Sweet Dreams: A Sugar Rush Sweeter Treat

by Nina Lindsey

  And though the thought of being at the mercy of Julia Bennett was rather terrifying, there was no question Julia knew how to rock “personal style,” whatever that was, and high-class fashion. Polly, on the other hand, was happy when she found a shirt in her drawer that didn’t have chocolate stains.

  And she was pretty sure that Pierre Lacroix maintained an impeccable appearance, even when he was making religieuse au chocolat and champagne truffles.

  So Polly called Julia (grudgingly) and told her (pointedly) that she wasn’t about to pay for any of her pricy consulting or hairstyles or whatever else Julia had planned.

  “That’s what no charge means, dear,” Julia replied coolly over the phone. “What time is Luke picking you up?”

  “He’s not. He has a business call with China or whatever, so I’m meeting him at the museum.”

  “God forbid he should put China on hold,” Julia muttered. “However, this will give us more time to work on you. The event starts at six, so you’d better be here at two. On second thought, make it one. We’ll need that extra hour.”

  “For your voodoo curses, right?”

  “Art takes time, Polly.”

  “I’m not art.”

  “You will be, as long as you wear what I tell you to wear and look how I want you to look. And for God’s sake, lay off the doughnuts and muffins. Bloat is never stylish.”

  Polly didn’t tell Luke she was letting his aunt style her up, just in case she ended up on the lam for melting Julia with a bucket of water, but she showed up at the studio at one sharp on Saturday afternoon. A hair salon, boutique, offices, and spa comprised the entire first floor of a private, refurbished building near downtown Indigo Bay.

  Polly was greeted not only by Julia but by a team of male assistants whose names all ended in O—Marco, Antonio, Stefano—and women whose names ended in A—Anisa, Dawna, Isabella. First the women made her strip down to her skivvies before coming at her with enough tools and products to fill a warehouse.

  Polly was waxed all over, including places where she didn’t even know she had hair, then her skin was exfoliated, conditioned, moisturized, massaged, and plucked. Julia walked around issuing orders like a general, commanding her to try on at least a dozen gowns—“The latest,” she informed Polly—and designer shoes.

  Polly modeled clothes that were probably more expensive than her debt and savings combined, while Julia and the assistants circled her with comments and critiques.

  “The mermaid style doesn’t flatter her hips.” “Nice around the bust.” “Orange isn’t her color.” “With her figure, she needs an A line.”

  They decided on a black-and-gray gown that hugged her breasts and torso before flaring around her hips into a soft waterfall of silk and lace. Polly had barely had time to admire herself in the mirror before Julia sent the gown off to be altered to her figure.

  Then Julia led her over to a chair in front of a lighted mirror, where another small army of stylists waited. Julia and a hairstylist named Enzo walked around her, flicking at her hair and discussing the “split ends,” “frizz,” and “heavy length” of her locks while a cosmetologist recommended certain color choices for eye shadow and blush.

  Polly silently congratulated herself for not saying a word as she read Vogue magazine and let Julia and her cohorts have their way with her.

  And when she finally stood in front of the full-length mirror, polished to a shine, she couldn’t believe she was looking at herself.

  “So.” Julia stood behind her, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed as she raked a final, critical eye over Polly’s figure. “I told you I was good.”

  She’d been right. Polly looked…amazing. They’d cut, shaped, and straightened her hair, so it fell in a thick, shimmering curtain to her shoulders, and added sun-streaked blond highlights. The cosmetologist had beautified her face with subtle colors that brought out the dark brown of her eyes, the angles of her cheekbones, and made her lips look as if she had just been kissed.

  And the gown! It hugged her in all the right places, with the V neckline displaying a perfect amount of cleavage. Diamond earrings glittered against her hair, and a gold diamond necklace made her neck look swan-like. Her shoes were satin flats embellished with a crystal (“Manolo, though I don’t trust you to wear heels gracefully,” Julia had remarked), and they complemented the gown perfectly.

  Everything about her glowed—her hair, her skin, her eyes, even her French-manicured fingernails.

  “Wow,” she finally said.

  “To be sure.” Julia smiled, this time actually displaying her perfect teeth.

  Polly couldn’t take her eyes off her reflection. This version of Polly Lockhart looked like a princess. A woman who could sail through Paris with self-assurance and not be intimidated by famous chefs or learning a new language.

  “My mother would have loved what you did with my hair,” she told Julia. “She was always telling me I should take better care of my hair.”

  “Mothers are often right.”

  As Polly gazed at herself in the mirror, a weird emotion tightened her throat. She blinked.

  “Don’t you dare ruin your mascara.” Julia snapped her fingers at Anisa, who hurried over with a tissue and a beaded handbag that matched Polly’s gown.

  “Twirl,” Antonio said.

  “Twirl?”

  He nodded and smiled, making a circling gesture with his forefinger. Polly didn’t think she had ever twirled in her life, but she did then. She stood on her tiptoes and spun in a circle, her gown flaring out like a cloud. She wanted to dance like Cinderella at the ball—all she needed was Prince Charming to guide her. Or Luke Stone.

  That strange feeling filled her chest again. She stepped away from the mirror.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to drive in this,” she remarked.

  Dawna and Enzo chuckled.

  “She’s not joking,” Julia told them dryly.

  “Why would I be joking?” Polly asked, though she secretly dreaded the thought of driving her ancient VW van while wearing this. She would be a pearl inside a cranky old oyster.

  “My dear, Luke sent a car to take you to the museum,” Julia replied. “I told the driver to pick you up here rather than your apartment.”

  “Don’t forget to hold up your gown on the stairs,” Marco advised.

  “Have a wonderful time, darling!” Enzo added. “You look magnificent.”

  All the assistants cheered and clapped as Polly sashayed to the door, making her feel like she was walking the red carpet. She stopped to thank them before Julia guided her outside to where a sleek, black Bentley town car waited, the driver standing beside the open door.

  “Enjoy yourself.” Julia narrowed her eyes and adjusted Polly’s décolletage. “Just try not to destroy the illusion that you’re glamorous and sophisticated. In other words, don’t open your mouth.”

  Polly looked up to make a smart retort, only to find Julia watching her with amusement. Very faint, but there nonetheless.

  “At the risk of sounding sappy,” Polly said, “thank you.”

  “I told you I was good.” Julia tilted her head to the car. “I’ll be there a bit later, so I’ll keep an eye on you. Go.”

  Before Polly did something embarrassing, like hug the other woman, she got into the car and settled against the plush leather seats. Through the tinted window, she saw the group of assistants waving as the car pulled away from the curb.

  Better be home by midnight. This car will turn back into a VW van, and I’ll be Raggedy Ann again.

  Limos and town cars crowded the front of the Fine Arts Museum. Spotlights glowed on the huge banners advertising the opening of the Manet exhibition, and women in glittering evening gowns and men in tuxedos walked up the wide, marble steps to the entrance.

  Nervousness tightened Polly’s stomach. She thanked the driver and followed the stream of guests up the stairs. Halfway there, she stopped. Luke stood next to one of the Roman columns lining the front of the classic
al building.

  Wearing a tuxedo that stretched to perfection across his powerful chest and shoulders, his dark hair glowing and the lights casting shadows on his strong features, he was nothing short of beautiful.

  Polly’s heart ignited, filling her blood with warmth and quickening excitement. For tonight at least, she would revel in the fact that this particular handsome prince, in all his masculine strength and beauty, was hers.

  Carefully holding her skirt, she continued up the steps. Luke scanned the approaching guests. Polly waited in breathless anticipation for the moment when he’d see her, his eyes widening in surprise before filling with heat and love…

  Well, wait a minute. Let’s not get carried away here.

  …before filling with heat and admiration…

  His gaze passed right over her to the parked cars. Polly faltered for a second before realizing that he hadn’t recognized her. A bubble of laughter rose. Well, she had hardly recognized herself in the mirror, so she shouldn’t be surprised.

  She climbed the rest of the steps, admiring him all over again. He was everything she adored—buttery almond cream, lemon zest, royal icing. She stopped beside him, her whole being reacting to his nearness, the air charged with energy. A radiant happiness filled her, and she thought she’d never before felt something so powerful, a pull so strong it almost hurt.

  Luke turned toward her. He blinked and went very still. Electric silence crackled between them. For an instant, the rest of the world disappeared and it was just the two of them again—kissing at the Troll’s House, rolling candy in the kitchen, making love on his beautiful bed.

  “Polly.” He stepped back, disbelief flashing in his eyes.

  “From bakery girl to glamor girl,” she said with a smile, spreading her arms out.

  He shook his head as he looked her over. “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “I know. I hardly recognized myself.”

  “How did…”

  “Aunt Julia got her claws into me,” Polly said, holding up a hand when he frowned. “No, it’s okay. She offered to help me get ready for tonight, and I decided to let her. Designer gowns and exfoliation aren’t exactly in my wheelhouse.”

  “What did you do to your hair?”

  “Straightened, styled, highlighted. All sorts of fancy things.” Polly gestured to her dress. “And much as it pains me to admit this, Julia does know what she’s doing.”

  “You look…” He let his gaze rake over her again, lingering on the modest valley of cleavage exposed by the gown’s neckline before sweeping back up to her face.

  She expected a thousand compliments. A man like him had a treasure trove stored away. You’re beautiful. You take my breath away. You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever seen. Not even the stars can outshine you.

  “Um,” Luke said. “Wow.”

  A smile curved Polly’s mouth. She’d reduced the eloquent, powerful CEO Luke Stone to “um, wow.” It might have been the best compliment she’d ever received.

  “Um, wow to you too,” she said, indicating his tuxedo.

  He returned her smile and extended his arm. “May I have the honor?”

  “Of course.”

  She slipped her arm through his as they entered the great hall, which was filled with linen-draped tablecloths and bouquets of flowers. A string quartet played in a corner of the hall, and several people glided up to greet Luke as they entered. He graciously introduced her to everyone who approached, stepping back as if to let her glow in the limelight.

  Though Polly was nervous about being among the bon vivant crowd, she soon found herself rather enjoying the looks of blatant admiration men tossed in her direction, not to mention the curiosity of the women who’d seen her come in with Luke.

  “Before dinner, I have to talk to a few people about the Foundation, then speak to one of our investors about acquisition tax issues.” Luke grimaced as he handed Polly a flute of champagne. “It’s going to be really boring.”

  “Go ahead without me.” She nodded toward where his brother and father stood near the exhibition entrance. “I’ll say hello to Evan and your father.”

  “It’ll just take a few minutes. I’ll find you as soon as I can get away.”

  “If you’re getting desperate, scratch your ear as a signal,” Polly said. “I’ll come rescue you.”

  “You already have, Peach.”

  He winked at her, brushed his lips across her cheek, and walked away.

  Chapter 22

  A warm, happy feeling surrounded Polly as she wandered among the crowd. She watched Luke cross the room, remembering when she’d seen him assessing the Sugar Rush test kitchen with the same regal command. People stopped him as he passed, extending their hands and smiling. He paused to speak with everyone before approaching the bar where a portly man sat.

  Polly made her way to where Evan and Warren had been standing, but they’d both already disappeared into the mass of people. Surprisingly, she didn’t mind being by herself. Her nervousness had shifted into excitement over a night of dining, dancing with a certain handsome man, and strolling through the museum galleries, gazing at priceless works of art. A month ago, she never would have imagined such an evening.

  “Is that an Elie Saab?” An elegant woman who had introduced herself as Gabrielle, one of the museum donors, stopped and eyed Polly’s gown.

  “Why, yes.” Polly was pleased that she knew the answer. “It’s from his spring collection.” She extended her foot to show off her black satin flat. “And Manolos, of course.”

  “Of course.” Gabrielle smiled. “I went to his show in Paris last year. Incredible, really. His shoes are works of art.”

  Considering they were in the middle of an Impressionist exhibit, Polly hardly thought there was a comparison, but she nodded in agreement anyway.

  “I suppose Julia was your stylist?” Gabrielle sipped her champagne. “I see her handiwork. I wouldn’t be surprised if she finds a designer apron for you.”

  Er…what now?

  “Designer apron?” Polly repeated.

  “For your bakery.” Gabrielle lifted an eyebrow. “Luke told me you own a little bakery over in…where is it? Fordham?”

  “Rainsville.”

  “Yes.” The other woman gave her an arch smile. “He says you’re working to remodel and upgrade to some sort of bohemian theme. Very industrious of you.”

  Well, didn’t that adjective make her sound like an ant?

  Polly excused herself and went to refill her champagne flute. A thread of unease twisted through her, which didn’t make much sense. After all, Luke had just told Gabrielle the truth. Polly did own a little bakery that she was upgrading. But the fact that he’d brought it up while talking about her with a museum donor at a fancy dinner and art exhibition opening, felt…strange.

  She didn’t want it to feel strange. But she also wanted to enjoy being this beautiful, princess version of herself for one evening without being reminded of her real-life struggles.

  “I always wonder how many people show up for the art and how many show up for the free booze.” A tall man whose bow-tie was askew stopped beside Polly and extended his empty glass to the bartender. “Scotch.”

  As the bartender refilled the glass, the man glanced at Polly.

  “Haven’t seen you at one of these shindigs before,” he said.

  “I’m Polly Lockhart. I’m here with Luke Stone.”

  “Ah.” His demeanor shifted, and he took a step away from her. “Sam Walker. I’m the head of Sugar Rush’s new Fair Trade Foundation. I’ve heard about you.”

  Polly eyed him warily. “What have you heard?”

  “You’re a baker, right? Luke’s giving you a hand. Taking classes at a community college?”

  “That’s correct.”

  Her unease intensified. She shouldn’t be ashamed of attending community college any more than she should be ashamed of owning Wild Child. But knowing that Luke was telling all his fancy friends and coworkers about her comp
arably modest life, she began to feel like little pins were poking into her perfect, fluffy soufflé of happiness.

  She glanced over to where Luke was still talking to the portly man. Except now a statuesque redhead had joined the conversation, and she was standing intimately close to him.

  Jealousy flickered in Polly. She had a sudden flashback to that night at the Troll’s House when another redhead had made a move on Luke.

  “I don’t remember any redhead,” he’d told her. “I only remember you.”

  How drastically her life had changed since that night. She’d changed too—not only in the sense of being a more skilled businesswoman, but she’d also become so much more self-confident and hopeful. She’d started to believe that she could do anything.

  Polly straightened her spine with sudden determination. Since Luke was telling everyone about Wild Child anyway, she might as well drum up some business.

  “Wild Child is in Rainsville,” she told Sam Walker. “We’re in the middle of a major renovation and are launching a number of new French pastries, all handmade with organic ingredients. Eclairs, croissants, brioche. Baked fresh every morning and served with dark roast, French press coffee. You should stop by and give us a try.”

  “I certainly will.” Interest flashed in his expression, but before he could continue, Polly excused herself and slipped into the crowd again.

  She spoke with several other people who either caught her eye or stopped her in passing, but she didn’t give them a chance to bring up either Wild Child or Hartford. Instead she introduced herself first as, “Polly Lockhart, Luke’s date and owner of Wild Child Bakery in Rainsville” before launching into details about the bakery’s renovation and new pastries.

  Unfortunately, preempting the other guests didn’t ease the tension in her shoulders or the feeling that she was being judged.

  “You must be Polly.” An older woman approached, her gaze sliding over Polly’s figure. “I hear you’re Luke’s new little project.”

  “Actually, I’m his hot little sidepiece, but I suppose it’s just a matter of semantics, isn’t it?” The retort flew out of Polly’s mouth before she could stop it.