Sugar Baby Sweetie Pie

by Sara Hazel

  Copyright Notice

  Sugar Baby Sweetie Pie

  A Sugar & Extra Spice Curvy Romance

  by

  Sara Hazel

  Copyright 2020 Sara Hazel

  Cover designed by Sara Hazel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced

  in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Sara Hazel

  Visit my website at https://www.sarahazel.com

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  Love,

  Sara

  Chapter One

  Juliann

  *

  “Let’s go, Jules. You don’t want to miss the award ceremony,” Kelsey says, as she tugs at my arm.

  I’m standing in front of the mirror, a spot I’ve been in for at least twenty minutes, as I just stare at the way my too tight red dress clings to me. The dress was Kelsey’s idea, but I’m not so sure. The neckline plunges way more than my granny would approve of if she were alive today. In fact, seeing this dress would probably have killed her. It stops way too high above my knees.

  “Are you sure this is okay?” I whisper.

  Kelsey pulls my arm harder and nearly knocks me over.

  “Yes, I’m sure. You look so pretty. And quite alluring as well, which is what I was going for.”

  “I don’t want to be alluring!” I exclaim. “I want to be me.”

  “There is no baggy dress for you tonight, sweetie pie. Come on.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I reply sweetly.

  Sweetie pie has been my nickname since I was two years old, and I’ve never liked it. I’ve always felt like I had to break free of it in some way. The name makes me feel like I have to learn to shout a little just to be heard. Otherwise, I open my mouth and everyone just says “Oh, that’s just sweetie pie. Isn’t she cute? Pay no attention to her.” Kelsey learned it from my mother. I wasn’t about to tell her.

  “It fits you, sweetie pie, so I’m not gonna stop using it. Ever.”

  I sigh as I allow Kelsey to drag me out of her room and out the front door of her apartment — an apartment I’d just moved out of two weeks ago, because Kelsey is moving into an artist co-op soon and I couldn’t face the thought of getting another roommate. Trying to make a new friend right now when I’m worried about starting my career just seemed like too much extra stress.

  We slide into our rideshare, and Kelsey grabs my arm again. “Oh my God, Jules. I am beyond excited for you. You’re totally gonna win. The essay you wrote was incredible. And the beignets? So delicious. Like a nuclear bomb of taste going off in my mouth.”

  “Um, thanks,” I reply.

  We’re on our way to the Chicago restaurant industry awards. This year they added a new category — Rising Star. The website for contest entries said the winner will be a recent culinary school graduate with exceptional talent. The prize? Famed pastry chef Zack Elliot of Kitty Cat Strut will mentor the newcomer for an entire year. It’s his way of giving back to the community. At least that’s what the website said.

  Kelsey begins an excited chant of “You’re so gonna win.” I’m sure it’s meant as an effort to make me feel good, but right now I really need Kelsey to come back down to reality.

  “I’m not gonna win, Kels. But it’s nice to be a finalist. That will look good on my resume, anyway.”

  “Cut that defeatist attitude out right now, girl,” Kelsey growls.

  “I’m not being defeatist. I’m just realistic. Besides, I don’t want to get on that stage while wearing this dress.”

  “Zack Elliot is gonna love this dress. That was the whole point. And after you win, make sure to give him your sweetest southern thank you. It will melt his heart, and you’ll be going back to his place tonight to make some babies!”

  “You’re so gross,” I reply. “But I’ll miss you, anyway.”

  “You won’t have time to miss me. You’ll be making love on Zack’s countertop.”

  This has been her whole thing from the beginning of this contest. She thinks that Zack Elliot is going to fall instantly in love with me and we’ll live happily ever after while baking cakes and making babies.

  Nice enough thought, Kels. But it’s guaranteed not to happen.

  *

  Our car pulls up at the Drake hotel where the awards are being held this year. A red carpet has been laid out and paparazzi are taking pictures of industry veterans and rising stars alike. I am hoping I can slip in through a side door or something. But no such luck.

  “Ohhh, paparazzi!” Exclaims Kelsey. “I’ve always wanted to walk the red carpet. And now thanks to you, I can.”

  Kelsey pulls me out of the car and drags me over to the red carpet. Thanks to the awards website containing my bio and picture, the reporters all know who I am, and they swarm us instantly. Someone even pulls Kelsey off my arm so they can gain the access they need to shove a microphone in my face.

  “Juliann, how does it feel to be nominated for the rising star award?” is the question shouted at me from multiple directions.

  “It’s a great honor,” I reply.

  “Oh, my God! Your accent is amazing. Where are you from?” A petite brunette asks.

  “Ville Platte, Louisiana,” I answer.

  “Well, just keep talking, because you’re just the sweetest thing!”

  All I have to do is open my mouth and Northerners go crazy. It doesn’t matter what I say. But while they fawn over it one minute, they secretly think you must be a stupid and slow Southerner in the next. If I didn’t love Chicago so much, I’d run back to Louisiana to be with people who sound like me, just so I don’t have to be judged for it.

  I can think of nothing more to say to the reporters all around me, so I politely nod, and say “Thank you, but I think I’d better get inside now.”

  The sea of paparazzi miraculously parts to let me through, and I search for Kelsey who is now nowhere in sight. My heart starts to feel as if it’s falling out of my chest and a warm prickly feeling is moving across my skin. My eyes water. I’m going to have a panic attack and die in front of the Drake.

  And to make matters worse, I turn around and bump right into a very hard and currently blurry man.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  He’s very tall, and my face comes up to about his chest.

  His hands rest on my waist. What is he doing?

  “Watch where you’re going next time,” he says. But there’s no malice in his voice. It’s just deep and calm.

  “Well, you don’t have to be mean about it,” I find myself replying. It’s like I’m not even thinking about what I’m saying anymore. It just flew out of me before I could stop myself.

  He gently pushes me away. I rub my eyes and look up at him. As everything becomes clearer, I realize who I’ve bumped into. Zack freaking Elliot. Because, of course, I did.

  I slam my hand across my mouth. “Oh my God. It’s you. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to come off so mean like that.”

  Zack places a finger under my chin and tilts my face up towards his. He looks down at me with a grin.
<
br />   “I’m very good with accents,” he says. “Let me guess where yours is from. Louisiana.”

  “Oh, it’s a good thing I don’t have an accent then,” I say softly.

  “Are you lost, sweetie?” He asks. “I could take you inside if you like. And then I can pinpoint the exact location of the state that sweet voice is from.”

  I’ve heard so many stories about Zack Elliot when I was in culinary school. It’s claimed that he once slept with all the girls in the Art Institute’s entire graduating class. This is what I heard the year before I graduated, and I hate to say it — but it made me fantasize a teensy bit in the shower one night. I kept wondering what it might be like if Zack Elliot chose me as his plaything, even for just one night.

  Now he’s in front of me, and I think — flirting with me — which just makes my heart slam harder against my chest, and feel as if it’s whirling around a stripper pole or something.

  He also seems like a nice guy, which is totally not what I heard from the guys in my class.

  I just stare at him all frozen and wide-eyed. My social anxiety feels as if it has gone higher than ever. My mouth is so dry that I might dunk my face in the punch bowl — especially if it’s spiked.

  “Well, I guess I’d better get going inside then. It was very nice to meet you,” he says. “Come say hi to me later,” he adds.

  Oh my God, this man doesn’t miss a beat. He’s in total flirt mode now and luring me in. Maybe Kelsey was right. By the end of tonight, I could be making babies on Zack’s countertop. Gross. I’m not that kind of girl. But he’s making me feel like I could be.

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll think about saying hi later,” I reply. There I go again. Saying things on autopilot. I don’t even know where this stuff is coming from, but it sounds as if I’m trying to flirt back in my own bizarre way.

  “You’re a bit strange, and you might even be a little mean. But I like you,” he says as he walks away. I just stand there and watch him go inside.

  I wonder if Zack knows who I am. The reporters all did. But Zack Elliot has no time to read the bios of unknown girls on the awards website. Supposedly, he tried the beignets I had to bring to the awards office once it was announced that I was a semi-finalist. The beignets pushed me over the edge and made me a finalist. So if Zack did actually try them, I guess I can breathe a sigh of relief — he already likes my cooking.

  *

  I go inside and a man in a tuxedo ushers me into the ballroom where I’m brought to my table. Thankfully, Kelsey is already there, and she has gotten a head start on the open bar. Several empty champagne flutes are set before her. A full one waits for me as I take my seat. At my table are the two girls I’m competing with for the rising star award. Neither has brought a friend to fill the empty seats beside them. Amanda Baskin, a petite blond, is glued to her phone. She was in most of my classes at culinary school, but we never said a word to each other. I tried once, but she dismissed me immediately, so I never tried again.

  The other girl — Sara Ford — is thick, curvy, and shy like me. But I have talked to Sara a few times in the past, and she’s a sweet girl.

  “Hey, Sara,” I say as I raise my champagne flute to my mouth.

  “Hey,” she says back softly. “It’s good to see you again. Congratulations, Juliann.”

  “Congratulations to both of us,” I say before guzzling my champagne. My encounter with Zack has left me feeling extremely nervous, not to mention the fact that my panties feel more than a little wet. I’m going to need all the champagne to get through this.

  “Where were you?” Kelsey asks as she shakes my arm. “I was looking all over for you.”

  “Zack Elliot,” I mutter without any further explanation.

  “Zack Elliot? You saw him and talked to him? Oh my God, Jules! Yes!” Kelsey’s shaking of me makes the whole table move now.

  “Watch it!” Amanda exclaims. “If you spill anything on my dress, even water, I will dump salad dressing on your head. Understand?”

  “We understand,” I reply for both Kelsey and I.

  “Tell me about Zack!” Kelsey shouts at a volume I’m sure the entire ballroom heard.

  “Shhh,” I reply. “Not now, Kels. And maybe lay off the champagne.”

  “It’s free. I’m gonna go get another one. You want one, sweetie pie?”

  “Stop it, Kels.”

  “Your friend is drunk,” says Amanda. “You might want to take care of her. As far as Zack Elliot goes, he flirted with me outside for ten minutes. He even kissed my cheek.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  Amanda just gives off a sigh of disgust and goes back to focusing on her phone.

  “My TikTok just hit a hundred thousand followers. It’s gonna go so high when I post the video of me and Zack later.”

  Maybe she’s lying. Maybe not. But either way, I wish I could get up and knock her skinny butt off her chair. I shouldn’t put up with her meanness. But of course, I can do nothing but just take it. That’s how I’ve always been.

  “Yeah, Kels, let’s go get that champagne…”

  Kelsey and I visit the bar, and of course — Zack is there.

  And the only open spot at the bar is the one right next to him. I stand there and wait for the bartender to get to me. When she finally does, I have to shout my order for her over the sound of the crowd.

  Zack turns around and shows off his big charming grin. “So, you’ve come to say hello, I see.”

  “I came to get a drink.”

  “Oh my god, Zack Elliot! You’re amazing,” Kelsey gushes.

  “Thank you,” he replies to her.

  I hand Kelsey her champagne, and instead of taking mine back to the table, I just drink it all down in one gulp right in front of Zack.

  “Slow down, sweetie,” he says.

  “I’m nervous,” I reply.

  He nods. “Yeah, Juliann Addison, right? Those beignets were fantastic. Even if you don’t win tonight, you should come on by the restaurant sometime and ask for me. I’ll show you a few things.”

  He knows who I am. Um, how is this my life right now?

  “That sounds great,” I say in my most monotone voice. I don’t want to sound excited around him at all. Especially now that I know he flirted with Amanda. He’s just looking to get laid tonight, and then make sure he’s got his complete week of women lined up for him.

  “You’re from Baton Rouge, right? I figured it out,” he says as he places his hand on my upper back. Not on the dress, but on my bare skin. Apparently Zack didn’t get the memo that he needs to ask before doing something like this. But the earlier memory of his hands on my waist sends a shiver down my spine. “Are you okay?” He asks.

  “Yeah, it’s just — maybe you shouldn’t touch me,” I reply. Now, I don’t mean it because I don’t want him to touch me. I probably should be mad that he did it without my permission, but I kinda can’t help but want his hands on me. I want his hands all over me. And that’s a big no in my life right now.

  Zack removes his offending hand. “Well, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” he says.

  “Oh, you know exactly what came over you,” I fire back. What the hell is wrong with me?

  Zack turns back around, and I order two more glasses of champagne. This is going to be a long night.

  Zack

  *

  I arrive at the Drake early, and even though I’m one of the first guests to arrive, I am immediately accosted by a pretty, yet very vapid looking girl I recognize as one of the rising star nominees.

  “Oh my God! Zack Elliot! I can’t wait to win the mentorship with you and spend the whole year together,” she exclaims.

  “Well, that’s quite a bit of confidence you have there. I like that. Confidence will get you far in this industry, so never lose it, alright?”

  “Never,” she replies as she whips out her phone. “Can we do a video for my Tiktok page?”

  I check my watch. It’s six-thirty, and I was hoping to grab a drink
and spend some time with my thoughts. But I’m a nice guy, especially to the new people just getting into the industry. They’re going to have it rough enough, so I don’t want to add to their stress by being an asshole.

  “Sure, we’ll make a video together,” I reply.

  The girl — I don’t remember her name, because I only paid close attention to my favorite of the three competitors — wraps her arm around me and aims the phone at us. She bounces up and down as she records.

  “Oh my God, everyone. I’m here with Zack Elliot, the famous chef of Chicago’s Kitty Cat Strut.” She makes a kissy face at the camera that I find annoying, but I keep it to myself. Again, I’m a nice guy, when I want to be. “We look so cute together, don’t you agree? Make sure to hit that like button, and if you’re not a subscriber yet, you’re a loser! Byeeee!” She squeals her ending.

  “Alright, well, nice to meet you. Have fun tonight, ok?” I say.

  She puts her phone away. “You don’t know who I am? Amanda Baskin?”

  “You’re one of the rising star nominees for tonight. Of course, I know who you are.”

  “And what did you think of my chocolate peanut butter pockets?”

  “They were great, Amanda. Really great. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get inside.”

  She doesn’t say another word as I walk away. Not a thank you or anything else. Which is fine by me, because I just needed to get away from her and try to relax.

  I go inside and order a Manhattan. At around seven-thirty I go back outside to catch some fresh air before the show starts, and that’s when I bump into her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers in a distinctly southern accent.

  I can’t stop myself from placing my hands on her curvaceous waist. I figure she’ll forgive me for it, since she did bump into me, after all.

  “Watch where you’re going next time,” I say in a non-threatening tone.

  “Well, you don’t have to be mean about it,” she says.