“I don’t know. He’s been sort of AWOL these last few days.”
“Hmm…”
I poured more cake batter into a set of cake tins. We had a couple of large orders. One was going to a party at a private residence, the other to a bachelorette party across town. One wanted the cakes there at noon, the other shortly before because the venue didn’t allow deliveries during business hours for some reason. This meant that by the time we got done with the baking and the decorations, we’d only have enough time to shower before we had to head out.
“Jackson said we could borrow his car.”
“How are things going with Jackson anyway?”
“He’s a little annoyed that we’ve been spending so much time working on the cake business. But, otherwise, it’s okay.”
She finished pressing the fondant leaves to the top of the bachelorette cake—it was meant to look sort of like a wedding cake with roses and lacy piping all around the top. Then she focused on me, watching as I finished filling the cake pans and popped them in the oven.
“How are things with you and Jason? You haven’t gone over there in a couple of days.”
“We’ve had cakes to work on.”
“Nothing you couldn’t do during the day. You don’t have to be here when I decorate.”
I shrugged, but I knew she could see through my nonchalance.
“There’s nothing wrong. But these stories on that blog are really starting to get to me, you know?” I wiped my hands on a towel and carried the empty bowls to the sink. “They started out as a nuisance, but it seems like they’re becoming more targeted. And I’m the target.”
There was a post just this morning that discussed the men who came to the bar where I worked. It was accompanied by a copy of the picture someone took last month of Jason and I in the backseat of his car outside the bar. But it had been altered to make it look like I was with someone other than Jason. Before that, there was a post that suggested I was hoping Jason would marry me so that I could get my hands on his money. And, before that, Dear Elizabeth had answered questions posted at the bottom of her posts, emphasizing the ones that implied I was less than honest, that I was a gold digger, or something.
“It does seem like she has a personal reason to go after you.”
“Jason still thinks that whoever’s behind it is trying to damage his reputation. Especially since his parents are coming back to the States next week.”
“Really? Do you get to meet them?”
I nodded. “He wants to have everyone over for dinner the night they get back. He wants me to work with Shelly on a menu.”
“Does he want you to cook, too?”
“No. He has a caterer who comes in and does that stuff.”
Rosie whistled under her breath. “He really is rich, isn’t he?”
She was leaning on the kitchen counter, watching me when she should have been working on the cake. I walked over, dipped my finger in a bowl of frosting and licked it off as I studied her.
“He’s not from our world, that’s for sure.”
“Our world isn’t the only one that’s worth living in, Joey. Maybe you’ll like it up there with him.”
“I don’t think I fit in the way he thinks I should.”
“Why do you have to fit in?”
It was a good question, and I really didn’t have a good answer. I just knew that it was important.
“What if his parents don’t like me? What if they take one look at me and decide that their son could do so much better with someone who’s more like them?”
“And what if they love you?”
I groaned. “I don’t think they will.”
“But how do you know they won’t?”
I leaned on the counter, my elbows on the counter in front of her so that we were almost nose-to-nose.
“You have an answer for everything.”
“And you overthink everything.” She leaned forward and touched her forehead to mine briefly. “Jason likes you. I can see it when he looks at you. And that, my dear sister, is the only thing that really matters.”
“Thanks,” I said, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Now finish that cake.”
***
Jackson showed up a little after nine. Rosie disappeared with him upstairs, leaving one of the cakes nearly finished, but not quite. If I hadn’t been asleep on the couch, only partially aware of what was happening, I would have killed her. As it was, I had to clumsily finish piping roses on the top of one cake and box it up before rushing off to take a shower.
But, somehow, we managed to get the first cake delivered to the hotel where the bachelorette party was being held. The second one was a little more complicated. Jackson, despite using the GPS on his phone, managed to get turned around the wrong direction not once, but three times.
When we pulled up the driveway of the house, I felt like I was walking through one of those dreams that felt like déjà vu. The house was huge, made of stone and brick, and set back almost half a mile from the road. It wasn’t in a secured community, but that was the only real difference between it and the feel and appearance of Jason’s house. It was impressive.
We pulled up to the five-car garage and Rosie, chattering about the balconies and the stonework and the obvious luxury, caught a man by the sleeve who was carrying flowers through a side door.
“Is this where we make a delivery?”
The man looked down at her as if she was the dumbest person on the face of the Earth.
“It is,” he said before brushing her off and continuing to the house.
Rosie didn’t even notice his disrespect. She bounced back to the car like a dog who’d just been let off his leash after a long day in the car, all full of energy and excitement.
“Grab a box,” I said.
“What about me?” Jackson asked.
“Just wait for us here,” I said. “This might take a minute.”
We had three cakes to deliver. One was a large sheet cake meant to feed nearly fifty. The other two were smaller cakes that were decorated to look like books. Rosie carried one of the smaller ones while I took the other two, careful with every step since I couldn’t see my feet. Rosie pushed open the side door, and I was somewhat relieved to see it opened into a large, impressively equipped kitchen.
A woman with dark hair pulled back into a severe bun pointed to the table.
“I assume those are the cakes.”
“They are,” I said, carefully setting my two boxes down.
“I hope they’re good. We normally get the cakes through a proper bakery, but Mrs. Brooks heard that the two of you did a cake for a friend of hers and she had to have her own done by you.”
I glanced at Rosie. She lifted her eyebrows and smiled wide.
“Well, thank you for taking a chance on us,” I said, as I carefully lifted the lid on the larger box. It was always a bit of a risk transporting a decorated cake. We’ve had some major disasters where the cake shifted and the frosting was ripped away, or some of the fondant fell off. But this one was just as beautiful as it had been when I closed it up at the townhouse.
“It’s not my party,” the woman said. “I’m just the caterer. What do I know about cakes?”
She walked off in something of a pout. Rosie started to giggle. I shoved her with my shoulder, but I couldn’t help the smile on my face either.
“Oh, the cakes are here!”
I turned, my heart stuttering a little in my chest. I knew that voice.
She was just as shocked to see me. She stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide at first, but then narrowing. Justin was beside her, the baby in his arms.
“Sara.”
“Joey! You’re our baker?” Justin asked, his eyes dancing, just like Jason’s did when he thought I’d done something amusing.
Sara was staring at me as if I was the last person she wanted in her house. I had never felt quite so unwanted in all my life.
“I guess I am.”
Justin laugh
ed. “Jason told me you had a baking business, but I was thinking cookies and cupcakes for some reason.”
Rosie nudged me. Sara’s glare dropped as the baby made a sound. She turned to her husband, taking the baby gently from his arms.
“Rosie, this is Justin, Jason’s brother. And his wife, Sara.”
“And Alexa,” Justin said quite proudly, rubbing his thumb against the child’s cheek. “Can’t forget her.”
“And their daughter, Alexa.” I tried to smile, which was easier than I’d thought it would be because the baby looked at me and smiled one of those sweet smiles tiny babies were the only creatures capable of producing. “Justin, Sara, Alexa, this is my sister, Rosie.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Justin said, coming over to shake Rosie’s hand. “Jason’s told me all about you.”
“I hope it was all nice.”
Justin inclined his head slightly. “Most of it.”
And then he laughed even as he turned to his wife and offered her a warm kiss. Sara returned the kiss for a moment, then moved out of his reach even as he went in for more.
“Got to go,” he said, his eyes on his wife. There was a lot of affection there. From him. I wasn’t as confident in Sara’s feelings for him. She was suddenly so hard to read. One moment, I’d thought she was my friend. The next…I was beginning to think she saw me as some sort of interloper she’d be happy to see disappear.
When had things changed?
“The cakes look lovely,” she said, pulling me back into the moment.
“Thank you.”
“So I guess you need your payment. If you’ll come with me.”
Sara led the way through a couple of swinging doors and down a long corridor. The house was like a maze, with lots of doors going off into rooms or opening into new corridors. I had no idea where we were by the time Sara walked into a dim study and slid behind the desk.
“If I’d known it was you, I would have been a little less demanding on the design.”
Rosie was too busy staring at the décor on the walls to hear what Sara had said. Rosie was the one who dealt with the clients. I baked the cakes and, sometimes, I delivered them. That was it. This business was always supposed to be Rosie’s thing. I just got pulled into it—just like I got pulled into a lot of Rosie’s schemes.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said. “Rosie likes a challenge.”
Sara tugged at a perforated check, adjusting the baby on her shoulder as she did. She held it out to me when it came free.
“I’d invite you to the luncheon, but it’s for my book club. I’m sure you would feel a little lost.”
“That’s fine. I’m not dressed for a party anyway.”
Sara’s eyes moved slowly over my jeans and simple white blouse, her mouth puckering a little.
“Tell Jason I’ll have the punch bowl back to him later in the week.”
“Thank you, Sara,” I said.
Rosie and I managed to find our way out. It wasn’t easy. We nearly got lost several times trying to make our way down that long corridor. But the sounds of the caterer and her crew working in the kitchen guided us. I’d never been so relieved to see Jackson. I sank into the backseat of the car and sighed, all these things rushing through me all at once. I’d never felt like a low person before, like a servant or something. We provided a service, and most people were more than thrilled to see the finished product. But something about the way Sara was looking at me made me feel low. It made me feel as though I’d never be on the same level as her.
I felt like I would never fit into her ideal.
Rosie turned and looked at me from the front seat. She didn’t say anything at first, just stared at me. There was something about the tension in her face that pulled me from my own thoughts.
“What?”
“Sara’s Jason’s sister-in-law, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
She shook her head, her eyes moving to the front window as Jackson pulled into the street. She watched the houses go by for a moment. Then she focused on me again. “Did they know each other before?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did Jason date her? Or did she have a crush on him, or something?”
I sat forward and studied her face, as though I could read her thoughts in the fine lines beside her eyes.
“What’s going on, Rosie?”
She bit her lip, as though she was trying to keep the words in, but it was beginning to drive me to the edge.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know if it means anything. But there’s a painting hanging in that room she took us to.”
“A painting?”
I sat back again, suddenly feeling like an idiot. I should have known it had something to do with décor. Rosie was one of those who could talk for hours about fashion and makeup and just about anything superficial. I should have known it was something on the wall that had caught her attention.
“Listen to me, Joey,” she said, leaning even further over the front seat. “This painting, I’ve seen it before.”
“It’s probably a print.”
“No, I don’t think so. But that’s not the point. The point is, I’ve seen it on that blog. Dear Elizabeth.”
I tilted my head slightly. “What do you mean?”
“There was a banner on the site for a long time. A rose with a dark background.”
“A banner?”
“Yeah. Across the top. It’s gone now, but it was there for the longest time. From the beginning, I think. It didn’t disappear until the stories about you and Jason started appearing. I didn’t think about it, at first. But then I saw that print on the wall and…what if it’s her, Joey?”
I shook my head, telling myself it wasn’t possible. Sara was so kind to me when we first met. She told me who to be nice to, who to take seriously, who to ignore. She helped me through that first party. Why would she then turn around and smear my name on a blog page? I mean, yeah, she seemed a little cool today. But that was because she was as shocked as I was to find out that Rosie and I were her bakers. And she has a new baby. Maybe she was exhausted.
There were so many reasons for everything, so many explanations. There was no way she could be the blogger.
But…I could still hear Jason explaining about the tattoo on his ribs, her monogram marked across his body like a possessive label. They had history. Why hadn’t either of them ever mentioned it? Was it just unimportant to them? Or was it so important that they felt the need to hide it?
I didn’t know.
“What are the chances that it’s just a coincidence?” Rosie asked.
And I had to agree. Coincidences weren’t real, were they?
Chapter 30
Jason
“Did you talk to Joey?” I asked Shelly, as she walked into the office Friday morning.
“Everything’s set.”
I nodded, my eyes glued to the unending emails on my computer screen. My parents were due to arrive from Paris at any moment and I was stuck at the office, trying to keep up with the overload of work that revamping my entire executive staff had caused. Things were finally falling into a good rhythm, everyone adjusting to the changes we’d implemented. The opportunity to steal from the company was gone. There were so many safeguards in place that it was impossible now. I was pleased with it.
My mom was going to ask me to take over the foundation sometime in the next few days. She’d already hinted at it. A month ago, I would have been resistant to the idea. But now…I don’t know. My company was deeply important to me. But this fiasco with Frank Thomas had shown me that I can’t do everything alone, that delegating was not a bad thing. And that I missed what was right under my nose because of my need to be in complete control. Maybe it was time to back off and let the company run itself. Maybe it was time to trust someone else to take the reins.
And running the foundation would give me more time with family. That had become important over the last few months. Since Alexa�
�s birth, I’d been reminded of how fleeting moments with family can be. And with Joey in my life…I guess my thoughts were going in directions they hadn’t been before her.
I couldn’t wait until my parents met her. I knew they’d love her instantly.
“I’m going to head over to your house in a few minutes to let the caterers in.”
I glanced at Shelly. “Okay. Is Joey meeting you there?”
“She said she had an interview today. She can’t make it till later.”
I nodded.
Joey had been in an odd mood these last few days. She was working long hours at the bar, trying to keep up on her bills. I once again offered her a loan, but I think she was offended by it. She was polite in her refusal, but the look she shot me as the words came out of my mouth made it pretty obvious that she wasn’t pleased with me. One of these days I would figure out that she was an independent woman. It was one of the things I adored about her, yet I couldn’t help my instinct to protect her. Or maybe it was a little Neanderthal of me. I didn’t want her working so hard so that we could spend more time together. As it was, I hadn’t really spent any time with her since Sunday. I was grateful she was able to take off tonight to come to this dinner with my parents, Justin, and Sara.
The moment Shelly stepped out of my office, the phone rang. I debated letting it go, but changed my mind.
“Brooks.”
“Jason, it’s Phil Johnson.”
I turned toward the windows behind my desk and watched the world do its thing floors below me. Phil was my lawyer, the one I’d tasked with shutting down the blog that had been publishing stories about me and Joey since our relationship began. I was hoping he had some good news.
“Listen,” he said before I could say anything, “this will sound like really good news, but it’s only a temporary fix.”
“Okay.”
“We’ve convinced the blog platform, the website that publishes this particular blog, to shut the blog down based on the fact that some of its content violates their own user agreement. They’ll give the blog owner a week to respond to the allegations. If that person doesn’t, then they’ll shut it down permanently. But if she does…there’s not much we can do to keep it off line.”
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