by Ava Claire
“I admit that your Tesla is one of my favorite cars you own, and definitely a marvel of modern innovation, but I can’t handle being quiet in the back seat while he touches everything like a child.”
Her porcelain cheeks turned rosy red at her outburst, but I just laughed, relieved I wasn’t the only one that was missing Scott.
“I thought it was just me,” I admitted. Or that I was in an especially rotten mood and that’s why I was ready to choke the life out of the amateur bodybuilder.
She went back to business, smoothing the front of her slacks and hiding her smile. “Definitely not just you. I just-” She paused, the small space filling with whatever was on her mind and her struggle to decide how she wanted to put it. She tapped her foot, rubbing her lips together. When we reached the garage she fell behind me, silent and brooding.
“So, what’s up, Delia?” I said, deciding to be the canary in the mine. If she wasn’t busy managing my calendar and keeping me on my toes, she was scorching earth, leaving me in her dust.
“Me?” she said uncertainly. “Nothing is up with me.”
I didn’t need to be a mind reader to know she wasn’t being honest. I waited for her to settle into the passenger seat and buckle her seatbelt before I started back in. It was getting awfully lonely on Team Jason. My best friend was holding the grudge to end all grudges, Natalee basically told me to fuck off, and now the woman who juggled virtually all the facets of my professional life was also keeping me at a distance? It was too much.
I cut through all the red tape, the engine purring to life. “So, are you gonna tell me what’s going on or are we gonna play twenty questions?”
“Seatbelt,” Delia answered, her eyes on my chest and the absence of a seatbelt strapped across it.
“Okay, Mom,” I grumbled, smirking though because the fact that she cared about my personal safety actually made her the furthest thing from my mother. The last time that woman and I chatted she was living it up in St. Tropez, with her new hubby and their dogs.
Once we were settled and I let the car do its thing, I started back in. “So, what’s up?”
She stopped scrolling on her phone, but she didn’t lift her eyes from the screen. “I could ask you the same thing.”
I knew it drove her crazy when I used auto pilot mode so I did the steering, pulling into the bustling downtown traffic.
“Me? I just saved Cox Technologies from partnering up with a company that cares more about appearing innovative versus real innovation. I give Maximum another year, two tops, before they become utterly irrelevant.”
“But they have people movers and naked sushi!” Delia snickered.
“Wait, was that a joke?” I teased. “Are you feeling well?”
I took my eyes off the road just long enough to see her face harden, but her dark eyes twinkled with a smile I rarely saw. The woman wasn’t even thirty and from her resume and piecing together the sprinkling of something beyond her strict professionalism, I knew she lead a charmed life. She was Ivy League educated, had parents who sent her flowers on her birthday, and as my secretary and personal assistant, made six figures a year. But she had a maturity that most people didn’t reach until later in life, if at all.
The last thing I wanted was to push away one of my few allies, so I decided to let it go and we let the radio do the talking. The DJ from Scott’s wedding was blathering on about current events, so I decided to turn on Audioslave instead.
Delia turned down the volume a notch. “Speaking of naked sushi, you weren’t up for it today?”
“I like my sushi on an actual plate,” I quipped.
“Since when?”
There was no playfulness behind her words and I peered over at her, my grip tightening on the wheel. “I’m not that boorish am I? Like Rodney and every other man in that room?”
“There’s only one Rodney,” she answered.
And thank God for that.
It was comforting to know there was a spectrum of douche and while I was glad I wasn’t on the ‘absolute’ end, it was clear that I was somewhere on it, in her eyes.
And Natalee’s.
“I just wasn’t feeling it,” I confessed. “I’ve been preoccupied.”
“With the woman from that bakery?”
When I didn’t answer, she let me know the jig was up.
“Even though I was too late with the flowers, I’m your assistant. If anything gets past me, I’m not doing my job.” She sat up a little taller in her seat, at a 90 degree angle despite the fact the chair was reclined. “She’s clearly having a good effect if you’re not objectifying women, but if you start phoning in your meetings-”
“I’ve got it under control,” I reassured her. “I just screwed up before we got to even get started.”
Even admitting that felt like I was confessing some cardinal sin to a priest. That I screwed something up. That I cared enough about something, someone, that it affected me.
“Did you apologize?”
I took my eyes off the road to give her a glare, but she didn’t give me the opportunity, pointing her finger at the windshield.
“Of course I apologized,” I huffed. “At least a dozen times at least.”
“Then apologize a dozen more,” she said simply. “If she’s worth it, there’s no such thing as too many times. And if it becomes pointless, she’ll let you know.”
I stared out the windshield, pointed toward unfamiliar territory. I wasn’t used to being the one doing the chasing, but I could put aside my pride and do what it took to show Natalee that I was truly sorry.
She was worth it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: NATALEE
Even if I wasn’t already sold on The Women’s Collective and their mission to support entrepreneurship and mentoring female youth so they knew the sky was the limit for what you could accomplish, I knew I’d found home when they told me they specifically wanted the attendees to have their cupcakes and bubbles before the program began.
Dessert first was always a good idea.
The ballroom at the Hilton Downtown should have felt like every other hotel ballroom I’d catered: stuffy, uptight, with those uncomfortable chairs and name tags that were meant to encourage people to get to know each other. In reality, most attendees kept to themselves and tried to avoid the 10% that wanted to chat you up and shoot the breeze. All the pretense and the awkward was pretty much at zero and I had a feeling it had everything to do with Jessie Stone taking on the project pro bono. From the pink and glitter filled balloons, to the all female cover band that sang songs ranging from “These Boots Were Made For Walking” to “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)”, it was clear that this was meant to be a celebration. A day of indulgence and inspiration.
There was a spread to make even the most discerning charcuterie enthusiast squeal. Since the group was modest, Jessie had done away with those aluminum chairs with curtain drapes for cushions and replaced them with high back leather chairs that swallowed you whole in the best possible way. And if you had a couple of kinks to work out, there was even a zen space near the door with licensed massage therapists on hand.
And then there were my neon rainbow cupcakes, speckled with edible glitter—and they were going like gangbusters.
I fixed my Madison Creations button and got back to work, restocking the display with fresh cupcakes. I was holding down the fort solo today since Tamara was legitimately ill. Instead of feigning illness and dabbing her nose with an unused Kleenex, she had the nerve to FaceTime me while she was vomiting the entire contents of her stomach. Even if I was able to get the images out of my mind, my appetite had been on the coffee and blueberry muffin end of the spectrum. It’s all I seemed to have time for because I was busy designing cakes, setting up interviews for an additional staff member and...pretending like I didn’t mis Jason Cox.
Maybe just a tiny bit.
Which was so ridiculous because I barely knew him and what I did know included memories of him deserting me, fucking some random bridesmaid, a
nd forgetting my name.
He hadn’t forgotten it the last time we were together.
He’d moaned it.
I paused and flexed my finger, a bit of the glitter dancing in the light.
Okay, I missed him.
Just a speck.
A speck that was just big enough that it lead to me bookmarking his Twitter feed, waiting for some sign that he’d moved on so I could write him off. So I could be let off the hook since the ball was definitely in my corner.
But all was relatively quiet in his world, except for a few retweets about tech happenings and an event at Crave. And I was a thorough, piecing together conversations through his mentions. Up to the wedding, that category was filled with waifish twenty-somethings thanking him for a good time. Kiss emojis and winks followed their love notes, making me want to climb through the screen and claw their eyes out. And my insanity was all his fault, support for the fact that dating was the dumbest possible thing I could be doing right now because my plate was full and instead of juggling it all, I was busy making time to cyber stalk sexy, playboy billionaires.
A sexy playboy billionaire who seemingly stopped being a playboy after we reconnected.
“Everything alright, Miss Madison?”
I immediately dropped my arm and snapped to attention, recognizing Jessie Stone’s tenor before I even saw her with my own eyes. I knew I’d cross paths with her eventually, but I hoped I’d be wrinkle free, surrounded by people gushing over my cupcakes and not preoccupied with Jason.
I chuckled nervously and pushed my dark strands behind my ears before offering her the hand I’d been staring at absentmindedly (after I deglittered it, of course).
“Mrs. Stone!” I pulled the sides of my mouth upward in what I hoped looked like a smile. “Uh, yes! Everything’s great! It looks amazing in here!” She almost cleared her throat, reminding me of the hearty bone she tossed my way, but I tacked on the gratitude I would have freely given before she could. “And thanks for passing along my info to Diana.”
Jessie contemplated whether she wanted to shake my hand for a good minute or two before she decided to throw caution to there wind and gave it an efficient jostle. “It’s my pleasure, Miss Madison. I remember how much the guests enjoyed your little treats at the wedding, and I knew you’d be the perfect fit for this event.”
I tried to not take offense at the air of condescension around ‘little treats’ and focused on the gift of her almost compliment. During the Mitchell event, I remembered that Jessie handed out critiques like candy and any ‘job well done!’ were virtually nonexistent. “Thanks, Mrs. Stone! That means a lot.”
She shifted uncomfortably like she was put off by anything resembling warm and fuzzy. “I do remember a specific guest being quite enthralled, in fact.”
I broke contact with her piercing gaze so I could flash a smile at an elderly woman who shuffled over, plucking two neon green cupcakes and wasting no time on getting started on one of them.
“So good!” the woman shared—along with a mouthful of cupcake that made Jessie take a tiny step away from her.
“Thank you!” I said, giving the woman a little wave. “Enjoy!” I turned my attention back to Jessie. “Who was enthralled?”
“The best man,” Jessie answered, her eyes searching mine. “Jason Cox.”
I was never good at the whole poker face thing and even my giggle came out choked. “Oh, him?”
‘Him’, that I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. ‘Him’, with the eyes like the bluest sea. The lips that tasted like danger and orgasms.
“You two seemed to have chemistry that rivaled The Mitchells.” Jessie’s gaze felt like I was beneath a glaring, bright light, being grilled until I finally spilled the beans.
I was an open book without saying a word...and she knew it.
I shared a first with a woman who’d made it clear that she thought wedding cakes were meant to be traditional and cupcakes were for birthday parties.
She was actually smiling...and playing matchmaker.
I could tell my best friend to back off, but I had a feeling a similar approach with Jessie Stone could lead to bad blood and I didn’t want to alienate the woman who’d sent this account my way in the first place.
I answered her smile with a tight one of my own. “Oh, um...” I racked my mind for something noncommittal while I fiddled with the tablecloth and fought the urge to stuff a cupcake in my mouth to let myself off the hook. She’d made it clear that talking with your mouth full was a mortal sin and she’d be out of here like I set off a stink bomb.
I decided to try again. To try and find words that wouldn’t offend but would also shut down any misconceptions that I’d be carving me and Jason’s initials in a tree anytime soon. “That’s nice. We’re just...” I stalled. Friends? It would have gotten her off my back, but Jason and I weren’t friends. I didn’t know anything about him outside of what Wikipedia told me and to him, I was likely just the most stubborn and defiant woman he’d ever met. Just the thought of saying ‘lovers’ was enough to make my cheeks preemptively burn, like I was about to give a presentation and I forgot the notecards. “Um...”
I was doing a crappy job of minimizing how big a deal Jason Cox really was.
Jessie flicked a hand through her electric hair, her smile going from predatory to ‘Oh, I see...’. “Say no more. I’ll pop back over and say hello after the program.” She turned on her heels, off to probably berate one of her staff, then slowly pivoted back to the table like she forgot something. She snuck a cupcake, avoiding my gaze before she went off to do her thing.
I exhaled, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. I was exhausted from pretending, even for a few moments. I gripped the edge of the table, the heat in my cheeks an unwelcome reminder that everyone seemed to see what I refused to admit to myself.
Jason and I had...something.
Chemistry.
I untied my apron and grabbed a cupcake, forcing him to the back of my mind as I made my way to my seat.
I never was very good at science.
~
The CEO of The Women’s Collective, Diana Strong, beamed brighter than the lights that shone down on her. It had nothing to do with her sharp white pantsuit, though if I was the pantsuit type, I’d be asking for the designer and her tailor because she was rocking the hell out of it.
Her pale blonde locks hung in a curly halo, but it was her smile, wide, genuine and freely given that seemed to pause on everyone in the room so regardless of where we were in our journey, we felt like she was speaking to us. Like we were special and badass and capable of greatness.
“And now, it’s time for our special guest!”
I didn’t know who this special guest was, but I already pitied them. It was like going on after Beyonce. Nothing would be able to top the motivating speech she’d just given us about the work we all could do to support and lift each other up.
“Please join me in welcoming Delia Rightman from Cox Technologies and our newly minted corporate sponsor, Jason Cox!”
There was thunderous applause the moment the word ‘Cox’ fell from Diana’s lips, and when she said his name, there wasn’t an occupied seat in the room...except for mine.
I used the moment to try and gather myself.
Tried to remember to breathe. To not choke on the piece of cupcake that was now lodged in my throat.
He was here.
The applause died down and the women slowly sank back into their seats, smartphones out, trying to zoom in and get a closeup of him. I was busy chugging my champagne. If I’d had a bottle handy, I would have downed that too.
I felt him, even though I was making a conscious effort to pretend that my full attention was on his assistant.
“Thank you so much for having us, Diana.” Delia said, flashing a dazzling smile of her own. A smile that Jason saw every day. A flash of something that I refused to believe was envy sliced through me, like a fork slicing through a pice of cake.
Th
is woman, this Delia, would be devil’s food cake with her rich, chocolate locks that fell in perfect waves past her chin. Her skin was Miami beach tan and I had a feeling it was au natural, a gift from birth and not a tanning bed. My skin, that went quickly from ivory to red if I didn’t drench myself in sunscreen, made me feel like store-bought cheesecake.
Delia was in a power suit that rivaled Diana’s, hers a charcoal gray that was all business until I saw her ears twinkled with a pair of double sided pearls. The end nestled against her back earlobe was a diamond studded spike that matched the industrial bar in both ears.
I dropped my eyes to my lap, ashamed of myself. I was sizing this woman up like she was my competition, picturing late nights at the office with a man who wasn’t even mine. Heck, I was working extra hard to make sure he wasn’t mine. And now, I was sitting on the edge of my seat, ready to march right up to the stage and-
My eyes swept right to his and the jubilant smile that creased his lips speared me through the chest like a chubby angel had fired an arrow at me. When he stroked his thick fingers through those raw sugar, golden brown locks of his, I was no longer thinking about anything angelic.
There was no cupid, hearts and arrows.
I was thinking about his fingers on my hips.
On my breasts.
I was a goner.
I gripped my glass, another thought coming to mind.
Screw you, Jason Cox.
Why was he here? He didn’t get to just show up. Did he think he could be all charming and sexy and I was supposed to forget about the past? I was supposed to just smile and praise him for being a philanthropist and pretend it changed the fact that he was a raging jerk?
I didn’t return his smile, looking right through him until his smile fell off his face.
CHAPTER TWELVE: JASON
“I told you it was a horrible idea, Jason.”
I swatted a speckled balloon, casting a futile glance in Natalee’s direction. The last time I’d seen her behind a display, beating cupcake hungry people off with a stick, that indignant flare in her cheeks was edged with something that told me I had a chance. A sliver of one, but it was enough. Enough to formally re-introduce myself at the reception, and know that I’d at least get a few words out of her. A few words other than ‘screw you’.