by Nina Singh
Tori glanced over her shoulder to see her friend’s lips quivering. Yep, she was definitely trying not to chuckle. How wonderful that Tori could be such a source of humor for two of the most important women in her life.
“I’ll get a towel,” Shawna declared, disappearing behind the swinging doors.
“Mr. Ramos, I’m so incredibly sorry,” Tori repeated for the third time as she grabbed more napkins and continued the useless dabbing. “It’s just, I didn’t hear you approach from behind me, and our appointment isn’t until much later. I didn’t see you come in at all.” Now she was just rambling.
He wrapped long fingers gently around her wrist. “Please stop. It’s clearly not working.”
He was certainly right about that. To make matters worse, there was the clear sound of snickering from more than one patron. Tori wanted to cry. Of all the ways she’d imagined their scheduled meeting would go, thoroughly humiliating herself had not been one of them.
“I’m so terr—”
He cut her off with an upheld palm. “Please. Don’t apologize again.”
She had to bite down on her lip to follow his direction.
“Besides,” he added, “it was clearly my fault.”
It was?
“I shouldn’t have startled you. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”
That was ridiculous. Only one of them was wearing a drenched and soggy shirt, for heaven’s sake. The person with black iced coffee dripping down his shirtfront should most definitely not be the one to apologize. Still, Tori was at a loss for words. For him to try to take responsibility for something that was so clearly her doing, floored her.
Aside from her father and brothers, she hadn’t really come across too many men who would do such a thing.
Shawna returned with a terry towel and tossed it to Tori. She held it out to him, but Clay didn’t bother taking it. He just gave her a nod. What was the use? He was right; any attempt to blot the liquid was beyond pointless.
“So much for getting some work done.” He cursed under his breath, adding some other muttered words she couldn’t quite make out. Words that might have included “day from hell.”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“Nothing. I’ve just been having a bit of a vexing one.”
“I’m so—” He cut her a sharp look and she stopped herself from apologizing yet again.
“Guess I have no choice but to head home and change. I’ll come back for our meeting at the hour we scheduled. Not that I can spare the time today of all days.”
“Don’t leave.”
He blinked at her then glanced down his chest. “Well, I can hardly sit here soaked to the skin.” He leaned closer to her, as if to share a secret. “It’s rather uncomfortable.”
“I live in the apartment upstairs. I’ll get you a shirt you can wear.”
He studied her from head to toe and she felt a warmth creep into her cheeks. “Uh, thanks for the offer, but I’m guessing we’re not the same size.”
“Not my shirt.”
His eyebrow shot up. “I don’t think your boyfriend would appreciate—”
This time she cut him off. “Oh no! It’s not like that.”
“It isn’t?”
Why had she suddenly lost the ability to communicate? The last thing Tori wanted was for Clay to think she was romantically attached to someone. And that was quite the acknowledgment, now that she thought about it.
Giving her head a shake, she tried to get her tongue to work properly. “I have two older brothers.” Three, if she counted Josh. “I’ve confiscated more than my share of large T-shirts to sleep in.”
Something flittered behind his eyes before he responded. “I see.”
“Plus, I’m due to do a load of laundry. I’ll just throw your shirt in, too, before any staining sets in. It will be washed and dry for you in a couple of hours.”
“Huh.” He seemed to consider it then nodded. “In that case, I think I will take you up on the offer.”
Tori turned on her heel to head upstairs and retrieve the shirt. To her surprise, Clay followed her.
She’d fully intended to run down with a T-shirt and wait for him to change in the restroom so she could run back up to launder his shirt. But he clearly intended to follow her.
Of course, that made more sense—for him to just change in her apartment. So why was her pulse quickening at the thought of him being up there? She would look foolish and possibly offend him if she asked him not to follow her.
Had she even bothered to put away the breakfast dishes this morning? Or last night’s dinner dishes, for that matter? Probably not. It had been a long, busy, and exhausting day at the bakery yesterday and she’d barely had the energy to kick her shoes off and scarf down a cheese croissant with a small salad. Though, in her defense, she hadn’t been expecting the Clayton Ramos to be paying her a house visit.
Oh dear. What if he thought her a slob after seeing the state of her apartment? What if she’d never picked up the shoes she’d kicked off after arriving home? Or discarded the leftover ice cream carton? What if—?
She cut off the thought. Those days of being judged by a man were well past now. And she had no intention of going back to them.
“I appreciate this,” Clay was saying behind her. “I’m already delayed on this next design, and phase two of the project is fast approaching.”
“It’s the least I can do. I feel terrible about what happened.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it, okay? It’s not the first time I’ve had a drink spilled on me.”
She stifled a chuckle. “Happens often, does it?”
“Let’s just say that the last time someone threw an icy drink in my direction, I most determinedly deserved it.”
Tori glanced back to find him flashing her a devilish grin that had her faltering a step.
By the time they walked through the storage room and up the back stairs to the front door of her second-floor apartment, Tori had somewhat convinced herself to calm down. Turning the unlocked knob, she stepped aside to let him enter ahead of her.
The calm faded as Clay immediately started to shrug out of his shirt.
He was clearly comfortable disrobing in ladies’ apartments. Not surprising, based on his reputation as an international player. Who was the latest girlfriend rumored to be again? Oh yeah, the Austrian model. He’d been snapped walking out of her apartment building in the wee hours of the morning just last month.
Clay handed her the shirt and, for a moment, she couldn’t move as she took it from his hand.
She was staring. Tori forced herself to look away. Not that it was easy. Sweet cupcakes, it was hard not to stare at him standing there in front of her all bare-chested. Golden-tanned. Chisel-muscled.
Stop it.
This was so not the time to be thinking along those lines.
“I’ll get you that T-shirt,” she managed to utter, hoping beyond hope she’d turned away before he’d noticed her ever-reddening cheeks.
Something told her it was wishful thinking.
* * *
How in the world had he ended up here?
Clay stood in the middle of the room, taking in his surroundings. Soft and rounded. Those two words described the space perfectly. A plush sofa sat in the center, atop an oval area rug that appeared to be hand woven. A large round mirror hung above an arched fireplace mantel. No sharp angles. His trained eye told him the circular theme had been deliberate. The occupant knew what she was doing when decorating this living space. These choices had been thought out and planned on a specific preference.
Victoria Preston did not like sharp edges.
He could hear her scrummaging around somewhere down the hallway. If someone had told him this morning that later that day he’d be waiting in Ms. Preston’s charming apartment while shirtless and
smelling of strong espresso...well, he wasn’t sure what he would have thought.
But perhaps a better question was how had he forgotten her pretty eyes. Or the contrast the color of those eyes made with her spiky auburn hair...
Steady there, fella.
He really didn’t need his thoughts to head in that direction. Tori, as everyone seemed to call her, was so not his usual type. She was too sweet, too unassuming. A woman like that didn’t need the likes of him marring their well-planned, idyllic lives.
That’s why it had made no sense earlier, the hollow feeling in his gut when he’d thought she’d be giving him a shirt that belonged to a boyfriend. Or the sense of relief he’d experienced once she’d corrected his assumption. For all he knew, she may very well have a significant other. Just one who didn’t own apparel she found adequate as sleepwear. Women like Tori weren’t often single. Not for long, anyway. Successful, smart, attractive—she could have her pick of men.
Really, it was none of his business at all.
He studied her apartment a little closer. It suited her. Tidy overall, aside from a couple of used dishes on the kitchen counter behind the living area. Not a speck of dust to be seen. Exactly the type of apartment he would have picked for her. Framed photographs littered almost every surface. Pictures filled with smiling faces against backdrops of scenic landscapes or charming rooms.
A raggedy, frayed and torn stuffed rabbit hugged a corner of the cream-colored couch. The thing had to be ancient.
Her place was cozy. Comfortable. Judging by the photos of her throughout the years, he could tell she’d live the kind of childhood he and his sisters had never experienced growing up.
A more recent photograph sitting on the circular marble coffee table in the center of the room caught his eye. Tori with another young woman who looked exactly like her. Only the hair was different. Whereas Tori wore hers short and spiky in an unconventional, rather modern style—he believed the kids would call it Goth—the other woman had wavier locks, a shade different.
She had a twin.
That explained what he’d seen on her phone screen earlier, what had led to the chain of events that had ultimately had him smelling like a coffee grinder.
Funny. He’d hired her more than once over the past three years—and they’d made plenty of small talk—but he didn’t recall her ever mentioning a sister, much less a twin. Or maybe she had and he just hadn’t been listening. How often in his life had he been told he was too distracted?
Always got your head in the clouds...always thinking you’re better than everyone else.
Tori walked back into the room at that moment, dispelling the cruel memory. One of all too many.
She handed him a soft cotton T-shirt. Gray with bold blue FDNY letters across the front.
“Thanks. I take it one of your brothers is a fireman? In New York City?”
“An EMT.”
“Ah.” He took the shirt and pulled it over his head. A little snug, but it fit well enough. It smelled of Tori, a blend of berries and citrus and something appealingly spicy. Cinnamon maybe. Or cloves.
“Your shirt is already in the washer,” she told him.
“Thanks.” He pointed to the framed photo he’d been staring at when she’d walked in. “You never mentioned a sister.”
She inhaled deeply. “That’s because I didn’t really know until recently that...” She looked down at her toes, grasping for words, it seemed. “It’s actually a really long story, and I should probably get back downstairs. Shawna is by herself with cakes in the oven and customers waiting. We’re a bit short-staffed until the afternoon.”
“Of course,” he responded immediately. “I didn’t mean to hold you up. Or to pry.” He felt compelled to add that last part because of the underlying tension in her tone.
“Oh, no. It’s not that.” She smiled and her whole face transformed, a brightness appearing behind her eyes. “I actually would like to tell you about it sometime. It’s kind of a crazy tale.”
“Then I’ll look forward to hearing it. Consider me intrigued.”
It surprised him just how much he meant that.
CHAPTER TWO
TORI FELT AN almost silly rush of relief once Clay put the T-shirt on. The man simply looked much too good topless. She gave herself a mental forehead thwack for acting like a schoolgirl with her first crush.
But was there really any harm in that? This was just some simple and innocent fantasizing on her part. Clay was ridiculously out of her league. He dated actresses and dancers, for heaven’s sake. Plus, she presently had no desire or inclination to pursue any kind of romantic relationship. Not after she’d tried so hard to move on after her last one. Her only one.
She was finally at a point where she wasn’t constantly looking over her shoulder or bracing herself for the next put-down.
Tori was perfectly content to live the single, unattached life for the moment. In fact, she’d never felt more at peace in years, not since that first date with Drew at the naïve and fresh age of seventeen.
Though it was hard to imagine turning a man like Clay down—if by some miracle he were even to ask her out.
And that was about as likely as bread rising without yeast.
Clay cleared his throat and she realized she’d drifted off into her own thoughts.
“I’ll get your shirt back to you as soon as it’s dry,” she said and turned toward the door.
To her surprise, he stopped her with a hand on her forearm. The casual touch sent a tingle of electricity straight through to her chest. “If we could just have another minute...”
She blinked up at him.
“Since we happen to be here alone, I thought we could just discuss the matter I came here to see you about,” he added.
Tori had to swallow the breath that had lodged in her throat. “Y-yes?”
“We were quite pleased with the cake you created for my sister Adria’s wedding a couple of years back.”
“Thank you.”
“My other sister, Gemma, will also be getting married in a few weeks.”
“I see. You want to discuss contracting for another cake then?”
“In a sense.”
What in the world did that mean? And why would he want to have the conversation here in her apartment?
“Um, what dates were you thinking? And how many tiers?”
“The truth is, I don’t really know,” he said. “Gemma will have to tell you herself.”
Clearly, Tori was missing something since it appeared his sister wouldn’t even be joining them for the conversation. “I don’t understand. You are here to hire me to make a cake, correct?”
“Sort of.”
An uneasy feeling began to rise in her chest. Maybe he didn’t want her at all for this gig. Maybe he was simply too nice and wanted to tell her she was being replaced face-to-face. “Sort of?”
“I wanted to meet with you because I’d like to speak to you about a job offer.”
Tori blinked, trying to process the information. It didn’t make any sense, so she stated the obvious. “I own my own business. I don’t really need a job.”
Clay pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I’m not really explaining this well. Maybe it would be clearer if I referred to it as a business opportunity.”
Nope. Not clearer at all. No matter what he called it, she couldn’t make sense of what was going on here.
“I think you might want to just come out and tell me exactly what this is all about, Clay.”
“Right.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “I’ll preface it by saying I know how busy you are, how in demand your services are... So I know this might be asking a lot.”
“Okay.”
“My sister is having a destination wedding,” he explained. “It’s to take place over the span of five days on a small
Bahamian island resort off the coast of Florida.”
That made no sense. How was Tori supposed to get a cake delivered across land and sea to some island in the Bahamas? “And...?”
“And I’d like you to come along.”
Tori gave her head a shake, as if to clear it. Had she heard him correctly? “Are you...asking me to your sister’s wedding?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, Tori wanted to somehow suck them back in. Then she wanted to sink through the floor at the look of utter horror on Clay’s face. She wouldn’t forget that look for as long as she lived.
How breathtakingly humiliating. She’d gone and made the most embarrassing of assumptions: that he might actually be asking her to attend his sister’s wedding as some kind of date.
Clearly, he’d had something else in mind.
“Gemma would like to bring along both a meal chef and a pastry chef to work the wedding,” he quickly began to explain. “The latter being you.”
Her mouth had gone dry but somehow Tori managed to answer. “I see.”
“Gemma, my sister who’s getting married,” he added, abruptly blurting it out as if that fact hadn’t already been made abundantly clear.
What a fool she was to even consider for a moment that he would ask her for anything even remotely personal.
Lifting her chin, Tori gave him the only answer she could if she had any hope of saving face. “I’m sorry, Clay. Thank you for the offer. But I’m afraid I can’t take you up on it.”
CHAPTER THREE
Three weeks later
WHAT IN THE world had she been thinking?
Tori adjusted her roomy bucket seat, tilted it slightly back and then turned to a fresh sheet on her sketch pad. She’d never been on a private jet before.
Clayton Ramos certainly knew how to drive a hard bargain. She had to give him that.
Who would have thought, after that afternoon in her apartment when Clay had made his offer, that she’d be southbound above the Atlantic on his private aircraft less than a month later? She’d resisted in the beginning. She really had. But he’d continually sweetened the deal to the point she’d have been a fool to turn it down. In the end, Tori had done what was best for the bakery. On top of the monetary incentive, she couldn’t deny what the opportunity would do for her small shop. Tori’s Pastries was managing quite well, if she did say so herself, but customers could be fickle.
