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Lorraine nodded. “Sports, and the outdoors. She has always been the athletic twin.”
“You’re twins?” Another tidbit revealed.
“I didn’t mention that? Yes, Trina is my twin sister. We are fraternal, but the fact that we are twins is unmistakable.”
“So she’s beautiful and she’s into outdoor activities,” Carter commented.
An instant blush blossomed on Lorraine’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she said. “That is very sweet of you.”
“I bake cakes for a living. I can’t help being sweet,” he said, adding a deliberate dose of flirtation to his grin.
Lorraine’s eyes lit with amusement. “Do you practice these lines, or do they come naturally?”
Carter’s grin widened. “It’s natural.” He was having way more fun than he usually did during a cake consultation.
“I can tell,” she said. “You are a natural-born flirt.” She crossed her ankles in that proper way his aunt Daisy sat, and folded her hands on her knee. “So, what do you need to know about Trina?”
Carter glanced down at the form on the desk. He was supposed to be working, wasn’t he? “You said she’s into outdoor activities. What’s her favorite?”
“Scuba diving. Much to my parents’ chagrin. They are both afraid she will eventually drown, or be bitten by a shark, or some other such nonsense.”
Carter snapped his fingers. “What about a deep-sea-themed bridal shower?”
Her frown returned, her expression becoming even more uncertain than before. “You don’t know my mother,” she said. “I doubt she would go for Little Mermaid party hats.”
“Think seashells sprinkled with diamond dust and live coral centerpieces.” Carter spun away from his desk and went over to one of the bookcases lining the wall. He pulled down a binder from two years ago, and flipped to June, finding pictures of a cake he’d made for a birthday party that had rivaled most wedding cakes. Ironically, the party did have Disney’s The Little Mermaid as the overriding theme, but the “Under the Sea” cake he’d made had been much more refined.
He took the chair opposite Lorraine’s and spread the binder out across his lap, turning it so it faced her.
“Goodness,” she breathed. “That is gorgeous.”
“It’s one of my favorite cakes,” Carter said, feeling the surge of pride that always surfaced when talking about his creations. This one had put him into another stratosphere in the cake-making world. It had taken a full twelve hours to decorate, and that was after he had spent several days crafting seashells, sea horses, starfish and other ocean creatures out of gum paste.
“I could make the colors softer, and add edible glitter to make it more elegant,” Carter continued.
She studied the pictures for several minutes, flipping through the pages to view the pictures he’d taken from every angle. “It is beautiful,” she mused. “But everyone will be expecting a traditional cake.”
“So, why not defy expectations? Pardon the pun, but can you imagine the splash something like this would make? In my opinion, this is much more worthy of the Drake than your run-of-the-mill tiered cake.”
Carter could see the indecision flickering across her features, and was afraid he’d gone too far with the hard sell. A smidgen of self-reproach attacked his conscience, because he suddenly realized that he wasn’t thinking as much about selling a cake as he was thinking about selling himself. To her. He wanted to wow her with his skills.
“You don’t have to make the decision right now,” Carter said, backing off a bit. “Why don’t you take a day to think it over? You can call tomorrow and let me know what you decide.”
Still studying the pictures, she shook her head and said, “I don’t need any more time. I’ve already made my decision.” She sat upright and gave him a firm nod. “I want this cake.”
“You sure?” Carter asked. “Really, you can take your time.”
“No. I want it just as you described it, with the softer colors and the shimmering glitter. I want it to look like an enchanted underwater fantasy.”
“Well, if you’re sure, we can put the order in now. You’ll just have to put twenty percent down.”
She opened the snap on the designer clutch she held in her lap and pulled out several hundred-dollar bills. “How much is the deposit?”
“That will depend on the size of the cake, and on the extent of the work that will need to be done. Let me get a bit more information from you, and then we’ll work up a price.”
Her eagerness was laced with something else, a certain resolve that shouldn’t come from simply ordering a cake. He worked up her order and gave her the invoice. Instead of putting down a deposit, she paid for the eighteen-hundred-dollar cake in full. In cash. That was something he didn’t see every day.
After they’d concluded their meeting, Carter walked her out of the office and back to the showroom.
Lorraine held out her hand to him. “Thank you so much for your help,” she said. “I cannot believe it took a stranger to help me come up with the perfect theme for my own twin’s wedding shower, but I am very grateful you did. Trina is going to love this.”
“Happy I could help,” Carter said, still holding on to her soft hand. He had no desire to let it go anytime soon. He slipped his hand into his left pocket and pulled out one of his business cards, handing it to her. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call me. Anytime.”
She smiled. Damn, her smile was nice.
“Thank you, Carter.”
And with that, she was gone.
For a few moments Carter contemplated following her, but after coming in over an hour late this morning, he knew better than to leave the bakery.
His thoughts stretched back to the conversation he’d had with his dad earlier, and Carter acknowledged what he had to do. His cousins already had an unfair advantage over him when it came to Lillian’s. It was time he proved to this family once and for all just what he was worth to them...even if he might not be working here for much longer.
Chapter 2
As she exited the bakery, Lorraine slipped on her Roberto Cavalli sunglasses and headed up Michigan Avenue. She couldn’t risk walking any faster than a casual stroll; her heart was already beating triple time.
She had not been prepared for the likes of Carter Drayson.
Her hand still tingled from their parting handshake. His fingers were long, the skin slightly rough, with a couple of darker spots, as if he’d been burned by a hot cake pan a time or two.
And he was gorgeous. Seriously, unquestionably gorgeous.
From the moment he’d stepped up to the counter and introduced himself, Lorraine had been aware of every breath that had left her lungs, because it had been just that hard to breathe around him. It wasn’t the first time she’d been immediately bowled over by a charming guy, but it had never been that intense. His silky voice, vibrant smile and overpowering charisma had hit her like a Midwestern tornado in the middle of the active season.
“He’s probably just as dangerous, too,” she said underneath her breath. Best to stay far, far away from Lillian’s. She didn’t need the extra calories from their sinfully tempting desserts, and she most certainly did not need the devastating Carter laying on the heavy charm.
Lorraine arrived at the garage where she’d parked her car and took the elevator to the fifth level. Even though she lived within walking distance, she’d driven to the bakery because Lillian’s was just the first stop on a slew of errands she had to run for the shower preparations.
It had practically taken an act of Congress to convince the family driver, Bradford, that she didn’t need to be chauffeured today. Driving her own car was one freedom that Lorraine refused to relinquish. It gave her the illusion that she had some control over her own life; it was hard to keep a low profile when you were driven around in a gleaming pearl-white Bentley. She had a hard enough time distancing herself from her famous last name; she didn’t need the “look at me” car attracting the curious gazes of onlookers.
Lorraine was convinced that her name had had nothing to do with the attention Carter had given her. Oh, he’d flirted—she had pegged him as a natural-born player from the minute he’d sidled up to the counter—but it wasn’t because he’d recognized her as a Hawthorne-Hayes.
It had been...nice. Refreshing.
She’d spent her entire twenty-five years bearing that name, and although being an heir to one of the wealthiest families in Chicago had its perks, it was definitely not all it was cracked up to be.
Lorraine slipped behind the wheel of her Jaguar. She loved this car. It was luxurious, but not overly so. It certainly didn’t raise as many eyebrows as the Bentley did.
She turned over the ignition, then immediately shut the car off.
“What were you thinking ordering an under-the-sea cake?” she asked herself. “Abigail will have a fit!”
She opened the door, preparing to return to Lillian’s and order a nice, normal cake with roses made out of icing and pearls looping along the edges.
“But Trina will love that under-the-sea cake,” she told herself in the rearview mirror.
Lorraine could just imagine the look on her sister’s face when she walked into the Drake and saw it.
She closed the door and started the car again.
Her eyes slid shut and she leaned forward, resting her head on the steering wheel as the idling engine purred. What mattered more? Making sure her mother didn’t have a stroke over a cake, or her sister’s happiness?
In any normal family it wouldn’t even be a question, but no one would dare call her family normal. The owners of Hawthorne-Hayes Jewelers? The very pillars of Chicago’s elite? Normal?
“Anything but,” Lorraine said with a tortured sigh.
Her mother had instilled in her children that to be a Hawthorne-Hayes was to be dignified, distinguished and, above all, the consummate model of decorum. An elegant, sensible cake with delicate, sugared flowers and icing made to look like lace was dignified. It was the kind of cake her mother would approve of. The kind Abigail Hawthorne-Hayes would demand.
For that reason alone, Lorraine put the car in Reverse and backed out of the parking space.
To hell with what Abigail wanted. This bridal shower wasn’t about her mother; she was doing this for her sister.
Lorraine exited the garage and turned right. As she approached the intersection at Michigan Avenue and East Delaware Place, a thought occurred to her. If she was going to incur her mother’s wrath, she might as well make it worth it. She flipped on her right blinker and drove down a block, turned left and then made another left, pulling her car up to the valet at the Drake.
Her mother had insisted on elegance and refinement when it came to the bridal shower, but she could save that for the wedding. As maid of honor, Lorraine was in charge of shower preparations, and she would give her sister something that fit her personality. That cake she’d ordered at Lillian’s was just the start.
Lorraine walked up the carpeted steps leading to the landmark hotel’s lobby. As she entered, her eyes were instantly drawn to the enormous flower arrangement in the center of the room, sitting just below the signature crystal chandelier. Opulence oozed from every square inch of the place.
Lorraine met with the hotel’s special events coordinator. As she described her new vision for Trina’s bridal shower, she had a hard time containing her amusement at the way the woman’s face transformed from gleeful to completely horrified. The coordinator’s penciled-in eyebrows formed perfect peaks as Lorraine explained that she wanted the calla lily centerpieces replaced with seashells and coral on a bed of soft white sand. She wanted the walls draped in flowing light blue silk, mimicking the waves of the ocean.
The woman cleared her throat. “This all sounds lovely, Ms. Hawthorne-Hayes. However, are you sure we shouldn’t discuss this with Mrs. Hawthorne-Hayes before making such drastic changes?”
“No,” Lorraine said. “I’m the one in charge of my sister’s wedding shower. I have the last word. I will browse the web for some ideas and email them to you. Feel free to do the same.”
Her mother would have a fit, but Lorraine would deal with it. For once, Abigail Hawthorne-Hayes was not getting her way.
* * *
Carter leaned back in the chair and crossed his feet on top of his desk. He used a stylus to make notations on the inventory list he kept stored in his electronic tablet. Ever since they were featured at a Chicago Bulls pregame event, Lillian’s red velvet cupcakes with dark chocolate and cream cheese frosting, designed in the team’s colors of black and red, were flying out the door. Carter needed to increase the order of cupcake holders to keep up with the significant spike in sales.
There was a knock on the door. He looked up to find his cousin Monica. “Carter, were you supposed to have a cake for Maria Salazar ready for today?”
He frowned. “No, that isn’t until Thursday.”
“Well, she’s in the showroom right now to pick up her cake.”
Rising from his chair, Carter switched to the app that he used to keep track of his cake orders. He had a cake for an Arabian Nights–themed quinceañera scheduled for pick up on Thursday by Maria Salazar.
He turned the screen so Monica could see for herself. “She’s not supposed to pick it up until Thursday.”
“Well, somebody got their dates crossed. You need to go out there and talk to her.”
“I didn’t take the order,” he said. “It was probably Drake. I think he was working the retail store that morning.”
“You’re the one listed as the baker. You were specifically requested,” she pointed out. Carter didn’t miss the smug undertone of his cousin’s voice.
The Drayson grandchildren got along well enough, but in jockeying for position in the bakery, Carter definitely had a target on his back. Both their grandparents and his aunt and uncle had taken notice when customers started requesting Carter by name, and so had his cousins.
That wasn’t his problem. If the rest of the Drayson clan wanted to stand out, they needed to step up their games.
What was his problem was this mix-up with Mrs. Salazar’s cake order. It didn’t matter who had caused it. As Monica had just pointed out, he was the head baker on the project, which meant he was ultimately responsible for the customer’s one hundred percent satisfaction.
Carter entered the showroom, his eyes roaming around for Drake. Of course, his cousin was nowhere to be found. He was probably in one of the back offices playing around on Facebook or Twitter. Somebody needed to remind him that the same social networking he used to tout Lillian’s qualities could be used by unhappy customers to eviscerate the company’s good name if there were too many mix-ups like the one that had apparently taken place with the Salazar cake.
Carter walked up to the woman who was standing in front of the counter. “Mrs. Salazar, how are you?” he greeted.
“Where is my cake?”
“I don’t have you scheduled until Thursday to pick up the cake.”
“No, the quinceañera is tonight. I was told the cake would be ready by noon.” Her elevated voice caused several shoppers to turn their heads.
“Why don’t we move over here?” Carter said, gesturing for her to follow him to the rear left side of the showroom, which had been converted into a coffee bar. “Can I offer you something to drink? A latte? Cappuccino?”
“I want my cake,” Mrs. Salazar said.
“I found the original order form.” Monica came up to them. “It has Thursday marked off, but today’s date is written on it.”
Great. Carter bit back a curse.
“So I will have no cake for my daughter’s quinceañera? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Not to worry,” Carter said. “Just tell me where it is being held and I’ll have your cake delivered by five o’clock.”
“Carter,” Monica warned in a low tone.
He held a hand up to his cousin, keeping his full attention on Mrs. Salazar. “You’ll have the cake you ordered. I will see to it personally,” Carter assured her.
The worry lines creasing the woman’s forehead lessened, and a cautious smile relaxed the corners of her mouth.
“Thank you,” she said. She held up her checkbook. “I still need to pay the balance on the cake.”
“No, you don’t. It’s on us.”
“Carter!” Monica sputtered.
“I’m very sorry for the mix-up,” Carter said, putting an arm around the woman’s shoulder and guiding her to the door. “And tell your daughter happy birthday.”
