Beefcake & Cupcakes Read online

  Given that Gage would be seeing Lara again this weekend—he’d seen the list of sponsors for the benefit—he wasn’t doing too badly on the strategy front either.

  Chapter 8

  Gage hefted the rest of the two-by-fours into the back of his pickup Monday morning, then strapped them down for the trip out to e by the fifteenth hole. One thing about working on a golf course: he had to schlep every piece of material from the storage sheds out to the site instead of having it delivered directly there. The owners wanted the gazebo to go up as quickly as possible without letting their members know it was happening. Consequently, he had to show up really early and clear out before eleven a.m. when the afternoon crowd would show up. What normally would’ve been a week-long project at most was now deep into its second week and would probably need a third.

  Normally he wouldn’t complain because the interrupted schedule upped his hourly charge, but he hadn’t been able to finish any other projects because by the time he got to the Whitmans’ kitchen remodel or the Torringtons’ basement conversion, he could only put in a few hours. Luckily, the clients were okay with the schedule, but his invoicing depended upon completing the jobs. If it weren’t for BeefCake, Inc., he’d have no money coming in to pay the bills. Several of which were due, including part of the balance on Connor’s physical therapy.

  Yeah, he needed to have that conversation with Missy sooner rather than later.

  He drove down the access road to the eighteenth hole and unloaded the supplies at the gazebo. He had the rafters to finish, then the plywood, flashing, and roofing before he could do the final trim and pathway work. Five days tops, but with Gina’s party on Friday, he was looking at next week before he could finish.

  He set up his saw horses and measured out the next four rafters. He hooked the miter saw to the generator, and was just about to stick his iPod earbuds in when an early golfer rode up in his cart.

  Gage held in his derision. Golf carts were good for grandfathers who had trouble walking eighteen holes, but guys in their thirties like this one? He could stand to lose the paunch that was forming.

  “You the guy responsible for this?” asked the golfer, waving a gloved hand at the gazebo.

  “Technically, the management is, but yes, they hired me to build it.”

  “You do good work.”

  Hmm, that was a surprise. This guy had prick written all over him from the yellow-and-white argyle vest, tan pants, white shoes and even a glove, to the pinky ring and designer club case that the caddy was carrying as he walked the course behind the cart.

  God save him from pompous, supercilious assholes.

  “I was thinking of having one built by my pool. Would you be interested in giving me a quote?”

  God save him from pompous, supercilious assholes who weren’t looking to hire him.

  Gage took a business card from his back pocket. “Yeah, sure. I can do that. When are you looking for it to be done?”

  The guy pulled a gold case from his breast pocket beneath the vest—of course he did—and handed his card to Gage. “I’m having a party next month. I’d like it completed by then. The ninth, to be precise. Guests will arrive around four.”

  Gage checked the address. J.C. McCullough in Fox Run Hills. Swanky. Which meant bucks. As if he couldn’t have guessed from the guy’s air alone. “I think that’s doable. Will you be home later today so I can see the space and work up a quote?”

  “Today’s not good, but tomorrow works. After six.”

  Gage ran through his schedule. “Make it seven and I’ll see you there.”

  “Excellent.” The guy nodded, then headed toward the hole, holding out a hand to the caddy for his club.

  Gage had to laugh as he stuck his earbuds in. Guys like J.C. always made him laugh. Worked their way so high up the corporate ladder with assistants and caddies and maids and drivers that he wondered if they had someone hand them toilet paper, too.

  Ah, well, who was he to criticize? The man’s money was just as green as anyone else’s and his type usually wanted top quality. Bragging rights and all, which was fine with Gage. With the discounts he could get on premium materials, he’d rather work on a high end job any day because the profits were greater.

  One more project to up his own coffers for Connor’s surgery. It was all about Connor.

  ***

  “Hey, we got another one.” Cara hung up the phone, dancing like it was Christmas morning. Every order was a gift. “Next Friday. The client wants a boardwalk cake with a Ferris wheel full of cupcakes. Our rig still rotates, right?”

  Lara pried the lid off the tub of fondant. “Yes, it does. How many people is she expecting?”

  “About a hundred. She’s having a grand opening for her day spa. A beach party, trucking in sand and what-not. She says she’d like you to stay on site until the cake has been served because she doesn’t want to pay the deposit for the machine.”

  That Ferris wheel had been a big expense, but it was going to be the first piece of equipment that paid for itself. People, for some reason, loved rotating cupcakes. “But my time is worth something, Car.”

  “I know. That’s why I charged her seventy-five percent of the equipment deposit. Cheaper for her and a chance for you to sell our services to her guests while making money doing it.”

  Lara snapped on a pair of latex gloves so she wouldn’t stain her fingers when she added the food coloring to the fondant. “I can’t solicit business while I’m working at her event.”

  “Sure you can. And it’s not really soliciting. You’ll just be there to answer questions about our services if anyone asks. Same as leaving brochures around, but more interactive. All you have to do is be yourself and I guarantee you, we’ll get some referrals.”

  Lara shook her head. All she’d wanted to do was bake and create. Make people smile. That’s why she’d gone into this with Cara who didn’t know fondant from buttercream, but knew how to hustle and make sure the bills were paid.

  She added the food coloring to the white fondant. Mrs. Keswick’s housewarming cake had to match the shutters on her new house. So much so, that Mrs. Keswick had had the builder send one over. Lara was going to do her best to match it. “What time next Friday? I have Marcella Sloan’s birthday party in the late afternoon.”

  “I’ll do it. It’s just a delivery.”

  “Not exactly, Cara. There’s some on site setup needed.”

  “So teach me. If I can juggle numbers, I’m sure I can juggle add-ons.”

  “Come here then and I’ll give you a lesson on working with fondant because you’re going to have to use it to cover the base of the sunflowers.” Six-year-old Marcella was having a garden tea party and her mother wanted the cake to be a garden. A life-sized one, with periwinkles and daisies and roses, all things Lara could attach prior to delivery, but the sunflowers were a whole other matter. She’d prepped the PVC holders in the base for the bamboo “stalks,” but Cara was going to have to cover them in fondant “grass” on site.

  “Give me ten minutes,” said her cousin, pulling a pencil from behind her ear. “I have to get a list of ingredients to the woman at the benefit for her to post so people can watch for allergies, and I’ve got calls in to half a dozen of those business cards you brought back from the expo and want to touch base with them.”

  Lara didn’t need any additional reminders about the expo because she hadn’t been able to get Gage out of her head. She’d even gone so far as to check out his website, www.BeefCakeIncorporated.wordpress.com, over the weekend. Yeah, she wasn’t proud of herself, but what no one knew wouldn’t hurt her.

  And there hadn’t been many pictures of Gage anyway. Most of the videos and images were of the guys. The About Us page had a shot of him and his partner, but they’d been in business suits, looking all corporate and professional. Such a different image than Mr. B.N.A.

  Lara swiped her forehead with her forearm. She should turn up the A/C. It was a constant battle with Cara to keep the costs down whi
le trying to prevent the cakes and frostings from melting.

  And now her. She needed to keep thoughts of Gage out of the workroom.

  “So did you see the strippers while you were there on Saturday?” Cara stapled a bunch of papers together and impaled them on her invoice spike. “I heard they were the hit of the expo.”

  “No one got naked.” Well, on Saturday…

  Cara grinned at her. “Paid attention, did you? You didn’t happen to get any of their numbers by any chance, did you?”

  She’d gotten his number all right… “For what? To keep us entertained while we work?”

  Cara grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “Hey, don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.”

  She had tried it—and fallen asleep doing so.

  God, if Cara ever found out, she’d never live it down.

  “They were the same crew that was at the club for Jenny’s bachelorette party, I hear.”

  “That’s not surprising. I doubt this town could sustain many male stripper reviews, so it’s not really surprising they’re one and the same.”

  “Hmmm.” Cara tapped her lip.

  “What?”

  “That was quite a lot of words for hot guys. You didn’t happen to hang out at their booth, did you?”

  Lara wiped her forehead with her forearm again, but this time it wasn’t to remove anything out of her eyes. This time it was all about not looking at Cara. They’d practically grown up together; Cara could read her like a book, and the blush on her cheeks was surely a dead giveaway.

  “Do you see that stack of business cards?” she asked, hoping to turn the tables on her cousin. “Just when do you think I had time to ogle the participants?”

  “Pity. You need to get out more. Look around. Just because Jeff was a dick doesn’t mean all men are.”

  “This from you? The woman who categorizes men by the size of their hands?”

  “Hey, at least I know what a man is good for. You seem to have forgotten.”

  Oh no she hadn’t. She’d relived Gage’s hotel room incident in Technicolor every minute of the past sixteen days.

  “I thought we were focused on making this business a success? Who has time to date?”

  “Dating and sex do not have to go hand in hand.”

  “You know, Car, just because a guy strips for tips doesn’t mean he’s available for hire for anything else. Those also don’t go hand-in-hand.”

  Cara tapped her lip again, this time a little smile appearing.

  “What?”

  Cara’s smile got bigger. “Nothing.”

  It wasn’t nothing. Lara could hear the wheels grinding in Cara’s head. “Out with it, Car.”

  “Well you’re awfully verbose on a subject that we should have stopped talking about paragraphs ago.”

  Lara snorted. “Right. Then you would have wondered why I clammed up and made more of that than there is. Look, Car, the guys were hot. Of course I looked. Just like we all looked at Jenny’s party. It’s why the guys were there. To get looked at. It’s their job. Just like this—”She waved her rolling pin around the workroom—”is our job. So unless you’re going to put a line item in the expense list about on-the-job entertainment, I don’t know why we need to keep talking about this.”

  “I heard you left Jenny’s party early.”

  Damn, Cara had always been able to switch subjects at the blink of an eye without blinking at all.

  “I told you, I was tired. I’d worked on three parties that day, plus Jenny’s cake. I was beat.”

  “Yeah, but Jenny said she’d called your room and you hadn’t answered.”

  Lara grimaced. “Zambuca. The sleeping potion of choice.”

  “Damn. I was hoping you’d picked up the guy you’d been dancing with and had a hot night of wild monkey sex.”

  Lara couldn’t stop the bark of laughter. “Yeah, me too, but sorry, I’m just not that adventurous.”

  None of that statement was a lie. Unfortunately. She wished she’d had hot wild monkey sex too, but Gage had assured her that hadn’t happened.

  She was inclined to believe him. She’d never had hot wild monkey sex before and was fairly certain there would have been some muscle twinges the morning after if they had.

  She still couldn’t believe he’d been such a gentleman. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d just left her in the hallway or on a bench somewhere. He could have been nice enough to contact the front desk and they could have found her room for her, or he could’ve taken her back to the club and left her with her friends. But he’d taken her to his room, and left her alone.

  Though he had undressed her…

  Her cheeks started flaming again. And Cara was looking a little too closely.

  “You should’ve done it, you know. Try something new. Not all guys are like Jeff.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Jeff.”

  “You never do.”

  “With good reason.”

  “Yeah, but if you let him clam you up like this, you’re giving him power. You’ll never get over him if you don’t exorcise him.”

  She’d like to exorcise him all right. Burning palms, pea soup, a voodoo doll or two… “I’m over Jeff, Cara. Trust me, he no longer has any space in my brain.”

  “Keep telling yourself that and you might start to believe it. But I’ve seen you around guys; you don’t give any of them the time of day. When Jenny told me you’d actually been dancing with a really hot guy at her party I almost fell over.”

  “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I do have confidence that you can attract them. I’m just not so sure about you recognizing that they’re attracted to you. We really need to find you someone who will give you back what Jeff stole from you. Someone who can teach you how to live.”

  Images of Gage—naked, Cowboy, flirting, sauntering—flashed before her eyes. He could definitely teach her a few things.

  She held up the rolled-out fondant. “Can we table this discussion for, oh I don’t know, another two years until this place is self-sustaining? I’ve got three orders to fill today and another eight hundred rose petals to make. Plus your lesson on fondant.”

  “Fine. Have it your way. Business first.”

  “You’re the one who’s always harping on business being first, Cara.”

  “Since when do you listen to me?” Cara fluttered her hands. “So when is our intern showing up? Those rose petals should keep her busy for a while.”

  They’d arranged an internship with the local tech school to get the labor they could afford—free—in return for practical experience. And, hopefully, by the time Jesse graduated school, they’d be able to hire her.

  Lara looked at the clock. “In about half an hour. So let me finish covering these cakes in fondant so I can get set up before she gets here and then I’ll teach you what you need to know.”

  Cara waggled her eyebrows. “But who’s going to teach you what you need to know?”

  Chapter 9

  Gage pulled up the driveway to J.C. McCullough’s McMansion. Gabled roof, fieldstone façade, professionally landscaped with a manicured lawn that looked like it could double for a golf course, and, of course, a four-car garage.

  Only four? Where did the guy park his golf cart?

  He parked the truck behind the arborvitae to shield it from the street view. Most high-end homes had a screen like that just for the contractors they hired.

  He grabbed his iPad, clipboard, and tape measure, jammed the Tomlinson Contracting baseball cap on his head, and got out of the truck. He kept a change of clothes in there for client visits after a work day, so the red golf shirt and khaki pants were appropriate attire, and he’d changed out of his work boots to a clean pair, also in the truck for just this purpose. Nothing like trekking construction dirt through someone’s house after a day on site to lose a job.

  He rang McCullough’s doorbell and wasn’t surprised to have it opened by an older woman in a black dress wit
h a white apron.

  “Hi, I’m Gage Tomlinson. I have an appointment with J.C. McCullough.”

  “Yes, Mr. McCullough is on the patio. He said the pool gate is open and you’re to go on through.”

  Gage bit his lip. The servants’ entrance. He got it.

  Yeah, the guy did have prick written all over him; Gage hadn’t misjudged him.

  But, again, a prick’s money was just as good as anyone else’s.

  He found McCullough on a gorgeous stone patio, reading the paper, dining on a rib-eye, with a snifter of something amber beside him. What Gage wouldn’t give to be able to afford a place like this. The pool looked like a private pond, complete with a cascading water fall and hot tub, which would do wonders for Connor’s physical therapy, and the patio had a built-in cook center with a wood-burning pizza oven. The pool house, complete with bar, was the perfect party hangout. McCullough’s party on the ninth was going to be kick-ass.

  “Tomlinson.” McCullough set down his fork then folded his newspaper. “Thanks for coming. As you can see, there’s only one place for a gazebo. Over there.” He pointed to the left side of the pool. “I’d like it to seat six to eight if that’s possible.”

  The right amount of money could make anything possible.

  Gage pulled his tape measure off his belt, hoping the movement hid the sound of his stomach rumbling. Lunch had been a long time ago and that steak smelled delicious. “Let me get some measurements, then we’ll talk.”

  McCullough nodded, flipped the newspaper open, and tucked back into his dinner.

  Gage took the measurements and superimposed them on the pictures he took with his iPad to give McCullough a preliminary idea of what he was proposing. He’d found giving the client a custom rendering helped with expectations.

  He took his time, wanting to get the spatial relations correct, but also wanting to give the guy a chance to finish his food because drooling over a client’s dinner was also conducive to blowing a job.