by Marie Harte
* * *
Gear stared in shock and awe at the quickly departing Amazon who’d punched Sahara in the eye. Oh my God. I’m in love.
He still couldn’t believe it. He’d walked away from Xena when he’d seen Sahara and Brian, because he couldn’t be near them without doing exactly what Xena had done.
Shit. She really smacked the crap out of my lying, cheating ex.
He was grinning from ear to ear, watching from his hiding spot behind the bamboo wall, far back enough Brian hadn’t given him a second glance as he’d run to do Sahara’s bidding. Xena’s brother had been smart to whisk his sister away from the litigious whiner crying on the floor. Man, Sahara played the part, all right. It was a good thing the altercation had taken place in private, or Sahara would have milked the performance for all she was worth.
Another thought occurred. If he stuck around and someone realized who he was under the half mask, he’d end up getting blamed somehow for the punch. Just more ammo to make him appear the creep.
He mingled with the crowd and made his way back to one of the show’s producers. “Hey, Jim. I’m outta here.”
Jim frowned at him. The guy smelled like a brewery but was known to be able to hold his liquor. “Gear? Is that you? I thought you were the Joker.”
“A villain, the devil, it’s all good, right?”
“Uh, okay.” Jim glanced at his cell phone. “It’s only been two hours…”
“Which is one hour more than I agreed to. I’ve been here long enough, I think. Contract fulfilled. And I—”
Just then, Sean, the lighting guy, raced to Jim and whispered in his ear.
Jim perked up. Had he been a dog, his ears would have pointed up, his tail straight out. Scenting fresh prey. “Seriously? Punched by a warrior princess? You have to be kidding me! Get the cameras.”
They raced away, forgetting Gear. He had a feeling problems might follow his sexy warrior if he didn’t head them off. And hell, he owed her. Not just for the incredible sex, but for doing what he could never do to a woman. He grinned. Best party ever.
Directed by a few of Joaquin’s security, he found the guy smoking in a back room, away from the party. They’d met briefly an hour ago, and the rich dude seemed okay. “Um, Joaquin? Can I talk to you?”
“Sure, man. Come on in. Want a hit?” The guy blew a stream of smoke, and the smell accounted for his mellow mood. “Sorry I bailed on the party. Just wanted a minute to myself.” He frowned. “Do I know you? You sound familiar.”
“I’m Gear.” Gear removed his half mask. “We met earlier. I was the Joker then.”
Joaquin’s eyes brightened. “Oh right. Motorcycle Madnezz. Dude, you guys rock!” He stood and crossed the room to shake Gear’s hand.
Not having expected the guy to like him, considering everyone seemed to think him a dickhead for cheating, stealing, and whatever else went wrong on the set, Gear basked in the brief moment of acceptance.
“Thanks. Glad you like the show.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to let you know some chick decked Sahara, and I have a feeling Sahara’s going to be on you to get the woman’s name.”
“Seriously? B-Man told my security something about that, but I thought it was a joke. A catfight and I missed it? Damn.” Joaquin leaned back against his desk and puffed on his joint. “So I’m supposed to know this woman’s name, huh?”
“Something she said made me think you do. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Sahara what you know. It’ll only end up in a lawsuit, and man, the chick did me a solid. Finally, Sahara mouthed off to the wrong person, and she put a stop to it. To be fair, Sahara hit her first. Though I’m sure that detail won’t make it into her recollection of the event.”
Joaquin grinned. “Bet it was awesome to see.”
“Oh yeah.” He coughed. “I mean, I didn’t see anything.”
“Gotcha.” Joaquin laughed. “Man, that is so epic. At my party. Bet your producers get more film over it.”
“Jim’s doing that now.” Gear made a decision and went with it. “So this chick… She was dressed as Xena, Warrior Princess. Tall, dark hair, amazing body. Her brother was dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, and—”
Joaquin’s eyes widened. “Shit. That’s Elliot. My caterer. The warrior must have been his sister. Can’t remember her name, but yeah, she’s a hot one. All toned and shit. Totally right.” Joaquin paused. “She decked Sahara?”
“Allegedly.”
“Right, right. Thing is, man, if there are witnesses, nothing much I can do.”
“No, see, that’s the beauty of it. Sahara mouthed off in a private area, off the dance floor behind a bunch of bamboo plants. No one saw it.”
“Good. That makes it easier.” Joaquin laughed again. “Elliot’s sister clocked the motorcycle queen. Classic.”
Gear felt better than he had in a long time. “She’s my hero, for sure. So can you tell me where I can find her? I want to thank her in person.”
“Sure. Try Sofa’s, a bakery in Green Lake. They catered for me. Did a bang-up job too.”
“Awesome. Thanks a lot. I appreciate it.” Gear held out a hand, and Joaquin took it.
“So, you blowing MM?”
“Huh?”
“Are you leaving the show, or is all the bullshit just for ratings?”
Gear frowned. “I’m done. No more for me. Time to get back to building motorcycles, period.”
“Yeah? ’Cause I been thinking about getting some custom work done. I collect cars, but your motorcycles are killer.”
“Thanks. Look me up when you feel like a bike. Shit. Not at the shop. I can give you my cell.”
“Yeah, do that.”
He wrote down his cell phone number on a notepad Joaquin handed him. “I’m out of here. Great party, man. Legendary.”
“Right. That’s me. A legend.” Joaquin started laughing again, and Gear thought the weed must have kicked in. He left the millionaire giggling and skirted a sobbing Sahara being comforted by Brian while Todd of the fake tan interviewed her in a quiet corner of the ballroom.
A thought struck, and he went back to his rendezvous spot. Yep, she’d left it behind. He carefully grabbed the fake sword leaning against the wall. Now he had a reason to seek Xena out.
He smiled and left the party, the devil pleased with the hellish night his Amazon had unleashed.
After he arrived home, his sister called to check in.
“What’s up, Iris?”
“Oh my God. Tell me you had nothing to do with Sahara getting belted in the face.”
“It hit the news already?”
“It’s making headlines. I saw it on the local news and YouTube. The link is already going viral. Even Thor texted me asking about it, and you know he’s rarely on the computer unless he’s working.”
“Damn.” He explained that a woman he’d met had done the damage. “Sahara was bitching her out, slapped the chick, and finally got her ass handed to her. Man, it was awesome.” He laughed, remembering Sahara’s shock. “The user finally got what was coming to her.”
“Yeah, well, your barbarian friend might get what’s coming to her if she’s not careful.”
“There were a bunch of women in similar costumes at the party. And the crowd helped cover her escape, I think. I hope. She was really cool, Iris. Funny too.”
“Aw, Satan made a friend. Come on, thank me for the costume. I told you changing into a second one would save your butt.”
“You did. Once I got rid of the Joker, I was anonymous. It was great. Plus my producer saw me there, so he can’t claim I left right after the interview. Okay, so that’s my night. Now I’m getting some sleep so I can function tomorrow.”
“Coffee with the family at noon, remember? You know Otis and Orchid are going away for the week. So they’ll want to see you before they go.”
“Sure, fine. Whatever.” He yawned, not faking his exhaustion. The idea of the party, attending it, dealing with Sahara and Brian, had stressed him out. Until a certain savage blew his mind.
He disconnected the call and dropped into bed, still smiling as he drifted into sleep, his dreams full of strong women, swords, and deep-green eyes.
Chapter 4
Sadie was so tired of hearing her brother caution her about keeping quiet about that punch. It wasn’t like she planned to shout it out to the world. Granted, she probably shouldn’t have hit the woman, but she’d been hit first. And it had been so satisfying, as if in punching Gear’s cheater, she’d punched her own ex for doing her wrong.
“Cut me some slack, Elliot. The woman was being bitchy. She freakin’ slapped me. I’m claiming self-defense. Plus, I told you I heard what they said about setting Gear up to be the fall guy. She deserved it.”
Elliot had his hands full as he shaped spider, skeleton, and goblin sugar cookies before turning to the butter scones waiting for his attention. Sadie had her own work putting together Sunday salads. She had to make enough to last the day without overdoing it. They could always use any extra dressing in the following day’s menu, but wilted greens went in the compost bin.
“That’s the only thing saving your ass this morning,” Elliot muttered. “Good gossip.” He put three trays in the oven and cleaned up his station in their kitchen.
Sundays at Sofa’s—the coffee shop/bakery that had expanded into a catering business—saw the siblings spending time together before they opened at eleven. Every weekend Sadie, Elliot, and Rose mixed, prepared, and frosted the most delicious treats—from healthy salads to sandwiches and baked goodies. Sadie would never admit it to the pair, but she loved their family time. She would forever associate the smell of baking cookies with Elliot’s bitching, Rose’s exuberance, and laughter.
Elliot was her best friend, and it wasn’t easy sharing him with everyone. She and Rose had always been too different to be close-close. Sure, Sadie loved her little sister to pieces. Yet Elliot was the one who could see that sometimes a cup needed to be half empty, not half full, and was that much funnier because of it. Rose was too Pollyanna for Sadie, who enjoyed, say, punching a woman in the face. Or talking while eating, or having sex with a man she thought of as Devil, because she didn’t know his name.
She grinned at the reminder. “Elliot, let me just say thank you.”
He gave her a wary look. “For what?”
“For the most fun I’ve had in a while. The last time I was even half that entertained was watching our cousin and Landon fumble their way to a happily ever after while you and Jason, ex number four hundred and ten, committed to dating exclusively.” She didn’t miss her brother’s flush. “Oh, come on. You’re not still pining for that twerp, are you? He was so incredibly passive-aggressive. You need someone who says it like it is, not someone who sulks and throws hissies if you don’t know how to read his mind.”
Elliot sighed. “Yeah, but he was great in bed. I’ll miss his—”
“TMI. Ugh.”
He gave her a wicked smile. “I was going to say creativity. So tell me more about last night. Because no way smacking some woman made you this happy. Oh, and where is that sword? I need to return it to the shop later.”
“Hmm. About that… I may have left it behind when I was carried off by the Phantom of the Opera,” she said drily. “But don’t worry about getting the deposit back. What’s more important is that we know the truth. That our food kicked ass last night.”
“I told you we should go.” Joaquin had texted her brother about four events in the coming months he wanted them to work. “I mentioned to him that from now on, we just cook it and deliver. We’re stretched too thin to serve as well.”
“Good. Because if you think I’m going to hold a tray and beg people to eat your gluten-free Holy Hell rolls, you’re out of your mind.”
“Like I’d let you,” Elliot snorted. “I’d be afraid someone would say something wrong and you’d punch them.”
Sadie grinned. “Rose was so shocked. Like, did she not expect me to have a violent streak? You’ve seen me on the heavy bag at the gym.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? Rose is our square peg. She’s too damn nice for our family.” He sounded as puzzled as Sadie felt. “I told her not to come in at all today.”
“No, I told her not to come in at all today. How is it you’re still struggling to realize I’m the oldest and the one with mad skills in the kitchen?”
“Yes, your dishwashing is beyond compare.” He rolled his eyes. “Might I remind you that we’re partners, but I am the brains and marketing master behind our success?”
A success that paid, if not well, enough to keep Sadie comfortable. She had little in the way of needs. A gym membership at Jameson’s, subscriptions to Netflix and Hulu, and an addiction to frilly underthings and white chocolate raspberry truffles. Just one truffle alone cost four bucks.
They worked in companionable silence while Emery managed the counter out front. Like Theo, he was a part-timer, a college kid with a great sense of style—what Sadie liked to call preppy grunge—and a terrific sense of humor. He thought Sadie was hilarious.
“Did you set up next week’s schedule yet?” she asked. “Because I know Emery has midterms and Tory’s got a dance recital.”
“I think you should do it. You know more about everyone than I do.”
Yeah, because I have no life, just watching the rest of you from the sidelines. She didn’t say it, but she knew he had to be thinking it. They’d had this discussion before.
“Oh, and before we veer completely away from the topic of the party last night, just what were you up to?” he asked.
“What?”
“I looked for you. Despite there being several barbarian hussies—”
“Warrior princesses, you mean?”
“—out there, we both know you don’t dance. So I didn’t bother looking for you on the crowded dance floor. But I looked everywhere else, and I didn’t see you. Where were you hiding? Behind those trees all night?”
“Trees?”
He waved a floured hand. “The bamboo plants. It was a nice hiding spot. But the point was for us to mingle. That means we talk to other people.”
She studied him, wondering when he’d get it through his thick skull that she wasn’t lovely like Rose, charming like him, or interesting like their cousin Ava, a shrink. Sadie was just Sadie. She had no aspirations to get famous or rich. Didn’t have much in the way of interests besides working out, and mostly liked her life, boring as it was.
When she remained silent, he threw up his hands. Mr. Dramatic. “Oh, forget it.”
She nodded. “Elliot, let me ask you something.”
“This should be good.”
“Why is it that I’m an unhappy person?”
“You are?” He frowned.
“Well, if I’m not dating or trying to make millions, I’m apparently unhappy and unfulfilled. I like being single. I like my little apartment that’s affordable, comfortable, and mine.” Sadie had no pets, plants, or debts other than monthly rent on an apartment owned by her father. She could move at any time. She was—in a word—tether-less.
“I don’t think you’re unhappy. But you’re not happy, either.” Elliot paused to study her. “You’re comfortable, yes. But you’re not challenged. I’m not saying you need a relationship to complete you, but you’re missing something that will make this conversation make sense in the future. When you find it, you’ll know.”
“That was enlightening. Not.”
“What can I say? Some advice you pay for, the crap is free.” He gave her an evil smile. “And for making me do all the work last night, and for being the reason we had to leave early, you get the front this afternoon.”
“You’re an ass, you know that?” An ass w
ith a majority ownership of Sofa’s, giving him leeway over business decisions. They’d all come to that agreement of who should be in charge before going into business together. A wise recommendation from their father.
Sadie cleaned up her workstation, washed and dried her hands, then snuck up behind her brother. She mussed his perfectly styled hair while he swore and tried to shrug her away. “Yeah, that’s what you get, McBossy.”
“Bitch,” he snarled and patted down his hair.
“Whore.”
“Wimp.”
She raised a brow. As far as insults went, that was lame.
He blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine. You win. And you’re still out front.”
She flipped him off and left to help Emery, now that the majority of the afternoon prep had been done.
To say she enjoyed their crowded shop would be a lie, because in general she didn’t like dealing with people. But she did like staying busy, and she served more than her share of lattes, espressos, and Americanos. She also dished up plenty of Sunday salads, critter cookies, and Boo-Baguette sandwiches. When they had a small break, she went out to clear tables and smiled at two cute little kids playing straw wars.
Sadie loved children. She always had, and as she watched their mother gently chastising them, then laughing at the faces they made, somewhere deep inside her, something mourned.
Sadie pretty much knew she’d never have them, never commit enough to any man to make a baby. She didn’t want to raise a child by herself, and she’d never met a man she liked enough, or rather, who’d proven trustworthy enough, to father them.
Now depressed when before she’d been feeling good, she scrubbed harder. Needing to take her mind off her limitations, she sought refuge in cleaning. With the tables shining, she grabbed the cleaning bin from the storage room in back and tackled the bathrooms, which she normally left for the newer employees. But Emery was busy, and she needed the distraction.
It didn’t take long before both the men’s and ladies’ rooms smelled lemony fresh and clean. Nothing worse than a food establishment with nasty restrooms.