Sweet Seduction

by Camilla Stevens

  That’s when Patrick reached his arm around and placed a firm hand on the man’s opposite shoulder. Even with the lifts that Kevin wore, Hollywood’s worst kept secret, Patrick had a good five inches on the man. This created an imposing presence.

  “Excuse me ladies, I have some important business to discuss with Mr. Day here,” he said giving a charming smile to the trio. The two women bookending Layla seemed agreeable to the intrusion, both of them giving him encouraging smiles. Layla found something in the opposite direction to focus on.

  Kevin was none too pleased.

  “Listen, Patrick,” he spat the name, “whatever it is Lion Studios needs to discuss, they can go through my agent.”

  “Well, I suppose if you want to be the one responsible for holding up production.”

  Those were the magic words to get any actor to stand up and take notice. Having a reputation for being “difficult” was a surefire way to never get selected for a role again.

  Patrick enjoyed watching the internal conflict in his eyes. In the end, his career took precedence over impressing the women in front of him.

  Good boy.

  Patrick waited until they were well out of earshot of anyone. He kept his arm firmly around the man, who eventually realized it and angrily shook it off.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Stay away from the locals,” said Patrick, simply.

  “You pulled me away for this shit? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “I’m the fucking guy that knows your contract backwards and forwards, every damn clause. If you want to hold on to that signing bonus, you’ll be a good boy and stay away from temptation. We both know your history.”

  “Maybe I should be talking to my agent about this,” he challenged, giving Patrick a petulant look.

  “Donald Nevins?” Patrick laughed. “I couldn’t even wipe my ass with what that guy knows about negotiation, and he sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to bail you out when you ruin the studio’s reputation because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” It was completely untrue. A star like Kevin Day would obviously have a kick-ass agent, but it didn’t hurt to put on a confident front.

  “I don’t think there’s anything in my contract about talking to the public. So you can go fuck yo—”

  “Italy,” was all Patrick had to say.

  He saw the glimmer of fear mixed with guilt in the man’s eyes. “That wasn’t—”

  “Dallas,” Patrick said, interrupting him again.

  “Hey now, that was totally—!”

  “Shut up.” Patrick said. The words were enough to get the man to actually obey, either out of fear or the shock of probably never having been spoken to like that before.

  “Hands off the locals,” he said then leaned in. “Especially the ones in the bakery.”

  With that he walked away. He’d pay for it eventually when Kevin got in touch with his agent, who would then get in touch with Spencer Simon, the head of Lion Studios, who would then ream out the entire G.P. department, all of whom would then make Patrick pay for it personally.

  But for now it felt good.

  7

  “Here, Olaf,” Layla said handing the mayor a cupcake. “I know how much you love the key lime.”

  “Oh I shouldn’t, I’ve already had two,” he fretted.

  Layla was sitting on a large quilt looking like a picture-perfect Stepford Wife wearing a yellow, sleeveless sundress with straps that tied at the shoulders and white flats on her feet. The box of cupcakes she had on her lap pretty much perfected the image.

  She was sandwiched in between Bree and Di-Anne on the grassy hill that rose up behind the shops on one side of Main Street, well out of view of the cameras.

  The movie crew was about to film a “very exciting” chase scene down the main drag of Olla. The townspeople had invited themselves to observe, mostly because their only commerce district was temporarily off limits. Layla could see the glass front of her little bakery on the other side of the street. Inside, was the wedding cake for tomorrow that just needed the final finishing touches.

  “It isn’t as though I can do any business today,” she informed him.

  His face took on an even more frazzled expression. “I was told the scene would be very quick, Layla. Then it’s back to business as usual for everyone. I know all this hullabaloo has been a strain on the local community, but rest assured when all is said and done our little town of Olla will—”

  “It’s fine,” Layla said laughing lightly. “Actually, it’s nice to have a little break from the norm.”

  Olaf seemed appeased. “Well, maybe since it’s a special occasion and all, I’ll have one more.”

  “What’s this about cupcakes?” she heard Saul’s voice as he came up beside them.

  “Have one, Saul,” Layla said holding the box up from her lap.

  “Thank you Layla,” he said picking out a red velvet. “You ladies don’t mind if I join you for the show do you?”

  Bree and Layla both agreed before Di-Anne could object. Sure enough Saul planted himself on the grass right next to her where she shared the quilt with them. Layla gave a teasing grin in response to the annoyed glance she shot her way. Bree snickered on her other side.

  “Did someone say cupcakes?”

  Her eyes shot up and saw Patrick, or what little she could make out of him with the sun shining in her face from behind his head like a halo. She lifted her hand to serve as a visor and blinked up at him. He was wearing his usual dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up showing off those strong forearms with light brown, almost blond hairs rippling in the breeze. From where she was sitting, her head was uncomfortably at crotch level and she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering down.

  Bree was quick to make things worse. “Here, why don’t you take my spot,” she said hopping up and offering the spot on the quilt where she had been sitting right next to Layla. She headed toward the trees to sit on the grass in the shade, making sure to pointedly ignore Mario as he leaned against a tree trunk behind her. The dejected look on his face made Layla almost forget her current predicament.

  “Yes, Patrick, please join us,” added Di-Anne behind her with a teasing smile in her voice.

  Patrick easily brought his large body down next to her, making her feel tiny in comparison. He stretched his long, jeans-clad legs out before him, his boots reaching far past her own flats. His eyes followed hers down, and lingered along her brown calves. She reflexively brought them back up, crossing them underneath the box on her lap. This caused her knee to press into his upper thigh, and she quickly stretched them back out in front of her.

  Patrick chuckled as he leaned back on one hand facing her. All of a sudden her bare shoulders with nothing more than the dainty little string ties holding up her dress made her feel practically naked. She heard both Saul and Di-Anne give their own small laugh on her other side, and her face got warm.

  Her heart stopped as Patrick leaned in closer to her, his firm chest brushing up against her shoulder. She could smell that same intoxicating aftershave that always taunted her for the rest of the morning in the bakery as it lingered after he visited each time he was in town.

  Dear God, was he about to kiss her?

  Instead, he reached past her, his forearm almost innocently grazing her left nipple, which caused it to pucker painfully underneath the thin fabric. Then he plucked a cupcake out of the box.

  She frowned up at him and was met with a look in those blue eyes that oozed pure sex. He gave her a devilish grin. “I see you saved me some chocolate. You know how much I love it.”

  Once again his tongue came out to lick the frosting straight through the center of the top as though it was working its way through the chocolatey folds of…

  Dear God.

  She heard humming beside her and turned to find Di-Anne with an impressed smile on her face.

  “Quiet on the set!”

  Everyone’s attention was diverted down to Main Street below th
em as the cast and crew got into place in preparation for filming to start.

  Layla was still all too aware of Patrick’s presence near her so she took note of the way his broad chest tensed all of a sudden.

  “God Dammit,” he hissed. Then he surprised everyone around him by jumping to his feet and quickly heading down toward the street.

  “What was that about?” asked Di-Anne watching his retreating figure.

  “Never mind that. What is the matter with you? Why do you encourage him so much?”

  Di-Anne just laughed lightly. “Oh he’s just having fun with you. You do make it so easy. Besides, you need a man in your life.”

  “That man down there,” Layla pointed. “All he wants is sex.”

  “Which is exactly what you need!” she whispered. “Like I said before, it’s been two years now, Layla. Get you some!”

  “Quiet ladies,” someone shushed behind them before Layla could respond.

  Instead, she glared at Di-Anne who just shrugged and turned to watch the filming.

  But filming didn’t start.

  After five minutes the crowd on the grassy hill started to get restless, completely ignoring the original command for quiet.

  “What’s going on?” someone behind her whispered loudly.

  She searched the street below her and saw Patrick coming into view as he strutted over to the car that was supposed to be chased down Main Street. He was trailed by the director and another man who was tall, blonde, and well-built. All three headed over to the car and Patrick swiftly opened the driver’s side door.

  “What’s he doing?” The same voice behind her asked, louder this time.

  “Looks like they’re arguing over something,” another responded, stating the obvious.

  Actually, it was Patrick doing the arguing, going back and forth between the director and Kevin Day, who had just stepped out of the car. She saw him gesturing to the fourth man, who stood there silently, arms crossed over his chest.

  This went on for a while, everyone on the hill watching with perplexed interest. Then the director pointed firmly to his own chest as if to indicate he was in charge here. Kevin seemed to be adding his own two cents. Finally, Patrick pointed at the director, then at Kevin angrily one final time and stormed off. The fourth guy shrugged and followed him.

  A few moments later everyone heard “Quiet on the set!”

  This time there was no pause and when “Action!” was called there was a collective holding of breath.

  Layla was slightly disappointed that Patrick hadn’t rejoined her, mostly because she was curious about what the argument had been about. As his designated town crush she would have had first dibs on the juicy details.

  The roar of the black Ford Mustang as it’s engines revved at the entrance to Main Street brought her out of her thoughts. Tires squealed then screeched as it came out of park and gained speed.

  Then there was another completely incongruous sound…coming from her right.

  Is that barking?

  Every head in the crowd on the hill turned right as the sound of dogs barking grew louder. Layla was startled to hear a loud meow as Madeline Blache’s orange cat flew across the hill and down toward Main, followed by the Dickerson’s two Labradors, who had obviously finally managed to break the fence that held them in.

  On any other occasion, the entire scene would have been comical. Right now, Layla’s mind worked like Rain Man’s, thinking two steps ahead of what was actually happening.

  The cat darting toward Main Street.

  The two dogs hot on its heels.

  The car roaring down the street.

  The altercation with Patrick, Kevin, and the director.

  Oh no!

  She stood up, completely ignoring the box of cupcakes on her lap as they tumbled out onto the quilt.

  “Layla!” Di-Anne yelped in surprise looking down at the mess.

  Then even her attention pivoted toward Main Street as the sound that Layla was by now quite familiar with reached the hillside. Tires screeched as the car swerved to avoid the orange blur and subsequent larger yellow and brown blurs that crossed its path.

  Layla watched in a daze as the car made a bee line…directly through the plate glass window of the bakery disappearing somewhere inside.

  Her body was frozen as if operating on a 10 second delay, processing what she had just seen. Her bakery. Her livelihood. The cake!

  “The cake,” she whispered, then she took off at a run.

  “Layla!” The name was shouted over and over from multiple people.

  She didn’t care. She just ran faster.

  At the bottom of the hill, she slipped and slid down on her ass, leaving grass stains all over her pretty yellow dress.

  She didn’t care.

  She lost one of her flats in the passageway between two buildings along Main Street.

  She didn’t care.

  “Layla!” she heard his voice calling her name. Patrick Fitzgerald.

  She didn’t care.

  She flew across Main and into the huge opening that was left in the front window. There was a sharp pain in her foot as she stumbled over glass and ruined pastries.

  She didn’t care.

  She followed the trail of destruction to the back where a black Ford Mustang idled in the exact spot where tomorrow’s wedding cake should have been.

  As the world became a haze that gradually dimmed into complete darkness, she heard him call her name again.

  “Layla!”

  She didn’t care. By then the world had gone black.

  8

  Patrick had been on the second floor inside one of the buildings off Main Street in a rage as he observed the scene being filmed. When he had first seen who was getting behind the wheel of the Mustang he’d stormed down to the street and confronted Zach Breyer, the director. Despite the liability issues, the man had completely ignored the advice of counsel and let that idiot Kevin Day drive the car.

  We need a shot of him driving for the film.

  It’s just a quick five-minute drive down Main Street.

  My grandma could do it with her hands tied behind her back.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  Then Murphy’s Law had set in. The cat, followed by two dogs had come out of nowhere. Even Patrick had jumped with startled surprise as he saw the scene unfold below him.

  That’s when the “quick drive down Main Street,” had turned into a quick detour into Patrick’s favorite Olla establishment.

  Moments later, Patrick’s heart had stopped as he watched Layla’s yellow dress billowing behind her as she ran across the street. Instantly, he sped down the stairs and out onto Main, following her as she ran toward the bakery. She ignored his initial shout and stumbled into the disaster area. Without thinking he’d followed her in. He saw the red, bloodied footprints leading to the back and there she was, one shoe missing.

  He was going to fucking kill Kevin Day and Zach Breyer.

  The rage that was boiling inside him propelled him forward as he saw her begin to sway.

  “Layla!” he shouted as he ran to catch her before she fell to the glass covered floor.

  He caught her underneath the arms just as her body went limp. He bent down to hook one arm underneath her knees and used the other to support her back so she was cradled in his arms.

  He heard the car door to the Mustang open and Kevin’s voice immediately followed it.

  “What the fuck! Where did that fucking cat come from? Look at me! Look at my face! I’m bleeding!”

  Patrick gave him a passing glance and saw that there was a tiny cut on his forehead but, being a head wound it was bleeding profusely.

  “I’ll fucking sue whoever owns that cat and those damn dogs—!”

  Patrick gave him a look that told the actor exactly what he would be doing with his hands right now if they weren’t holding Layla. Kevin swallowed and shut his mouth, walking away from the crash practically unscathed, no doubt due to the extra pro
tection built into the stunt car.

  No such luck for the bakery.

  As Patrick carefully made his way toward the front, more people were filing into the opening created by the crash. There were some curious members of the cast and crew ogling the disaster area. Then he saw Bree and Mario squeezing through.

  “Ohmygod, Ohmygod, Ohmygod,” Bree was chanting, looking around at the chaos in stunned surprise. She saw Layla in Patrick’s arms and immediately thought the worst. “Oh my God!”

  “Bree!” he snapped, more harshly than he intended. Mario immediately came up beside her, putting a protective arm around her and gave Patrick a warning look that he didn’t have patience for right at that moment. Still, he followed up in a softer tone. “I need you to focus. She’s not hurt, she just fainted. Is there someplace close by that I can take her to lie down?”

  She just blinked up at him, trying to process his words while at the same time taking in the disaster around her.

  Mario, a bit more clearheaded, stepped in. “Di-Anne’s place is at the end of the street. She’s on her way down.”

  Patrick nodded. “Okay, well we need to get out of here. We don’t know what sort of structural damage there is.”

  Mario nodded in agreement, he guided Bree out through the crowd.

  “Everyone get out of the way! Move back!” Patrick roared in a voice that had everyone instantly scurrying back.

  Most of them craned their necks to get a look at the woman in his arms but the dangerous look he gave them had them rethinking that idea.

  “Holy shit, is she hurt?” Said Zach, finally running over. “Just fucking great! Why the hell did she run in there like that—?”

  “Shut up,” Patrick growled. “She’s fine, no thanks to you. But don’t think I won’t personally make sure your ass get’s reamed for this little fuck fest back in L.A.”

  “Oh no!” said Di-Anne, making her way toward them. “Is she—?”

  “She’s fine,” Patrick said reassuringly as he walked away from the crowd. “Just a fainting spell. We were headed to your place so I can lay her down.”