Torrid Rush: A Single Dad Romance (Bad Boy Studs Book 3)

by Scarlett Avery

  “You said you connected when you attended a party.”

  “It was a party. Just not one I was invited to. My best friend Carolina and I crashed an invitation-only party at the Waldorf when we were in New York. The rest is history.”

  “It's not at all how you had described it.”

  She shrugs. “So I embellished a bit.”

  You embellished a lot.

  “Well, I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “You say that because you haven't met a guy who is sex on legs. When you do, your body will have such a visceral reaction, you won’t be able to hold back.”

  I think I met one of those yesterday.

  Holt could fuck the comfort out of me, for sure.

  Just like that, I’m turned on, flashing back to his parting words.

  My cheeks burn from my flushed state.

  “What?” Ainsley frowns.

  “Nothing.” I bite off a smile.

  It's best not to go there with her. I'll never hear the end of it.

  CHAPTER 8

  Everly

  Mondays are always the busiest. It’s the day clients flock in to place their special requests. Although, it’s not as busy on walk-ins until much later in the day, pretty much every client who drops by to order their donuts buys a few treats for the road. Today it’s only Virginia, Callum and I holding the fort. The rest of the gang comes in from Friday to Sunday—our craziest days.

  Callum is working the phone and on other guru marketing strategies. The man is the undisputed king of follow-ups. He has such a suave approach. People don't even realize he’s up-selling them. That's how he helped me secure my most impressive catering gig yet.

  Since I’m tied up in consultations most of the day, I take care of the shop while Virginia is my backup in the kitchen. When things get crazy, I holler and she comes running.

  “Virginia, can you please make sure we have enough Grand Marnier, Chambord, Baileys and Kahlúa,” I say as I enter the kitchen.

  “You just got an order for drunken chocolate donuts?” she asks, lifting her brown eyes at me.

  “Whipped cream and liqueur glaze donuts? What's there not to love?”

  “My motto!” she laughs.

  “Mine too. And it's not just an order, it's a big order. Four dozen donuts for the bride-to-be and eleven of her partners in crime. It's for a bachelorette party.”

  “Ah, well, there's nothing like boozy donuts to kick things up a notch or two,” she grins.

  “I agree. Luckily, they want our boozy donuts,” I return her wide grin.

  She wipes her hands on her apron. “Let me go check.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her.

  Special requests are what make my little donut shop edgier than others in LA. Many of my competitors prefer to stick to the basics. And let's face it, it's not like you can walk into a Krispy Kreme shop and ask for something custom or glitter sprinkle. They don't go there. We even do three, six and twelve-tiered donut towers for weddings—the only way for couples to flaunt their unique style. Marion is always on hand to make wedding cake toppers for couples who still want to add a traditional touch on their big day. Originality is why Shane Dennison and Riley Carrington have been photographed numerous times leaving the shop with our signature yellow dome-shaped boxes.

  “I just got off the phone with Ryan Hammerstein,” Callum says, walking out of the office. “He just wanted to make sure we’re ready for Wednesday.”

  “There's nothing on the agenda on Wednesday other than making donuts until our eyes turn purple,” I tell him. “The shop will be closed and the entire team is coming in. We've even hired additional backup and there's very little chance I’ll get a decent night’s sleep until this big event is behind us. So yes, we’re as ready as can be.”

  “Don't worry, I'll be stressing out as much as you will. But think about it, you’re going to make history on Wednesday.”

  Callum, always the masterful publicist.

  “I’m excited. Mostly. It's just a lot to take in. We've never done anything on this scale before.”

  “You’ve got this,” he says, nudging his shoulder against mine.

  I laugh.

  Since Callum is fairly tall, he has to bend his knees so our shoulders are at the same level, which makes this that much more amusing.

  “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “Any time. This is only the start for these types of events. Mark my words, you'll get many more.”

  “From your lips to God's ears. Business has been on fire and I want to keep it that way.”

  After a very rough start, this is a blessing.

  “And you will,” Callum assures me.

  “Maybe when we make our first million, we’ll splurge on state of the art industrial machines!”

  “When you make your first million. I’m just here for the ride,” he says.

  Well, I guess he already has way more than a million in the bank.

  He no longer makes it his badge of honor, but Callum works at my shop as a way of irking the hell out of his imperious and overbearing father. That’s his way of putting his foot down. That’s also the same reason he insisted Aunt Angelina and Ainsley keep quiet about his crucial involvement in the successful launch of their shoe company three years ago. Behind his cover-up of an over-educated trust fund baby, Callum James Bickford-Smith is a masterful marketer and a killer businessman. To this day, his dad, Blaize Anders Bickford-Smith, remains clueless about his son’s abilities. What a shame.

  “Callum—”

  The front door swings open and a guy carrying a huge bouquet walks in and up to the counter.

  He places the flowers in front of me with a smile. “Good morning. Delivery for an Everly.” My eyes widen as Callum steps next to me.

  “That’s me.”

  “These are for you,” the delivery guy says.

  “For me?” I ask. I even point at my chest.

  “Yes,” he says, pushing the box containing the flowers towards me.

  I stare at him in disbelief. “Wow.”

  “If you could sign here, please.” The delivery guy hands me an electronic device.

  “Who are they from?” I ask as I scribble my signature.

  “Sorry, madam, this is my twenty-second delivery since I started my shift. I just deliver the stuff,” he tells me.

  I feel silly for asking the question, but this is the first time I’ve received flowers. A girl is entitled to be excited. And curious.

  “Thank you,” I say, a little embarrassed.

  “Have a good one,” the delivery guy tucks his electronic device under his armpit and walks out of the shop.

  “You too,” I say over his shoulder.

  Callum arches his brows at me. “Someone really liked their donuts.”

  “Don't they all,” I joke.

  “Of course they do, but it takes a certain level of fondness to take this next step. That’s a huge bouquet,” he says.

  I nod in agreement.

  “Maybe Ryan Hammerstein is buttering me up for Wednesday,” I say. “He’s making sure we don’t drop the ball and we dazzle his guests.”

  “Nah. He sounded pretty confident on the phone. Maybe it’s from Mrs. Dillard,” Callum suggests. “An extra, ‘I’m sorry’.”

  “Yeah,” I shake my finger at him.

  “If you read the card, you’ll get your answer,” Virginia says behind us.

  Her voice startles us.

  Callum and I turn around and narrow our eyes at her.

  “Smart ass!” we say in unison.

  We both laugh.

  “Just being helpful. At this rate you two will be debating all morning,” she grins wickedly as she approaches us. “Oh, and yes, we’re fully stocked up on liqueur,” she adds.

  “Thanks for checking.”

  “No problem.” Virginia hurriedly scurries to my side. “Aren't you dying to find out who sent those?”

  I am.

  I grab the little white envelope, rip
it open and pull out a small card from it.

  Fanny Pack Queen,

  Since you’re a baker, I was trying to come up with a more original gift, but time isn’t on my side since I’m off to New York today. Thank you again for saving the day. My daughter loved every bite of her sprinkled donuts. Please accept this small token of my gratitude.

  Your flamboyant hair color really caught my eye. I still don’t know how to describe it, but I hope these flowers will tell you how much I think it suits you.

  Soon to be a returning customer,

  Holt

  Reminder: Challenge accepted!

  Ha!

  My mouth drops open.

  Holt sent me flowers?

  Holt, aka Hot Guy, aka Hot Dad, was thinking of me?

  Holt remembers his parting words?

  Oh. My. God! Holt was actually flirting.

  Lord, help me. This guy is too perfect.

  “Who are they from?” Virginia asks.

  Clearly, she’s oblivious to my internal freakout moment. I find my composure and answer her. “Holt. The customer who bought Mrs. Dillard’s donuts.”

  “Aww, how sweet,” she says. “He's hot and he's a gentleman, too. What a catch.”

  I agree.

  “You caught his attention,” Virginia says.

  “She’s right, Everly,” Callum echoes.

  “It's nothing,” I dismiss. “He’s just another customer I helped out. I made his daughter happy. That's it!”

  I really can't believe he did this.

  “I know you kept brushing it off when I brought it up on Friday when we were closing, but it didn't go unnoticed how cozy that conversation between the two of you was.” Callum won’t let it go.

  “And I told you you’re making a lot out of nothing.” I stick to my guns.

  I glance up at him and see his unconvinced expression.

  “You are,” I insist.

  “Bullshit,” he rebuts. “I'll say this about your guy, he's persistent.”

  I furrow my eyebrows.

  “First off, he's not my guy.” I know my face is beet red from Callum’s insinuation and because I like how it sounds. “Second off, what do you mean by he's persistent?”

  “Your guy dropped by the shop on Saturday looking for you.”

  “He did?” Virginia and I ask in unison.

  “Yup. I told him it was your day off and you’d be back on Sunday. He came back yesterday with his daughter in tow, but I had to burst his bubble again.”

  “Wait. What? You mean, he was here and it’s only now you tell me?”

  “I thought he’s just another customer?” he grins. “What’s the big deal?”

  Callum is enjoying himself immensely at my expense.

  “Oh, stop it,” I swat his arm. “Why didn't you say anything?”

  “I didn’t tell you because I thought you would be in yesterday, and this morning has been so busy it slipped my mind.”

  “Yeah, sorry about yesterday again.”

  “Don't be. It's my fault. I'm partially responsible for your temporary inability to walk,” he laughs.

  “I still hate you,” I volley.

  “Oh, how quickly she changes her tune. I thought you loved your trapeze lesson.”

  “Yeah, that’s before I was able to understand what Oliver meant by, ‘Things might be a little sore tomorrow’.”

  A little?

  More like a whole lot.

  Ainsley was on the waiting list for a later appointment for a mani-pedi. When her beautician called and told her two clients had canceled, she enlisted me as a replacement. Her treat. After spending four luxurious hours of pampering—which included a facial, a back massage and lounging—we headed back to her place for the rest of the afternoon. After dinner and a generous amount of wine, I decided to lie down on her couch for a few minutes. Well, I passed out. When I tried to get up to go back to my place, I couldn’t move. I ended up spending all of Sunday at my cousin’s. Callum had to give up his day off to cover for me. It took me three steam sessions before my muscles were willing to cooperate again. Thank God Ainsley has a spa-like bathroom in her sprawling Bel Air home.

  “Anyway, he was here,” Callum says.

  “I can’t believe it was my day off,” Virginia frowns.

  “This is what I had to deal with all weekend long.” Callum shakes a parent-like finger at Virginia.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Just like the first time he was here, he created quite the commotion.”

  “Translation, please,” I demand.

  “The staff couldn't stop talking about, and I quote, ‘the very hot dad, his adorable little girl and his super cute dog’. After an hour of that crap, I had to put my foot down and forbid anyone from mentioning him again. It was like working with hens in heat.”

  I fight off a smile.

  I don’t blame them.

  “I told him to come back because I suspected he wanted to deliver his message in person. I was right. Case in point,” Callum’s eyes shift to the flowers. I follow his gaze, my cheeks instantly burning up again. The thought of Holt going through all that trouble is endearing.

  “I’m sure he’ll drop by today again. He’s determined,” Callum says.

  I shake my head. “He’s out of town.”

  “Too bad,” Virginia says.

  “Indeed. Pity,” Callum mocks.

  I’m about to throw a stinky repartee his way, when the front door swings open again. My cousin Skylar strolls in, looking as chic as ever in a puffy white shirt, a red midi-skirt that hits her below the calf and a pair of matching to-die-for red high heels. Her brown hair is piled up in a messy topknot bun and barely-there make-up only add to the effortless look.

  For God’s sake.

  It’s only nine-thirty in the morning and she looks like she just stepped off the runway. I, on the other hand, am wearing skinny jeans, a pair of cute ballerinas from Ainsley’s latest collection, and a t-shirt that reads, ‘STRAIGHT OUT Of Everly’s Donut Shop’. Yup, Callum’s idea. It’s a miracle I’m not covered in flour and sugar.

  Skylar is the best-dressed doctor I know. I keep promising myself I’ll raid her closet. I still haven’t gotten around to it. She has a flawless style. There’s a height difference between us, but we’re both quite toned. In Skylar’s case, it’s genetic. Just like her cousin Ainsley, she has a slim and slender model body type. I’m more on the shorter side. Given what I do for a living, my religious exercise routine is my savior. What can I say? I love sugar.

  “Hello, Sugar Glaze Shack,” Skylar says as she struts toward the counter.

  “We’re closed,” Callum tells her.

  “Hey, I’m family,” Skylar argues.

  “Family we never see,” he says.

  “I’m a busy doctor. And I do my part by ordering donuts by the dozen as often as I can,” she says in an almost indignant tone.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Callum says.

  “She does,” I defend.

  Just like Ainsley and Callum, Skylar has been incredibly supportive since I took over this bakery.

  “Thank you, coz,” Skylar’s hazel green eyes twinkle with complicity.

  “Always, coz,” I respond with as much connivance.

  “To prove my point, I’ll order three dozen donuts for a meeting with my peers at the University Sports Medicine. We’re getting together over lunch on Thursday. Just give me a variety, hon.” She turns to Callum. “There.”

  “See, Callum. Good customer,” I tease as I type her order on the iPad.

  He shakes his head.

  “Thank you, Everly.” She takes a seat on one of the stools in front of the counter reserved for coffee orders. “It’s good to see that not everyone is grouchy this morning,” she rolls her eyes at her cousin. “In any case, how’s Monday treating you so far?” Skylar moves her attention back to me.

  “Crazy. Between special orders and closing the shop on Wednesday for this big event, I’m losing my mind,” I
blurt out. “Not that I’m complaining,” I quickly add. “What about you?”

  “Too many injured athletes, too little time. Thank God it’s my day off. Mom and I are going to visit her sister in San Diego. By the way, I’ll also have another dozen to go. Aunt Finley and Uncle Jerome love your donuts.”

  Skylar Grey Bickford-Smith followed in her father’s footsteps by becoming a sports doctor. Her elite roster of top professional players is jaw-dropping. Ainsley keeps pushing her to connect me with one of them, but Skylar keeps reminding her she has strict rules about those things.

  “What a gorgeous bouquet. Who did you impress, Everly?” Skylar asks.

  “They’re from a very hot client,” Virginia answers before I do.

  “They’re just a little thank you,” I dismiss.

  “She keeps insisting it’s nothing, but those flowers say otherwise,” Callum chimes in.

  “Although he’s been quite unpleasant with me since I walked into your shop, I have to side with Callum,” Skylar says.

  I knit my eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”

  “Purple and burgundy ranunculus.” She pauses. “Interesting.”

  When she remains silent, I prompt her. “Are you going to add to that?”

  “Hmph.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Same colors as your hair. Very observant,” she nods, her index finger tapping against her chin. “Your very hot client put a lot of thought into this. He did his research.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being thoughtful,” I counter.

  “No, there isn’t. But this is more than that. He’s sending you a message,” Skylar says.

  “Pfft! He is not.” I roll my eyes.

  “If your very hot client had sent you hyacinths, peonies or tulips, it would’ve been a different story. Even roses.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask. She’s piqued my curiosity.

  “As you know, I know a thing or two about flowers.” Her mom is a hard-core gardener. “While many flowers have multiple meanings, the ranunculus is the exception to the rule.”

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” I retort.