by Ani Gonzalez
"What do you mean 'we'?" she asked sharply. "There is no 'we.'"
Trevor sighed. "This is no time for childishness, Patricia. We're not talking about a donut shop in a hillbilly town. This is a real business deal worth millions of dollars."
Patricia bristled. "Well, then, why would you need a hillbilly baker?"
Trevor's eyes widened in disbelief. "Because I don't come up with crap like Twinkie and croissant hybrids and quesadilla desserts...and...and...glow in the dark cotton candy. I used my trust fund to open two restaurants serving authentic French cuisine. Do you know what happened?"
Patricia shook her head, confused by his vehemence. She'd never seen Trevor this upset. Actually, she'd never seen Trevor upset. He was The Golden One, the one who did everything right.
"They both failed. I had to come up with funding for this last venture." He practically spat out the words. "Imagine me asking for money."
He seemed genuinely horrified, and, to be fair, Patricia couldn't quite picture Trevor doing a funding drive. Thanks to his family's money and connections, he always had everything handed to him on a silver platter.
"And they wouldn't even give it to me, not for a French patisserie and not even for an American bakery. Not until I came up with the croisswinkie."
Patricia's jaw tightened. "You didn't come up with the croisswinkie."
He dismissed her objection. "We got the money and the Twinkie and quesadilla things were huge hits." He frowned. "But now everyone expects me to come up with a new croisswinkie..."
Of course they did. That was one inspired pastry, if she said so herself.
"But I can't," Trevor wailed. "That's why I need you. The franchise, the television show, they all depend on these...ridiculously gimmicky dishes."
That explained why her pistachio cotton candy required its own entourage. "You need my ridiculously gimmicky dishes to get your television show."
Trevor waved his hand in the direction of the ballroom. "That's all they cared about, the stupid cotton candy. They're probably filming it right now. I hope the damn thing really does glow in the dark. If it doesn't, I'm sunk."
She stared at him with undisguised pity. All this time she'd thought of herself as the victim, the one who'd been robbed. The broken one.
But she'd still had her creativity and her work ethic. Trevor had his success, but it was fake, built on thievery and greed.
And now he was paying the price.
"Well, thanks for the partnership offer, but no thanks," she said. "I have my own business to attend to."
Trevor's eyes narrowed. "The little Halloween-themed bakery I saw on the way in. Bit of a comedown isn't it?"
She wouldn't dignify that with a response. "Good luck coming up with a new gimmick, Trevor."
She turned to leave. If she hurried she might be able to catch the end of Zach's song. But the hallway lights flashed again, stopping her in her tracks.
That was weird. After the creepy plant incident Elizabeth had read them the riot act. The electric system was...eccentric and they had to be careful with it. They'd all sworn to keep their power consumption to a minimum. No one would break that promise.
Another flash, then another... The corridor resembled a discotheque and Zach's warnings popped into her head.
She knew someone who'd break a promise.
"Where did you get the cotton candy machine?" she asked Trevor.
He looked at the light show, brow furrowed. "My assistant rented it from a place in Reston. I know it's horrible, but it was the only one they had that worked. Apparently, those things break down like nobody's business." A spark flew from one of the sconces behind him and he stepped away quickly. "But what does that have to do with anything?"
The machines broke down because they were old and they used too much power. That's why they were so unreliable.
Patricia giggled. The lights were going crazy now. She wondered if the concertgoers had noticed. Probably not. If they did, they'd assume it was a special effect.
Which it kind of was. It was a Millicent Danvers special effect.
"I'd go check your cotton candy machine if I were you." She ran down the hallway, the flashing lights casting psychedelic shadows on the walls, and opened the doors to the ballroom.
It was dark, and noisy and incredibly crowded. Zach stood on stage, finishing his song. The music was dying down and the audience was spellbound, listening to him sing. She was relieved to see that he looked calm and relaxed.
The song must have gone well and she felt like a total ass for missing it. Was dealing with a pile of human garbage like Trevor that important? No, it wasn't.
He finished, looked straight at her and smiled. She smiled back, barely noticing that the ballroom lights turned on, then off. For a moment, it was as if nothing existed except the two of them.
And Trevor, who pushed her roughly as he ran toward the cotton candy machine.
She heard an explosion, then another. The faery lights hung over the ceiling moldings flickered and sparkled...literally. Sparks of electricity dropped down from the ceiling like fiery rain.
The concertgoers squealed with glee, raising their hands to catch the sparks, but the band looked around confused. This did not seem to be part of the show. Abby grabbed Zach by the shoulder and raised her arm. He looked at where she was pointing and his face turned into a horrified mask.
They stared, openmouthed, as the cotton candy machine gasped and churned, spitting out sugary green tendrils everywhere. The dark-suited men were instantly covered in goo. The cameramen ran away, desperately trying to record and safeguard their equipment at the same time.
The director waved at Abby and she stared at him, confused. Then she signaled to her guitarist and, confused but willing, the band started another song.
The girls in the pastel-colored ball gowns giggled and ran to the machine, dancing under the cotton candy rain and throwing balls of sugary gloss at one another. The machine spun faster, throwing cotton candy into the air, until, with a final explosive burst that sounded like machine gunfire, the lights all went out, plunging the ballroom into darkness.
Patricia took a deep breath and looked around, but all she could see was a wriggling, neon mass of sugary spaghetti.
Well, Trevor had one thing going for him.
The cotton candy definitely glowed in the dark.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
"NOW THAT was a show," Abby said, giggling a bit hysterically. "It's been a while since Fire & Rescue broke up one of our concerts. I've actually missed those guys."
"No," Zach replied, helping her pack her mandolin. "You haven't."
Another giggle, which made her sugar-encrusted hair bounce. "Well, I can do without the hour-long lectures on concert safety. That's for sure."
They were both tired, sweaty and covered with rock-hard cotton candy tendrils. The ballroom was empty save for the band, a couple of PRoVE guys doing cleanup, and several pounds of glow-in-the-dark cotton candy, hardening in the cool air. Sirens flashed outside as the Banshee Creek Fire & Rescue trucks returned to the station.
One of the band members arrived with a portable dolly. "We're almost done, Abby. I just need to get the amps into the van."
"Great," Abby replied. "Did you get all the cotton candy out?"
He shrugged. "Most of it. We may get turpentine to get the rest out, but we'll get it done. Don't worry."
"Good. I don't want to have to explain this to our insurance company."
Her bandmate shrugged. "Well, that's beyond my pay grade."
Zach helped him load the amps on the dolly and he left.
"I guess your arm is okay now," Abby noted. "If you're hauling amps around, I mean."
He flexed the limb in question and laughed. "Not even a twinge."
Which was a suspicious development. How much of the pain had been real and how much had been his mind playing tricks on him?
"That's a relief." Abby smiled. "The execs really liked the performance."
&nb
sp; "I think they liked the on-air explosions." He glanced meaningfully at the singed paint on the walls. "Oh, and the butterfly tornado, they were very enthusiastic about that."
The contestants had interpreted the cotton candy explosion as a surprise salvo by a rival group and had countered it swiftly with swirling butterflies and dancing lasers. The whole spectacle had been captured on film and quickly uploaded onto the Internet.
Abby bent and picked up a mangled cloth butterfly from the floor. "The butterfly tornado was inspired. I don't even know how they did it. I'm glad those guys won the contest. They deserved it."
"You just like them because they made your performance go viral."
A guilty grimace shadowed her face. "Well, yes, that helped."
He grabbed the mandolin case and helped her step down from the stage.
"Thanks for everything, Abby," he said as he led her out of the ballroom, dodging clumps of granite-hard sugar, sparkly butterfly corpses, and deflated plastic tentacles.
The Cthulhu sisters had tried to match the butterfly tornado. It didn't turn out well.
Abby and Zach walked around a discarded piece of werewolf armor, stepped over a rainbow-colored top encrusted with cotton candy and, finally, reached the door.
Abby grabbed her mandolin case. "No, thank you, Zach. Let me know what your agent tells you. I need to finalize our schedules."
He shook his head. "I can't believe I have an agent again."
Abby hugged him, rather awkwardly because of her pregnant stomach. "I'm glad you do."
He led her to the exit, feeling exhilarated and not a little bit light-headed. Despite the cotton candy disaster, the performance had been a huge success. The Space Cowboys fans had taken the concert footage, explosions and all, and created viral videos and gifs, which were spreading like wildfire. The contestants had uploaded the results from the costume competition and the cosplay community was busy criticizing the judges and making snarky comments about the winners.
The party was a triumph, at least for some of the attendees.
But not all. He frowned as he looked in the direction of the conservatory. He'd seen Patricia at the concert, before the cotton candy machine went off, but hadn't seen her since. The costume prizes had been given out, but the Historical Preservation Committee hadn't announced the winning bid for the Rosemoor. Because of the, er, mishaps, they'd delayed their decision until tomorrow.
It didn't look good for Patricia, though.
"Don't worry," Abby said, glancing at him with concern. "You did great. I'm sure the recording company will think so too."
He opened his mouth to reassure her that he wasn't worried about himself when they were interrupted by a loud shout. Zach tensed, but his alarm quickly turned to curiosity. This wasn't a cry of fear, it was a scream of rage.
Someone was really pissed off.
A red-faced man in black pants and a t-shirt ran into the foyer. Zach aimed an envious glance at his clean outfit. What with the prize ceremonies and the clean-up, no one had had time to change clothes or even pick the sticky cotton candy out of their hair. Even the PRoVE volunteers, who were used to working in extreme conditions, were looking the worse for wear. Yet this guy looked squeaky clean and freshly showered.
Who the hell was this putz?
"A fine?" the man screamed. "For using substandard equipment?" He crumbled up a piece of paper and threw it at the floor. "This town is freaking crazy. I'm not going to pay any damn fine."
He stalked off, followed by a harried assistant. Zach couldn't help but notice that the assistant had not had time to change. Her blonde hair was tangled and streaked with green and her skirt was ripped.
"Is that Patricia's ex-boyfriend?" Abby whispered, eyes boring into the guy's retreating back. "The one who stole her recipes?"
"What?"
"Didn't you hear? The ritzy New York chef stole Patricia's recipes and served them during the party."
"Yes, but--"
The front door opened next to them and a Space Cowboys roadie peeked in and smiled when he saw Abby. "Here you are." He took her case and held the front door for her. "It's time to go, if we want to get to Nashville by tomorrow."
"I'm ready," Abby said.
She hugged Zach quickly and kissed him on the cheek. "You look really worried. Relax, everything will be okay, you'll see."
"I hope so," Zach replied, waving goodbye.
But he wasn't thinking of himself. He was thinking of Patricia. Her ex-boyfriend was here? What the hell? He closed the door and walked toward the conservatory, hoping to find her. He waved at Caine, who was walking down the hall, carrying discarded props.
"Have you seen Patricia?" he asked the biker.
He nodded. "She was with your parents and her dad a couple of minutes ago. Did you hear about the asshole who stole--"
He was interrupted by a hissing tentacle, which flew up and out of his hands. Zach rolled his eyes and kept walking.
"Whoa, you're a live one, aren't you..." he heard Caine say as he approached the conservatory.
Which was empty.
The tables were clean, the chairs were neatly stacked and the plants, looking significantly less lush than at the start of the evening, were clustered neatly in a corner. Even the floor was swept clean.
He was disappointed...and impressed. Patricia must have worked like a maniac to get out of here as fast as possible. That she'd managed to do it was a feat of superhuman will and organization.
That she felt she needed to was heartbreaking.
He turned to leave and almost bumped into a kimono-clad Elizabeth Hunt. Her face was clean of makeup, and the scary horned headdress was gone, but her hair was still up in its elaborate coif. She didn't look like an intergalactic water buffalo anymore, but she did look worried.
"Have you seen..." Her voice trailed off as she took in the abandoned site.
"Caine saw her a couple of minutes ago, so she must be around here somewhere."
Elizabeth's brow furrowed into a pained expression. "I feel horrible for her. If I'd known I would have never let him come."
"What exactly happened?"
"Well," she started, but she was interrupted by the red-faced man in the immaculately laundered slacks, who waved a pink sheet of paper in her face.
"I'm not paying this," he said.
Elizabeth, still in her towering heels, looked down at him, a haughty expression on her face. "I beg your pardon?"
"Your stupid fine," he repeated. "I'm not paying it. It's not my fault the machine broke down. Take it up with the equipment rental company."
"You all agreed to abide by the local Banshee Creek ordinances," Elizabeth noted in an icy tone. "It was in the contracts you signed."
The guy glared at her. "I'll be taking this up with my backers," he snarled. "They'll think twice about putting up a production in this town."
He stalked out of the room before they could reply.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and Zach laughed. "Don't worry. Someone will eventually tell him that his backers are your husband and his friends."
"Yes, I hope someone catches that on film." Her tone was cold and unamused. "I really want to see it."
"How big of a fine was it?" Zach asked, hoping to hear a big number with a lot of zeroes at the end.
"Large enough. We can't penalize him for stealing Patricia's recipes, but we can nail him for reckless endangerment via defective cotton candy machine. Holly spent all night figuring out how. I just wish I could find Patricia."
So did he.
"Speaking of regulations," he said. "Do you know if I can bow out of the competition?"
The thought had occurred to him yesterday, when he realized that he would likely win the bid.
And that he no longer wanted to.
Elizabeth looked concerned. "No, not at this stage. You both signed contracts." She shook her head. "What a jerk. I hope he doesn't pay up, I'm going to enjoy applying late fees to that fine."
"You do that," he replied
. "I'm going to look for Patricia."
"She probably took her dad home," Elizabeth called out as he exited the conservatory. "She's been worried about him lately."
Zach left the Rosemoor, got into his truck, and drove around town. Patricia wasn't answering her phone. She wasn't at home, or at her dad's house, or with Holly, or in the bakery. Alarmed, he called around and found out that Patricia hadn't driven her dad home, Sarah did that, and she had plenty to say about the trip.
But there was no Patricia.
Where the hell could she be? Staying at the Middleburg Inn with a full spa treatment scheduled in the morning? That was Laurie's best guess. The bakery sidekick figured that, after a truly atrocious night, Patricia would head for a place that made her feel good.
And, right now, Banshee Creek probably didn't qualify.
All he wanted was to see her and hold her and make sure she was okay, but she wouldn't allow that. Not Patricia, who kept secrets and handled things on her own. No, not her. She had to go off and deal with this by herself.
He drove to the barn, his grip tight around the cold steering wheel. He was too wound up to go to sleep so the plan was shower, work on that song he was stuck on, then go to bed. That sounded good. A good half-hour at the piano would be enough, at least for tonight.
Then he'd call Patricia in the morning. He didn't care if she had back-to-back spa treatments, he needed to talk to her.
He turned into the driveway, slowed down and stared. Then he turned the wheel and parked next to the all-too-familiar vehicle currently occupying his parking spot.
It was Patricia's van.
CHAPTER FORTY
"WHERE HAVE you been?" Zach snarled.
Patricia almost dropped her towel. She was in Zach's bathroom, having finished a long, hot, sorely needed shower. She hadn't expected Zach for hours. Didn't he have some celebrating to do? He'd had a successful concert and a wildly popular restaurant pop-up.