Sugarlips (Beefcakes Book 2)

by Katana Collins

  30

  Liam

  The night of the networking event, Chloe was nervous as hell. She didn’t show nerves by fidgeting or biting her nails or bouncing her knee like other women I knew.

  She cleaned. And organized. So, when I arrived at her house in my suit, ready to pick her up for the event, and found the house smelling like bleach and lemon-scented wood polish, I knew.

  The breath punched out of my lungs at the sight of her. Goddamn, she was gorgeous. I didn’t get much of a chance to admire her though because she immediately bounded back up the steps as she put an earring on. “I forgot my lip gloss!” she called over her shoulder. The back of her dress was unzipped. Wide open, flapping with each bouncing step up the staircase, and revealing the straps of a black lacy thong over her hips. My cock jumped against the zipper of my pants and I was grateful that this was one of the rare times that I actually wore boxer briefs. Something told me I’d need the containment tonight with Chloe in that tight, black cocktail dress—especially after getting a peek at her panties.

  In another few moments, she was in front of me again, her full lips glossed. Cobalt eyes bright and lined with coal-colored makeup. Her lashes were something out of a Disney movie, curved and almost hitting her eyebrows they were so long. Her black lace dress was sexy, but understated, hugging her tight, thin curves.

  In a word, she was breathtaking.

  “Zip me up?” she asked and spun so that her bare, muscled back was facing me and gathered her golden curls into a pile on top of her head.

  Fuck me, no bra.

  “Of course,” I managed to say despite my dry throat. I pinched the metal zipper and pulled it slowly up, the teeth catching one by one and it felt like a damn shame to be zipping her into and not out of that dress.

  I got one last glimpse of the lacy top of her thong peeking out over her heart shaped ass as I finished zipping her in. She turned to face me, and fuck, she was beautiful. “There,” I said, forcing myself to step back. “Perfect.”

  Her eyes scanned me, appreciatively. “You look good in a suit.”

  “I look better out of it.”

  “Oh, I know.” She laughed, grabbing her keys and lobbing them at me—a high-arching toss into the air—and I casually stuck my hand out to catch them without even shifting my glance.

  “Speaking of,” I paused, clearing my throat before I continued. “We’ll probably need to keep up the ruse of being a couple. Most people there tonight who’ve heard of The Dump Truck have probably seen the news story.”

  She kept her eyes down, digging around in the tiniest purse I’d ever seen. But her spine and shoulders were rigid, alert. “Or even more likely, they watch Bruce and Jill in the mornings.”

  I nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at me. “Exactly.”

  “You’re right,” she finally looked up, giving me a single, resolute nod. My heart skipped a beat. Tonight was my chance. I’d have Chloe on my arm, and I could show her how great a date with me could be.

  Even still, I had to play it cool. I had no doubt she would scare easily.

  “I mean, we still need to be professional,” she said. “No making out or anything, but yeah. We should look like we’re not just business partners.”

  And just like that, Chloe and I had planned our first date.

  She just didn’t know it yet.

  Tanja hadn’t been joking when she said it was a lavish event. Even in line for the ‘list’—something Chloe told me every good party had—a woman handed us each a flute of champagne. The crystal stem was delicate in my hands and I took a sip. It wasn’t bad. It certainly didn’t warrant the intense warning Tanja had given us about it. Not that I was a champagne connoisseur or anything—but I was a chef and I knew good flavors when I tasted them.

  A live band played on a gold-gilded stage in front of a dance floor and dozens of circular tables dressed with cream-colored table cloths and vases of ornate flower arrangements.

  I froze as we stepped up to the man guarding the entrance with a simple clipboard, stunted by my momentary paranoia. Did I really belong here? I felt wildly out of place juxtaposed with Chloe’s natural ease in crowds like this. Of course she felt at home. Chloe got along with almost everyone. She could strut into just about any affair and find her way around. And it helped that her dad was the mayor. Her mom was some big shot lawyer in Boston for years. She probably grew up going to galas like this.

  Her arm threaded through mine and she flashed me a quick smile as we approached a man at the door. “Hi,” Chloe said easily. “Chloe Dyker with Sugarlips PR and Marketing, and Liam Evans with The Dump Truck Food Service.”

  Even hearing my business name amidst the others made me cringe. The Dump Truck. It sounded like I was a garbage man sent to mill about with executives. What am I doing here?

  I took a deep breath. I needed to pull it together, especially if I planned to make tonight a night to remember for Chloe.

  The man at the door nodded and stepped to the side. As we walked in, Chloe squeezed my arm. “Ready?”

  No. “Sure.” I tried to sound breezy in spite of the nerves bouncing in my belly and the clammy sweat slicking my palms.

  I placed my hand to her back and leaned into her as we crossed the carved archway into ballroom. The smell of her perfume danced around me, calming my nerves. Light, floral, and feminine.

  I slid my hands around the shawl wrapped over her shoulders. “Want me to check this for you?” I asked.

  She clamped her hands around it like a security blanket. “No, it’s okay. I’ll do it in a bit.”

  “Have you ever been wooed, Chloe?”

  She started, turning to face me and her brows creased. “Wooed? What does that mean?”

  “Woo. Courted. The process of which a man charms and chases a woman he desires…”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I didn’t need the Webster’s Dictionary definition. Nobody woos anymore.”

  “Is that so?”

  She snorted and contorted her face with a wry twist of her mouth. “Yes. Believe me. I think I’ve had a little more experience in that area than you have.”

  Ouch. Well, that was… harsh. Chloe rarely lashed out like that. Especially not with me. “You have,” I admitted. “But my relationship lasted almost four years and ended pretty amicably. Can you say that about any of yours?”

  She blinked as the realization of her words sank in. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, fuck. Liam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  Only, she did mean that. She saw me as inexperienced. And maybe in some ways, I was. But in others, I far surpassed her in maturity. And that’s what I needed her to see tonight.

  “Hi,” A woman slid up beside us, grinning from ear to hear. “You’re Chloe and Liam, right? With The Dump Truck?”

  We’d barely made it in the door and someone already recognized us?

  “Yes,” Chloe smiled and hooked her arm into mine. “That’s right.”

  “Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” She pushed her chestnut hair off her shoulder and shook each of our hands. “My name is Serena, and I own a high-end flower shop in Laconia. Your business model inspired me to try something a little different—The Prick Collection!” She used jazz hands to emphasize the point. “I’m now selling potted cacti with cards that say: Congratulations on dumping that prick! I’ve been offering it for less than a month, and it’s already become my biggest seller… I feel like I have you two to thank.”

  I barked a laugh and Chloe chuckled as well. “I love it!” she said.

  “Do you have business cards?” I asked, and before I could finish the question, she pushed a few into my palm.

  “We should find a way to work together,” Chloe said. “Let’s talk next week.”

  Serena beamed. “I would love that. I couldn’t wait to meet you both. And your love story is just…” She clasped her hands at her chest and swooned on our behalf. Which I had to admit, was a little weird. “It’s so sweet.”

 
She quickly bounced on, meeting the next person behind us, and Chloe and I set our things down at one of the tables.

  The first forty minutes or so of the party went smoothly. We met several business owners in our state. Chloe and I danced and drank champagne. We talked with the owner of the Boston newspaper about potentially doing a story about The Dump Truck and Beefcakes. My pockets were filled with business cards—everyone from publishers to journalists to jewelry makers.

  “I’m going to use the restroom,” Chloe whispered to me, sliding her arm away from mine.

  “I’ll get us another drink. Champagne?”

  She scrunched her nose. “I’ll do a Paloma instead.” She disappeared through the crowd as I made my way over to the bar.

  It had cleared out a bit and I had to admit, the nice thing about events like this was that it was planned so well with several bars spaced throughout, that you never had to wait too long for what you wanted—whether that was another shrimp cocktail or a glass of champagne.

  “What can I get you, sir?” A man in a tuxedo asked from behind the bar.

  “An IPA and a Paloma, please.”

  “Don’t forget the twist of lime,” a voice said behind me.

  I recognized it immediately, and jealousy seared through me. Dan.

  Why was I jealous of this asshole? Why the hell did he rub me in such a wrong way?

  A voice rang in the back of my head: Because she’s not over him.

  I pushed that nagging thought from my mind, but couldn’t ignore it entirely.

  I took a deep breath. “She didn’t specify that she wanted a twist of lime.”

  Dan chuckled, his lip curling back. “She never had to with me.”

  My jaw ticked. “Funny. I guess she also never specified monogamy, did she?”

  His easy smile hardened, turning brittle. I could have tapped it with a mallet and watched it shatter into a thousand pieces.

  The bartender cleared his throat. “With the twist or not?” he asked.

  “Not,” I snapped. If she had wanted a twist, she would have asked for it, I reasoned with myself.

  Dan shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t tell you.”

  I was annoyed at how good-looking Dan was. I’d always thought he was a little dull, but tonight, seeing him in his clean-cut suit, with his blindingly white, straight teeth, I could picture him and Chloe together at an event like this. Together. They fit.

  And that pissed me off more than I cared to admit.

  He seemed to notice my rigid posture and his lips curved knowingly. Fuck. Why was I letting him get to me?

  “What can I get for you, sir?” the bartender asked.

  “A kombucha and a glass of grüner veltliner.” He paused, then leaned into me. “You see, it’s customary for you to put your date’s order before your own.”

  Possessiveness reached its ugly hand inside my body and gripped my heart. And by the gleam in his eyes, he seemed to be fully aware at how much he was affecting me.

  “Is it true that dentists have the highest suicide rate?”

  His jaw flexed. “I don’t know. But at least we don’t get diabetes and our teeth definitely won’t rot out of our heads like, oh, I don’t know, someone who bakes sweets for a living.”

  I smiled because it illustrated just how little he knew about our business and how at Beefcakes, we made healthy, sugar-free baked goods.

  “Ah! Here you are!” Chloe said, sliding in beside me. “Man, the line to pee was so long because people kept hogging the mirror to reapply their—” her words cut short and I felt the sharp intake of breath as she noticed her ex. “Dan. What are you doing here?”

  “The same thing you are. Networking. Though, in my case, it’s a little less desperate because I actually have an established business.”

  “There is nothing about this woman that is desperate,” I said quietly, looking directly at Chloe. And I meant every word.

  She blinked slowly, her freshly glossed lips splitting as she gasped a short breath.

  “I wasn’t talking about Chloe,” Dan snapped.

  I laughed, shaking my head at his failed attempt to get under my skin. There were a lot of ways to do so successfully, but questioning my business prowess? Yeah, not so much. “Sure, man. Whatever you need to say to convince yourself that you’re not the idiot who lost his chance with the world’s most incredible woman.” I squeezed her hand. “She’s a great partner… in every way possible.”

  Chloe’s smile faded as a woman wearing a long, flowing, empire-wasted pink dress floated over to stand beside Dan. She looked like she belonged at a Renaissance Faire. She even had a thing of flowers set on top of her wavy hair like a tiara.

  Chloe’s face paled, and the woman—whose name I still didn’t know—seemed equally startled to see Chloe and me there talking with her boyfriend. “Chloe,” she said and her cheeks went immediately pink.

  Dan slipped an arm around her waist, tugging her into his body. “Raina, I don’t know that you’ve officially met my ex, Chloe. And this is her business partner, Liam.”

  “Well, more than just business,” Chloe’s bold statement caught me off guard. But, now, she lifted on her toes and pressed her breasts into my side, kissing my cheek. Warring emotions raged in my chest—affection and desire and… unease. Distaste. Because it seemed like she was only doing this as a performance for Dan and Raina. She was using me.

  I gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand, hoping she would relax a little. As soon as we got our drinks, we could get the hell away from these two. It was a big ballroom and we didn’t have to see them again tonight at all if we didn’t want to.

  “Dan,” Raina whispered, shooting him a chagrined scowl. “This is… I…” she stuttered. “I’m so sorry,” she said, looking Chloe directly in the eyes.

  Chloe’s brows jumped. “For what exactly? For stealing my fiancé or for flaunting your relationship with him at a networking event that I also happened to be at?”

  “Uh…” Raina looked helplessly from Dan to me. I almost laughed at her pleading eyes. Yeah, you’re not going to get any help here, lady.

  “A grüner veltliner for you, sir,” the bartender said, saving us all. “And kombucha for you, ma’am.” He slid the two drinks across the table toward Dan.

  “Kombucha?” Chloe asked. “They’re serving kombucha here?”

  “It’s actually my product,” Raina said. “I provided free cases for them to include on the menu.” Then, she elbowed Dan. “You said you were going to drink it with me all night.”

  Dan winced and sipped his wine. “Right, right. Well, I just thought I’d take a break… have a palate cleanser.”

  “It’s very good for your gut health,” she said. I wasn’t sure if she was excited and animated over her product or for the change of direction in the conversation. “Here, try some.” She waved at the bartender for two more as he handed us our drinks.

  “Oh, that’s okay,” I said. “We’ve got our drinks.”

  “No, no, just a couple samples! You’ll love it, I promise.”

  Chloe and I shared a look and I nearly burst out laughing right there.

  Before we could object, two small pours of kombucha were in front of us and we had them to our lips, sipping. It was… oh God. It was terrible. It tasted citrusy and also strangely like yogurt? With a snot-like texture thrown in for good measure.

  I managed to swallow and plaster a smile on my face. “Good, right?” she grinned.

  “Mmmmm.” I set the glass down, worried that the shrimp cocktail I had earlier might race up my esophagus. “That’s… unique.”

  “Maybe we can talk sometime. You could carry it at Beefcakes!”

  I slid a glance to Chloe, who was still glaring at Dan. Dan’s eyes interestingly were fastened onto Chloe’s hand that was stroking my bicep.

  “Uh… sure. I don’t think it’s a good fit for our customers, though—”

  She thrusted her business card into my hand, grinning. “Your customers are
healthy! This is healthy! We’ll talk.” Raina and Dan were gathering their drinks and backing away from the bar.

  Chloe shoved her barely touched kombucha to the side and grabbed her Paloma, taking a swig. “Mmmm.”

  “Good, right?”

  “Almost perfect. Just needs a twist of lime.” My stomach dropped to my feet as she popped on her toes, reaching for a lime wedge in a bowl on the bar.

  From over his shoulder, I saw Dan giving me a triumphant grin that I wanted to pop right off his face with my fist.

  I closed my eyes. It means nothing. Just because I didn’t know she likes her drink with a twist proved nothing. I’d never been a jealous person before… so what the hell was it about this Dan/Chloe situation that was getting to me so much?

  Chloe grabbed Raina’s business card out of my hand and tore it into a dozen little pieces, dropping it into the garbage can beside the bar.

  “You cannot do business with her.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Kombucha. What the fuck even is that? I doubt she even has a website yet.”

  “Probably not,” I said, searching for anything to change the conversation.

  Chloe spun to face me, poking my chest with her finger. “I mean it. You can’t call her or reach out or even stock one or two bottles—”

  But her attention wasn’t on me. Her gaze was focused over my shoulder, where I knew her ex and his kombucha girl were lingering, and I wondered if I was kidding myself imagining that I could ever really be Chloe’s person.

  31

  Chloe

  I was grateful for the large paloma in my hand. Nothing could have prepared me for running into Dan tonight. Sure, I guess he was an entrepreneur of sorts. But typically speaking, I didn’t see many doctors and dentists with private practices here at the event. A few acupuncturists, sure. A chiropractor, yes.

  It made much more sense after she who shall not be named forced her gut-healthy booger juice on us. He was there for her. He was there to support her business. He was nurturing her, helping her grow and thrive, using his connections to get them into posh events… but with me, all he ever did was ask me to have dinner on the table by seven.