fingers and toes because getting this job means we’ll be set from now on, but she gave Layla a bright smile.

  “Knock ’em dead, boss,” Layla said with a little wave as she squinted in the sunlight.

  Carly pulled out of the parking lot and navigated the van through Dallas traffic to Central Expressway, and started to relax as the city flew past. She was an accomplished professional, an award winner in her field, and the chance to make the cakes for a high-profile celebrity wedding should feel exciting. It shouldn’t feel like she was heading for the trial of her life. Being prepared always boosted her confidence, so she reviewed her spiel, which, after delivering it for so many years, she could recite in her sleep. Now all she had to do was show up and wow the client. No problem, right?

  Before long, she was dodging paparazzi and curious onlookers as she turned toward the back of the hotel. Celebrities visiting Dallas often stayed at the hot spot, and the news must be out that country music superstar Rusty Grainger and his notoriously quirky fiancée, actress Sequoia Rivers were on site. At the service entrance, Carly parked the van and got to work stacking her signature lavender bakery boxes into neat rows on a dolly. She hoisted her oversized canvas bag over her shoulder and trekked through the parking garage to the door. Once inside, Carly took in the hotel’s lush, almost bacchanalian atmosphere with wide eyes and an appreciation for the stunning attention to detail. From the gleaming black marble floors to the plush burgundy brocade on the walls, the place screamed elegant debauchery. She parked the dolly and fished a card out of her pocket to check the suite name once more before the elevator arrived.

  Ensconced in the tiny decadent space, she concentrated on her breathing, reminding herself that her work was top-notch. Best to focus on the positive and try to forget how badly she needed the business. As the elevator slowed, she adjusted her bag on her shoulder and held her head high. The doors whooshed open, and silence greeted her. Silence, a near empty hallway, and Michael Welch.

  He whistled innocently as she rolled her eyes. Without so much as flinching under her withering gaze, he brushed past her into the elevator. “Going up, Carly?”

  He tapped the “close door” button and stood an inch away from her. Of course he would be here. Why hadn’t she anticipated that? She’d met Michael Welch three years ago when they were rival contestants on the Cuisine Network’s popular reality competition show Sugar Shock, where hopeful bakers battled to create exciting cakes and pastries and complete ridiculous challenges. His charisma, charm, and talent—combined with thick brown hair, a chiseled jaw, and piercing green eyes—made it hard for Carly to reconcile her attraction to him with her irritation. Everyone—show personnel, other contestants, the viewers—seemed to love him, but everything he did rubbed Carly the wrong way. He was almost too good-looking and too personable.

  For Carly, the two high points of the Sugar Shock experience came on the day she found out she’d been accepted for that season and the day she was voted off and could get away from Michael. Spending months with him on set hadn’t endeared him to her, but he’d somehow managed to pull her under his magnetic spell. They’d shared a confusing and stupid kiss—moments before the challenge that sealed her fate, of course. No matter how much he protested and pleaded innocence, he knew what he was doing. She was thrown off her game and sent home, while he went on to compete in the final competition and won the whole thing. She wasn’t even disappointed to be eliminated so close to the end, since it was such a relief to finally be rid of him.

  Even though it was clear she wasn’t cut out for cutthroat TV competitions, the experience and recognition that had come with the show brought new opportunities. Carly could finally open her own shop, where she happily spent her days creating beautiful confections to celebrate the most important days of her clients’ lives. The work was invigorating and satisfying, everything she’d ever wanted.

  They reached their floor, and Carly set her mind to ignore the memories evoked by his too-familiar cinnamon-chocolate scent.

  “Nervous, cupcake?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why? Because every hoity-toity bakery from here to Fort Worth is competing for the same job? Because you’ve suddenly decided that your cakes aren’t fancy enough for primetime? Or is it because you finally get to see me again after all these years?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and the tension she’d been carrying around in her shoulders all day disappeared in a quick burst of laughter.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s it.” She’d hoped for confident sarcasm, but heard a prim quality in her voice that made her cringe. Maybe breathing the same air would somehow help his confidence rub off on her. She ignored how warm her cheeks felt and gripped the handle of her bag.

  “Come on. We got this.” There was no “we,” but she knew if she reminded him of that, he’d have a snappy comeback that would make her feel like a fool. He pulled his signature black skullcap tight over his head, his green eyes glinting with enthusiasm. Without asking, he commandeered her dolly and pulled it out of the elevator. “Let’s roll.”

  “Didn’t you bring samples or anything? Are you planning to win the couple over on charm alone?”

  “I brought an assistant from my shop with me today, and she has my things. You happened to catch me on my way back upstairs from checking out the amenities. Don’t worry about my pitch.”

  The view was just as good both coming and going, and she hated herself for noticing. Michael shot her one last look over his shoulder before heading down the hall, making her wonder if she’d broadcasted her thoughts.

  Carly spent the short walk drawing from his confidence and trying to project some semblance of her own. Michael stopped outside the door, rapped twice, and stepped back. A wispy blonde dressed head to toe in black, holding a clipboard, and barking orders into a walkie-talkie answered.

  “Names and business?” The blonde didn’t look up as Carly and Michael each provided their information. “I have Michael Welch, and I have Caketopia. So which is it?”

  “They’re two separate businesses. Caketopia is mine, and The Clubhouse is his.” Carly tried to see the listings on the page as the woman went through them again.

  “Okay, well, we have one appointment left, and it’s for Michael Welch of Caketopia. Who wants it?”

  Carly’s heart sank as she realized what had happened. She needed the job—her future nearly depended on it—but not if it meant pushing a legitimate competitor out of the way to get it. “We have two separate bakeries, so we both want it.”

  “You can both go in if you share the appointment. The rest of the day is booked.”

  Michael patted Carly on the shoulder. “Come on. We’ll split the time and explain what happened when we get in there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep. Let’s do this. The worst that can happen is neither one of us gets the job. We’ve got to at least try.”

  Michael nodded to the blonde woman, and she spoke into her walkie-talkie about the change of plans.

  Carly was immediately glad that she’d let Michael talk her into sharing the appointment. The air was charged with excitement and possibility. The huge entourage necessary to staff the venture swirled around a common spot in the middle of the room, rushing around, chattering into phones, and checking clipboards. One of the country’s most famous couples sat at an elaborately carved wooden table, in absurdly oversized purple velvet chairs, as though they were holding court.

  As Carly looked around, taking everything in and mentally rehearsing her spiel, Michael strode through the crowd and headed straight to Rusty’s table. He was in his element, sure of his abilities and that he was right where he belonged. That confidence was half the reason he’d won the reality show. His creative and fearless designs explained the rest.

  Rusty Grainger, the groom, stood, and his eyes lit up with recognition.

  “You’re Michael Welch,” he exclaimed. His head swiveled f
rom one to the other. “And you’re Carly Piper, from that show! What was it called, babe?” He turned to his fiancée, who was decidedly less impressed. Not surprising, given her reputation. Sequoia Rivers was a hugely famous movie star known more for her quirky new age habits than for her glitzy roles. She appeared to delight in not caring what or who was hot, and she wasn’t likely to be drawn in by Michael’s swagger or impressed by pseudo-famous bakers.

  “Sugar Shock.” She stopped short of rolling her eyes.

  “You’re hired, man.” Rusty thrust his hand out, and Michael grabbed it, shaking heartily as they voiced their mutual admiration for one another. A short blonde bearing a dolly stacked with Michael’s signature red-and-black bakery boxes arrived and silently unloaded his materials.

  “Not so fast, honey. Let’s at least taste the cakes first. Plus, I don’t know if I want some chocolate-jalapeño cake shaped like an armadillo or something at our wedding.” Fortunately, Carly was prepared to show both her classic, traditional designs as well as a few she’d created to reflect Sequoia’s earthy, natural sensibilities.

  Carly went to work organizing her own samples and portfolios, bolstered by Sequoia’s obvious lack of enthusiasm for Michael. Customers appreciated Carly’s elegant style, her ability to put fresh twists on classic design, and her impeccable attention to detail. She wasn’t flashy, and she definitely wasn’t famous, but she had built a name for herself. A reputation built on exquisite quality, cake by cake.

  She lined up plates with small hand-lettered placards that labeled each flavor. She gave Rusty and Sequoia each a fork, then set up a binder full of cake photos for each of them. Michael did the same with the wilder flavors from his own shop. Carly then launched into her pitch. Experience had taught her that a groom’s enthusiasm means nothing if the bride isn’t interested. The bride’s opinion is what really matters, when it comes down to it.