Beefcake & Cupcakes Page 4

  Lara got a giggle out of that. If it weren’t so God-awful embarrassing, she just might spread the word around herself.

  But thank God none of the girls at the party had figured it out. Not only didn’t she want Jeff to get wind of it, she didn’t relish the idea of anyone else sharing her shame. It was bad enough that Gage knew.

  And, oh God, whoever he’d told. Guys did that, didn’t they? Talked about their conquests?

  Did anyone even use that term anymore?

  Lara quickly broke down the last cardboard box and rearranged the last dozen and a half cupcakes on a disposable tray on the booth. Think about the cupcakes. Think about the show. Not about what Gage was selling or that show he’d put on.

  Her cell phone rang, saving her from another round of self-inflicted torture.

  “Hey, Cara, what’s up?”

  “Just wanted to let you know that Mrs. Applebaum gave us a fifteen percent tip.”

  “Hey, great!” Mrs. Applebaum was known to be stingy with tips so the standard fifteen from her was like twenty-five from someone else.

  “No, it’s not great. The woman should tip us that much. I say we raise her price on the next event.”

  “We can’t do that; she’ll never come back.”

  “Oh yes she will. She has the graduation party for Her-Son-The-Doctor coming up and she wants—get this—a re-creation of his college. We can charge her out the wazoo for that and she’ll gladly pay it.”

  “I don’t know, Car, it just seems—”

  “Do you want that second industrial-sized mixer with all the attachments or not?”

  Cara had her there. That one piece of equipment would make all their lives easier.

  “Okay, but we can only raise the price five percent.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “That’s too much.”

  “And that’s why you need to leave the pricing to me. I already quoted her and she agreed.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I don’t joke about business, Lara. That’s why you run the creative and I handle the administrative. I want those loans paid off in half the note time. I thought you did, too.”

  She did. Because then she could stop taking Jeff’s alimony.

  That was another area where she and Cara disagreed, but it wasn’t any of Cara’s business. It also wasn’t any of Cavallo’s Cups & Cakes’s business. Jeff had called her dead weight when they’d signed the divorce papers, a mantra he repeated with every stupid sticky note he attached to each alimony check.

  It didn’t matter to her that the law said she was entitled to that money. Or, really, that she actually was. She wanted to be done with Jeff even more than he wanted to be done with her. Case in point: she’d dropped his last name the day he’d moved out. And now, under her own name, she was going to prove to him—and herself—that she wasn’t dead weight. That she could not only take care of herself, but flourish doing so.

  The divorce had ripped her self-esteem to shreds. She’d so willingly quit her job as a restaurant reviewer for the local paper after their wedding, when he’d wanted her to be home, tending to him and the house. “It doesn’t look good for a lawyer’s wife to have such an inconsequential position,” he’d said.

  Inconsequential? She’d loved her job. She’d made a difference. Several restaurants had taken off after her reviews.

  But in Jeff’s Grand Scheme for their future, she was to be the perfect hostess who stayed at home and raised the kids because his career would be the one that set them up for life.

  And since she had wanted to be home with those future children, and he’d been right about the discrepancies in their income, she’d quit her job, joined the country-club set, studied flower arranging, and learned how to host the best cocktail parties to give him the image he’d wanted.

  And then the bastard had dumped her the minute he’d made partner.

  So, yes, she’d take his money, but only until the business was paying her a good salary. And if she could convert half the customers who’d signed her email list today, she’d be on her way.

  “Lar? You there?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re on board with this project?”

  Lara stacked the display trays and set them in the storage box under the booth. “Of course. I’ll do the research tonight when I get back. Pictures and what-not of the school.”

  “Good. I’ll get the contract out to her. Gotta strike while the oven’s hot.”

  “Bad analogy, Car.”

  “Like I said, you’re the creative one. So how’d the show go?”

  As she broke down the booth, packing up her decorating supplies, table drapes, and the signage, she told Cara about the mad rush to the booth, but neglected to mention Gage. No need to bring up a sore topic that Cara was not on the need-to-know basis for.

  “Great,” said Cara. “I’ll get started on the calls as soon as you get back. You’re going to want to start rebuilding our inventory. Don’t forget, we’re one of the sponsors for the benefit this weekend.”

  That was Cara, all business. Lara never thought of her cakes as product. Each one was a customized personal experience for the buyer and Lara was always very aware of that. Pride in her work was her motto; it’s what made her cakes stand out and what brought clients back. Like Mrs. Applebaum or the people who’d sampled her work today.

  Would they also bring Gage back?

  Oh, God. She didn’t need to go there. She didn’t want him back.

  Liar.

  No, she wasn’t lying. Sure, the attention he’d paid her had been nice, but it wasn’t real, and anyway, she’d been completely overwhelmed by her mortification at how they’d met. While hot monkey sex with him might sound good, she just wasn’t that person. She wasn’t exactly vanilla, but definitely not melted-hot-chocolate-stripper-guy material. Maybe somewhere in between, like red-velvet blush.

  “It sounds like it was a successful show. And selling all of the cupcakes gives us a twenty-three percent profit which is up twelve percent from our average.” Cara was clicking numbers on the adding machine as fast as she was talking. “What do you think made the difference this time?”

  Gage. But there was no way they’d ever be able to afford him—not professionally and definitely not personally.

  “I think it was the turnout, Car. There was a lot of buzz about this show and the numbers were there. Aren’t you always saying it’s a numbers game?”

  “Yes. If you get enough opportunities, you’ll hit a certain percentage. Shame we can’t pinpoint it more. I hate to have to rely on the venue’s efforts. We need to brainstorm ways of getting more people interested in our business.”

  “Okay, Car, but I have to go. It’s time to break down.” Lara knew what had made the difference, but she wasn’t going to share. No need to add exotic dancer to Cara’s expense line items.

  Chapter 7

  Gage opened the screen door to his sister’s apartment. “Hey, sis, how’s he doing?”

  Missy gave him her typical wan smile. “Same.”

  Which meant Connor was chomping at the bit to get up and run around, but the casts and paralysis prevented him from doing so.

  God, he ached for the kid. Would gladly take it on so his nephew wouldn’t have to. So his sister wouldn’t have to. Bad enough Connor had been hit by a hit-and-run driver and Missy’s pitiful medical insurance only went so far. The bills were coming in far faster and much bigger than they’d expected, and it looked like Connor was going to need on-going care. The burden was staggering, and they’d never see a dime from her asshole ex either. The guy had run out before Connor had been born.

  “You wanted a kid, not me,” had been the cold-hearted reply to her plea for help after the accident.

  If the dickhead weren’t perpetually unemployed and hanging with a knock-off version of Hell’s Angels, Gage would have tracked him down and extracted the payment in physically acceptable terms.

  But Missy and Connor didn’t need any more d
rama in their lives. Their daily status quo was more than enough for everyone to handle. Beefcake, Inc. was the best bet for getting them all out of this mess.

  “You’ll be glad to know we got a ton of referrals over the weekend. I’ve lined up two gigs already for next weekend on top of the benefit.”

  Missy smiled again, but it was just as thin. “I am so grateful to you, Gage—”

  “Missy, stop.” He didn’t want her gratitude. Connor was like his own kid, a fact that’d been rammed down his throat when he’d stood at his hospital bedside pleading with God not to let him die. “I told you to ease your worry, not cause you more grief. Let’s enjoy our day, okay?”

  This time her smile stretched a little wider. “He’s been asking about you.”

  “When doesn’t he?”

  “Oh, God. He’s got your ego.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  She swatted his arm as he headed into Connor’s room, and Gage almost collapsed with relief. Ever since the accident three months ago, Missy hadn’t been herself. Well, her old self. And with what they’d been through, he couldn’t blame her, but slugging him? That was a sign of the younger sister he’d been so irritated with when he’d been a teenager.

  What he wouldn’t give to have those carefree days back again.

  But it was what it was; he was just thankful he had options. That Missy and Connor had options.

  He headed into Connor’s tiny toy-stuffed bedroom, bypassing the wheelchair all three of them hated. “Hey, buddy, still lounging around, I see.”

  “Hi, Uncle Gage,” said the six-year-old. “You know Mom. One move to the edge of the bed and she’s all over me like white on rice.”

  “White on rice? Where’d you hear that?” The kid was growing up way too fast. It seemed like it was just yesterday that Missy had brought him home from the hospital, alone, scared, without a cent or a diploma to her name. She’d gotten her GED and had started night classes to become a paralegal since then, but Connor’s medical care now put that on hold.

  “Nicky Pollecco told me. His dad says it all the time.”

  Nicky’s dad said a lot of things all the time, most of which got him into bar fights.

  Gage ground his teeth. That was it; he was putting his foot down. Missy was getting out of this apartment and into the Tomlinson family home with him. He hadn’t wanted to take this away from her, some semblance of control in her life, but he’d tell her it was the money, that they could use her rent to pay off Connor’s medical bills that much sooner and get her back to school. It wasn’t a lie, and sometimes you just had to do what you had to do.

  “So what game are we playing today?”

  Connor looked at Missy who was hovering in the doorway. “We’re good, Mom.”

  And once more Gage took a shot to the heart. His nephew assuring his mom. The kid ought to be outside climbing trees and riding bikes and beating the crap out of Nicky Pollecco, not consoling his mother by pretending everything was all right.

  He started counting the fees he’d earn from the weekend’s gigs besides the benefit Gina had put together. That would be a one-off and he couldn’t predict what would come from it. No, he needed to keep the money coming in, and to do that, he’d need at least another three gigs a weekend. Two a night. It’d be great to have a standard venue for a Ladies’ Night at some of the nearby clubs, but so far, the local clubs weren’t biting. An occasional show brought interest, they said, but having a weekly show might dilute the appeal. Not to mention the local Chamber of Commerce was giving him and any locale that had even a smidgen of interest a lot of pushback on decency charges. It was enough to drive him nuts.

  “I want to play COD,” Connor said when Missy shut the door.

  “Call of Duty? I don’t think so, kiddo. You’re a little young for that.”

  “But Nicky plays it.”

  Such the good endorsement. “I don’t care. Nicky’s not my nephew; you are. You don’t need to grow up that fast.”

  “But what if I don’t get to?” He moved his paralyzed arm with his good one, a sight that never failed to move Gage to tears. Tears he choked back. “I want to play COD before anything else happens.”

  Shit.

  Shit. Shit.

  Gage’s throat shut down. Connor had been obsessed with the fact that he could have been killed. Gage and Missy had, too, but it seemed to define Connor these days. What if he hadn’t survived? What if something like this happened again only worse? What if he didn’t pull through all the surgeries he needed to repair the damage?

  Gage cleared his throat. The psychologist they’d been seeing had said to treat Connor as normally as possible, so while his initial instinct was to give the kid what he wanted, it wouldn’t be in his best interests. Plus, Connor really didn’t need to see the crap in that video game.

  “Hey, Con, you can’t think like that. You’ll have the rest of your operations and be fine. You don’t need those COD images in your brain when you’re recuperating.”

  Connor sighed. “You’re going to be a real pain as a dad someday, Uncle Gage.”

  Wow, the shots to the heart just kept coming. A dad. He couldn’t even think about that happening anytime soon. Connor came first, then he’d worry about setting up shop with someone and starting a family.

  Lara’s face shimmered into view. All hot pink with embarrassment.

  He kind of liked the idea that she didn’t sleep around. Totally hypocritical, he knew, but, yeah, he liked it. He wondered if she wanted kids.

  Whoa. Getting way ahead of himself. And her. She could barely look at him, never mind the fact that she’d practically run out on him at the expo. He’d gone by after they’d broken down BeefCake, Inc.’s booth, but she’d cleared out already.

  Couldn’t make it any clearer she hadn’t wanted to see him. That was why he’d declined the cupcake offer when she’d first suggested it; he’d wanted an excuse to see her again, but she’d negated it by coming to him first.

  “You have a funny grin on your face, Uncle G. What’s up?”

  Kid was too damn perceptive for his own good.

  “Just thinking of where I’m going to take you when you’re done with all your surgeries.”

  “Where?” Connor sat up with a gleam in his eye.

  Gage’s heart melted. God, he loved this kid. “Well, I thought we’d start off with a baseball game. Hotdogs, ice cream, funnel cake, the whole she-bang. Then we can hit up the football stadium. Then, I don’t know, you want to go kayaking? Whitewater rafting? Mountain climbing?”

  “Can we go back to the amusement park? I want to ride a roller coaster.”

  Gage’s throat closed up again. Connor’s accident had happened right when they’d been leaving for the park to do just that. Connor loved roller coasters. “Absolutely. We can ride the coaster over and over and over again. As long as you like.”

  “Cool.” Connor sat back and fiddled with the edge of his sheet. “What about horseback riding? Can we do that?”

  “Yeah, sure, if you want.” Gage had never been on a horse, but, what the hell. He’d learn with Connor. And maybe he could incorporate some of it into his cowboy persona.

  Lara had liked the hat. She’d liked the whole package—he’d seen her watching him stroll up to her table.

  Thank God for his looks. He’d always taken them for granted. Sure, they were good for attracting women, but he’d always just gone with the flow on that. But when he’d wanted to attract her interest, he’d been really happy that he kept himself in shape.

  “So what are you thinking now?” Connor tapped his chin with his good arm. “What else are we gonna do?”

  Gage knew what he wanted to do... “Whatever you want, Con. Let’s get through the surgeries and I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Even playing COD?”

  “Ya know what? You get through the surgeries, work really hard at your therapy, and I’ll talk to your mom about it.” And he would. Hell, facing death for real was a hell of a lo
t scarier and more traumatic than doing it in some video game. Whatever it took to get the kid through it.

  “Okay, then I guess I can wait. Wanna play chess?”

  “Since when do you play chess?”

  “Since you gave me the iPod touch. I’ve learned lots of old-fashioned games.”

  Gage laughed. Old-fashioned. Chess had been around forever. It was the game of kings. Leave it to a kid to reduce it to being old-fashioned.

  Gotta love the fresh perspective. Gage was so used to dealing with the stress and angst of Connor’s condition that sometimes he forgot to breathe. To appreciate what he had and live in the moment.

  That’s what he’d been trying to do with Lara. This past weekend and after that bachelorette party. Sure, it’d started out as a pick up, but when she went out on him, it changed. He’d felt something for her. Compassion, not irritation. And then he’d gotten her out of that dress, and yeah, that got him very interested. But when he’d put his t-shirt on her, something settled around him. Something comforting. A shared moment just for the two of them, unlike anything he’d shared with any woman before.

  Too bad she’d been out of it. But he’d watched her sleep. The soft little twitches her mouth had made, the way she’d tucked her clasped hands beneath her cheek, the soft little snores...

  He’d never watched a woman sleep. Hadn’t studied the curve of anyone’s cheek or the soft rise and fall of her shoulders. The way her leg had curled up to her chest. How sweetly sexy her bared thigh was...

  “Uncle Gage? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Why?”

  “ ’Cause you had a different funny look on your face again.”

  Lust, kid.

  No. Something a bit more than lust. He’d lusted before. But he’d never felt something else with it.

  “Okay, Con, where’s the chessboard? I’ll show you just how fine I am and I’ll kick your butt doing it.”

  “No you won’t. I’m really good at strategy now.”