“What in the actual fuck, Clara Milton?”
There was no denying what I’d done. Honestly, the paintbrush was still in my hand, pink paint dripping from it down into the can. The white back wall of my bakery now blended with pink creating a sort of ombre look. It was a soft pink but bold enough to throw off the black-and-white of the bakery. It was an accent wall of sorts. Different. Beautiful.
I wouldn’t apologize. I wouldn’t even give him the attention he felt he deserved. He’d done the same to me over the past year during renovations. I didn’t turn around. “It’s more perfect than I thought it would be.”
He walked up behind me and swiped the paintbrush out of my hand and then stuffed it into the paint can. “Are you out of your mind? There’s … This … We have to open in two months.”
“I’m aware of the date, Dominic.” My whole body was so tired just thinking about it. Working with him, near him, or even in the same proximity as him would truly be one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do in my life.
“You should probably stick with ‘Mr. Hardy’ while at work.”
“Well, you should probably stick with ‘Ms. Milton’ then,” I sneered back.
“God, I knew you were unequipped to run a business, but I didn’t know you were this incompetent.” He shook his head at the wall.
“Incompetent? Are you seriously for real? How about Rita being incompetent for her opinions on Paloma’s sign—”
“That’s been taken care of.” He cut me off and right then a text came through on my phone. I felt the vibration before I pulled it out to look at it.
Paloma: Dominic told Rita the name of my shop stays, Clara. He freaking complimented it.
There were ten crying emojis after. I set my phone down on the counter and raised my eyes to look at him in bewilderment. “You let her keep the name?”
“It suits her store.” That was all the explanation he gave.
I narrowed my eyes at him, unable to figure out his angle. “Okay. Well,” I cleared my throat trying to come back from the fact that suddenly Dominic wasn’t a complete asshole. “I’m sorry, but I’m here to make this bakery the best it can be.”
“Is that what you’re doing out there partying with everyone?” He questioned.
“Yes. It’s called socializing with the staff and learning how this resort is going to run with their personalities. Incompetence would be disappearing even though you’re the CEO of the damn resort.”
“I’m the architectural engineer and designer first. Let’s be honest, too, most CEOs aren’t going to be mingling when they need to be working. Rita has that handled.”
“Working real hard on that drink, huh?” I pointed to the tumbler he had in his hand.
He lifted it and tilted it a tad too much, showing me he was probably as tipsy as I was. “I deserve to unwind for a second, Clara.”
“Not when your assistant is out there ripping apart your staff.”
“Rita knows what she’s doing. If changes are needed—”
“You both wanted to put my espresso machine in the freaking kitchen, Dominic, and not out here behind the counter. Neither of you have any idea how to work that machine, bake in general, or run a kitchen.”
“It doesn’t take a genius,” he grumbled.
If I had still had the paintbrush in hand, I would have thrown it at him. Instead, I leaned in and smirked. “You think you’re so freaking good at everything, go into my kitchen and show me, then.”
“What?”
“Go in there and make me a damn cupcake. You think I’m not good enough to be in your resort, show me that you can do it better than me. Or better yet, try my cupcakes for once and tell me it’s not good enough to be next to your Michelin chefs.”
He narrowed his emerald eyes. “You challenging me, Ms. Milton? Even after throwing paint on my walls?”
“They aren’t your walls. They’re mine.” I said it boldly, and I even walked up and poked his shoulder like I had a right to. Maybe everyone else was scared of him but I wasn’t anymore. This bakery was mine, and it would be my failure, too. I wasn’t going to give it to someone else. I couldn’t anymore.
“Oh, she’s a fighter now,” he mumbled to himself, like he wasn’t sure what to do with me. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself either, but the alcohol had given me courage and I was seizing it. “You want a cupcake, I’ll play along. As long as you have all the right ingredients.”
“I’ll be impressed if you even know what goes into it.”
The smile flew across his face fast. The man didn’t smile much, and I sort of forgot how attractive he was right up until that moment. He leaned in close to my ear, and I smelled the ocean, sandalwood, and something wholly him. “I know exactly what goes into your desserts, little fighter.”
The butterflies in my stomach erupted way too strongly for me to stay this close to him. I stumbled back and bit my lip, catching his gaze before he raked his eyes over my body boldly and without apology.
I didn’t move, and I didn’t break my stare. With any other man, I would have. I wasn’t here to show anyone up, but this seemed like a challenge to see if I could hold my own and more than anything now, I wanted to prove I could. We were pushing each other’s buttons, testing the limits, and seeing who would bend first. “Maybe you need to get back to work. Rita might need you.”
His tongue dragged over his teeth like he was sharpening them. “Most of my staff can handle their jobs without me.”
Another indirect shot at me. “Are you saying I can’t?”
I didn’t wait for his response. I spun on my heel and slammed through the steel door. I’d infused lavender in my last batch of chocolate cupcakes to see if they would be good enough for the menu. Most of the ideas I’d attempted yesterday hadn’t made the cut, but those had. I grabbed a small cupcake with a flavorful infused flower on it. They were bite-size, mini cupcakes, but had such a burst of flavor I thought they might be worthy of being a signature dessert.
I spun around to find him inches away, hovering over me, so close I felt his breath fanning out on my cheek. He was ready to throw another barb my way, and I didn’t care to hear any of it. I popped the tiny cupcake into his mouth before he had a chance to get a word out.
His eyes widened at my boldness.
I didn’t care. I folded my arms and glared at him as he finally chewed. “If you can make a cupcake like what you have in your mouth, I promise you, Mr. Hardy, I won’t complain about any of the changes made to the bakery again.”
I might have been concerned about how my bakery would fit in his resort, but I was a damn good baker and pastry chef. I knew how to infuse chocolate, knew how to blend ingredients well enough that they melted in your mouth. I knew how to mix spices and create an experience through someone’s body just from taste. I watched him closely, how he rolled the food in his mouth, and when he breathed out, I knew that’s when the cinnamon and lavender would hit his taste buds. Normally when I got the ingredients just right, I would hear moans or whispers of praise. Dominic Hardy had never tried my creations, though, and so I’d never heard the low growl that seeped from deep within his chest and washed over me.
His eyes darkened, his muscles relaxed, and he leaned closer before placing both of his hands on the steel counter behind me. He hung his head as his eyes closed, like the flavor had overtaken him. “Fuck, Clara.”
Him saying my name like that shot straight to my core and butterflies erupted everywhere in my body in a way they shouldn’t have. “You mean Ms. Milton,” I whispered.
He shook his head before he lifted it, not responding at all to my statement as he licked his bottom lip. “What is in that?”
I couldn’t keep from smiling. “Hmm, secrets and revelations. Secrets of the recipe and the revelation that you won’t be able to duplicate it.”
“You enjoy challenging me, don’t you? You know I’m always able to do what they say I can’t, right?”
I believed him. I never heard of his failures, only his successes. He’d solidified multimillion dollar contracts, and he’d created an architectural firm that was worth billions. And that was before he invested in my stepfather’s empire. Even still … “Making a chocolate cupcake isn’t just technical, Dominic.”
He hummed, “You mean Mr. Hardy, right?”
I shrugged. “I’m sure I won’t have to call you anything much since I don’t ever really see you.”
“That right?” He tilted his head. “Who do you think is going to come back here and paint over your tantrum?”
“I know you aren’t calling what I did a tantrum. Can you imagine if I ruined your baby over and over?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I get that you can’t stand that my bakery was plopped right in the middle of your resort. That I’m marring it in some way. I get it, but this space is a small portion of it. You still have the entire expansive exterior. Every floor. The lobby. Everything is yours. And you get it exactly how you want. You wouldn’t have it any other way, right?”
“Sure?”
“Well, this is my only bakery. The one I can control, the one I’ve been given a shot at, and you and Rita have completely destroyed my ownership of it.”
He didn’t apologize, but I saw how his nostrils flared just a little as he breathed out deeply, like he finally had even a sliver of remorse before saying, “How about if I can make this cupcake just like yours, you stop asking for changes to this bakery for the next two months. How about that?”
Chewing my cheek, I tried my best not to laugh in his face.
“You think I can’t make it, huh?” He chuckled and before I could stop him, he’d grabbed my hips and picked me up to set me on the prep island’s countertop. “Watch.”
He turned round and round, trying to find all the ingredients I’d used. He got the cacao powder and butter right along with the sugar, salt, and milk. Quite frankly, I was impressed with that, but the spices and oils were the difficult part. I didn’t even blink when he grabbed the lavender and held it up for me to approve.
“All you, big shot.” I waved him on.
He laughed again like he enjoyed the challenge, like we weren’t fighting for our dreams here. When I hopped off the counter, he asked where I was going.
“To get this.” I grabbed a bottle of bourbon out of one of the white cupboards.
“You already stashing liquor to drink while on the job?”
“Bourbon adds a hint of sweetness to the chocolate. Some people like scotch better, but it’s a little too smoky for my taste.” I pulled out two glasses as he frowned at his ingredients. “Not for this specific chocolate cupcake, though. You’re welcome for the hint.”
I slid a tumbler his way as he turned on the stove to heat the cocoa butter. I didn’t correct the temperature even though my hand itched to do so. He didn’t have a heatproof bowl, either. Melting butter right in the saucepan was solidifying his defeat. “I’ll give you one more. Cinnamon, lavender, and nutmeg were used.”
“I’m fucking it up already, aren’t I?”
Shrugging, I took a sip of my drink. “We’ll have to see, won’t we?”
“It’s going to taste just like yours.” He grabbed another cupcake from the wax paper and popped it in his mouth. He swore again. “Has Valentino tried these?”
I hesitated before answering. Valentino was on the seventy-fifth floor. He was another sort of celebrity in my mind. Sure, I’d met men like him before, but he was arguably one of the best in the world. I’d heard of his restaurants, how he ran his kitchens, how he became a legend in his twenties. Now, in his thirties, every food blogger and critic knew of him. His restaurants won awards, and he’d won the James Beard along with others.
“It’s not on the menu yet. I’m just testing out the limits of this kitchen and seeing what I can do.”
He hummed, still staring at the treat. “See that you discuss all desserts with him in the case that he wants to include this in the restaurant because there’s nothing this good for a dessert up there.”
Seriously? He hadn’t said it in a way that I thought it was a compliment, and yet my heart warmed far too much at his assessment. “So you’re saying you like something of mine finally?”
“Does it matter? This could be up there.” Should I have said thank you?
“I don’t know if our menus will harmonize that much. People will be going to his restaurant for a fancy night with their partner. My bakery is—”
“A fresh start to their morning with a decadent twist?”
I snapped my mouth shut at his near perfect description. I wasn’t going to agree aloud … even if I thought it.
He didn’t seem fazed as he stared at the chocolate syrup he was trying to create. He hadn’t even got to the flour and sugar yet. “I’m going to regret agreeing to this aren’t I?”
“It’s just the chocolate base. You can do that. I’m not making anything that special like your other chefs and bakers,” I encouraged, starting the comment as condescending, but I felt a sliver of doubt at the end. “I’m just …”
“You’re what, Clara?”
I couldn’t tell him I might have felt out of place, that I might not end up belonging.
I was here to fake it until I made it, right?
