by Lila Monroe
Flint and I glance at each other. I don’t think we did. Callie must sense the heat between us, because she lifts an eyebrow.
“Well, well. I’m going to find a place where my brother isn’t involved in a boatload of unspoken sexual tension. Which is anywhere else but here.” With that, she kisses my cheek and heads out. Flint and I walk around the room, and I tug at his arm.
“There’s one stop I have to make.” Over by the left corner, I spot Davis and Tyler talking. At least, Tyler is talking. Davis is staring at his shoes and scowling. “Come with me?”
“I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” Flint says. He and I head over, and Davis frowns at us.
“You two disappeared. Everything all right?” he asks. Tyler sneers.
“Young Laurel probably got her period or something. Isn’t that right?” He guffaws as if he’s actually made an amusing comment. Davis pinches the bridge of his nose and looks like he’s got a serious migraine coming on.
“I’m reneging on my resignation,” I tell Davis. I ignore Tyler’s scoffing, and when Flint catches Tyler in his death glare, the idiot shuts up.
“You’re reneging?” Davis echoes. But he looks interested.
“I had a personal issue arise that I’ve since dealt with. It made saying yes the first time impossible, but that’s no longer the case. However, there are a few things that are not happening. I will not appear on camera again. We are not going to Alaska. But if your offer’s still good, and you put the reins back in my hands, I can promise you another great show. Just say the word.” There’s no doubt in my mind when I list my demands, only confidence. Davis’s eyebrows go way, way up.
“Are you high on estrogen, Young?” Tyler says, cringing a little when Flint gives him another look. “This isn’t how professionals do it.”
“I think the only professionals you know, Kinley, are the poor women unlucky enough to take your money for sex,” Davis says. He’s so blunt, so offhand about it, that we all kind of freeze up. For the first time this evening, a genuine smile appears on his face. “I would still like you on camera, Young.”
“Not happening. But you won’t regret your decision to have me return.” I wait a minute, and he nods.
“I was hoping you’d start hitting back. It’s what I like to see in a producer.” Davis laughs. “All right. You’re rehired. Kinley, you’re out.”
Tyler is spluttering, and continues to splutter as Davis hands him his drink. “Be useful for once, won’t you, and give this to a waiter. I’ve got to go visit the john.” Davis pats my shoulder, looking pleased, and heads off.
“What…what am I doing now?” Tyler asks. He looks down at the empty glass, then up at me, his eyes round with confusion. If it were anybody else, I’d have some compassion.
“Put your resume in at a few places. I’d say McDonald’s, but those people work too hard to put up with your bullshit,” Flint tells him, taking a step closer. The little asshole practically squeaks, and runs away into the crowd. Flint looks down at me, a huge smile on his face. “That felt good. I’ve never loved watching an ass get wiped so much in my life.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You sure about coming back to work?”
“Why not?” I shrug. “Heading back to Massachusetts for a few months will be all kinds of hectic, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Flint nods, cupping my cheek gently in his palm. I turn my face just enough to press my lips to his wrist and then notice the thoughtful expression crossing his face.
“Hey!” Charlotte walks over to us, beaming. “Did you two make up?”
“We did.” Flint smiles at her, a genuine, kind warmth in his face. But there’s no lust there; when I pay attention, I see it now. Charlotte looks between the two of us and breathes in relief.
“I’m sorry I stole him away from the premiere,” I tell her.
“When you stormed out, I told him to go. Ordered him, really.” Charlotte takes my hand. “I’m so sorry I gave you the wrong impression.”
I blush. “Look, this whole thing could’ve blown over a lot sooner if I’d used my big girl words and just freaking asked Flint what was going on. That mistake won’t happen again.”
She brightens. “Good. If you’re ever in New York, I hope you’ll visit. Paolo and I love taking people around town.” Damn, she’s kind and thoughtful as well as beautiful. I almost feel sorry for Flint, like he made a mistake. But when he slides his arm around my waist and kisses my cheek, eh, I’m not so worried.
“Get you a drink?” he asks.
“Love one.”
Charlotte leaves to go talk with Jessa and Ed, and Flint and I sidle away. We pick up a couple of martinis at the bar, bumping into an attractive woman with dark hair in a black cocktail dress. As it turns out, she just so happens to be a reporter for LA Tattle, covering the after party with her photographer.
“There you are! The actual stars of the show,” she says, sounding relieved. The camera flashes in our faces, but I don’t mind. I don’t think Flint does, either. “You both left so long ago, I was afraid I’d missed my chance. I’m Consuela Barnes. I’ve got just a few questions, Mr. McKay. What do you think the best part of filming this first season has been?” She adjusts her bra strap and hits play on a recorder. The photographer grabs another picture. This time, I manage not to make a weird face. I think.
“Best part of the job was meeting new people. And keeping my business afloat.”
It’s true; we did save the chain. I’d love to jump in the air and do a freeze frame victory cry, but this isn’t the 80s. Consuela nods and asks,
“So what’s next? I know this is only the first episode, but the response around town has been phenomenal. I’m assuming there’s a season two in your future. Am I right?”
“There is going to be a season two,” I chime in. “I’m producing again, though not starring this time. Thankfully.” Consuela laughs.
“Sounds good. And you, Flint? You’re staying on board the project?”
“Yes, if they agree to my demands.” He looks down at me. “As the producer, you’ll probably have a hand in it.”
“What do you need?” I ask, frowning. A lap dance? Because I can provide that. Handily.
“We have to relocate production to Los Angeles,” Flint says, never taking his gaze from mine. “I’m moving out here to be with Laurel.”
For a moment, I think my heart actually stops. At any rate, I’m speechless.
Consuela oohs and aahs and asks some more questions. The photographer continues to snap our pictures. As far as I’m concerned, no one else is here right now. I’m holding onto Flint’s hand so hard I think I’m actually losing circulation.
“Are you sure?” I ask Flint quietly, feeling my eyes filling with tears. Damn it, hold it together, nerd. There’s no crying in show business.
“Incredibly sure,” Flint says. So we give the paparazzi exactly what they want; a long, passionate kiss.
We look damn good on the front page.
36
Hard to believe it’s already summer, and we’re back in the Berkshires. Happy as I am that Flint’s moved into my condo with me, I know he doesn’t want to abandon this place completely. And I don’t want that, either. What can I say? Revolutionary War reenactments grow on you. We’re back at the diner with Callie, David, and the kids. I keep fidgeting with my engagement ring—not that I don’t love it, I’m just not used to wearing one yet. But I plan on getting very comfortable. Callie eyes it proudly.
“Did I tell you it used to belong to our mother?” she asks. I refrain from telling her she’s mentioned this eighty seven times. I have actually kept score on my phone. Instead, I smile.
“Oh really?” I bluff. “Tell me all about it.” Flint’s hand covers mine. He takes a sip of his coffee, smiling and waving at Lily who’s perched in David’s lap. David looks like he’s gotten some sun recently, and he’s a little more in shape. He and Callie share a happy look.
“I didn’t think I’d say this, but I am so
glad Flint moved out to California,” Callie says, poking her brother’s arm. “We miss you, of course, but how else was I going to learn what a great manager I am?” She takes a bite of toast. “I was a drill sergeant in another life, I know it.”
“Well, it wouldn’t surprise me,” David says with an easy grin. “I love a dominant woman.” It turns out a lot of their relationship problems had to do with David stressing about money and Callie feeling cooped up. With her picking her own hours at the store, the kids are taken care of, she gets to work and see people, and David’s money concerns are eased. I’ve never seen either of them happier.
“Oh, check this out,” Callie says, handing me something. “Can you believe it? An actual postcard. When I found it in the mailbox, at first I thought it was a joke.”
The picture shows the giant Redwood forests up in northern California. On the back, I read Jessa’s loopy scrawl:
Am enjoying the blessed companionship of a masculine energy source. We now live in a camper and gaze at the stars each night. He would like to say that he sends his regards, and to mail him your schedule C forms for taxes.
Masculine energy source means Ed French. Apparently they fell hard for each other at the premiere party. Opposites attract, I suppose.
“We’ve got to run,” Flint tells his sister, giving her a kiss on the cheek and paying the check. “I want to show Laurel something.”
“Please nothing dirty, please nothing dirty,” Callie says, closing her eyes tight.
“Of course not,” he scoffs. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
“Tonight, though, it’s gonna get hot,” I tell Callie, giving her a hug. “I’ll text you during.” Flint and I walk out to the sounds of her fake vomiting. Ah, family.
We get into Flint’s truck and drive, rolling the windows down and blasting all the classic rock we want. We both miss Flint’s dog Chance, but he’s been living it up at Callie’s house with Lily and Callum. Maybe we’ll trade my condo for a house and Chance can move back in with us. Then again, maybe he won’t want to leave the twins.
Flint relaxes against the seat, his hair blowing in the breeze. It’s good to have him with me at home in LA—wonderful, really—but I’m happy to see him back in his natural habitat. “How far away is this surprise?” I ask.
“It’s a couple of hours. But it’ll be worth it in the end,” he says. I shrug.
“No worse than the time we drove all the way to New York.” I grin. “I was as happy to see Charlotte as you were, but we could’ve taken AmTrak.”
“Funny you mention Charlotte. She consulted me on this.” He grins.
“Well, now I’m dying to know.” I try to guess. “We’re going to Atlantic City. No, Hartford. No, Utah.”
“Your sense of direction is terrible. We’ve been heading straight east,” Flint laughs. “All right, it’s the ocean. You don’t spend much time by the Atlantic. I wondered what you’d think of it,” he says. I lean my head back against the headrest and smile.
“I get the feeling I’ll love it.” I love most things these days. Sunshine. Trees. Adorable babies. Quarterly taxes. All right, maybe not the last one.
Soon, we’re driving down the highway with the ocean to our right, and I’m gazing out at the most beautiful, crisp blue water imaginable. The California coast is steep and mountainous, very grand and majestic, but this coast is full of white sand and wispy sea grass, crooked wooden fences and docks leading out onto the water. It feels gentler, more like home would.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, breathing in the salt air.
“Good. I want your opinion on something.” Flint signals right, and we turn off the highway onto a long, beachy stretch of land. We park the truck near the edge of a rocky ledge, which looks out at the ocean. After we get out, we walk to the drop point, hand in hand, and I see it’s not too far down to the beach. God, what a view.
“Did you get a contract to build here?” I ask.
“I got the land. Construction starts in a month. Should take no time at all.” He pulls me against him and kisses me. Even with the chilly ocean air, I’m instantly warm.
“Who’s the lucky owner?” I smile.
“You, as a matter of fact. And me.” He looks out over the astonishing view. “We’ve got your place in LA, my place in Northampton. I figured this could be our getaway, a vacation from everything. What do you think? Is it okay?”
I’m not the bursting into happy fits of tears type of person, but I am the ‘need a moment to collect myself so I don’t make a sobbing, squeaky noise’ type.
“I think you’ve got yourself a fellow vacationer.” I throw my arms around Flint and attack his mouth with mine, trailing one naughty hand down the front of his pants.
“Easy, there,” he says, breathless as we break apart. “I’m adventurous, but I’m not sure I want to take off my clothes and christen the new place just yet.”
I’m almost tempted to change his mind, but…no. Too many perverted seagulls around.
“Soon though,” he says, kissing me again. “We don’t have to rush. I think we’ve got a while,” he whispers in my ear.
“A long while,” I say. Maybe forever?
Yeah.
Forever sounds good.
THE END.
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It’s been a year since I first published The Billionaire Bargain, practically on a lark. It’s been an unexpectedly satisfying and creative period for me.
Thank you Roxy Sloane for your friendship and encouraging me on this path.
Thank you Rose, Liz C, Donna, Jennifer, Shely, Peggy Lee, Amanda, Cat, and so many more who show enthusiasm for my work and share their enthusiasm with the reading community and me.
Thank you blogs, big and small, for giving me a platform to connect with readers. In particular these blogs who have allowed me to “take over” their pages and whose cheerleading is seemingly endless: The Bookalicious Babes Blog, The Literary Gossip, Dirty Laundry Review, Afterdark Book Lovers, and Obsessed With MyShelf.
Much appreciation to Cynthia Y., contractor extraordinaire and femme fatale in a tool belt. I know you’ll never look at a torque wrench the same again.
Keep reading for a sneak peak of a new release by Bella Cruise!
TASTY by Bella Cruise
A sexy stand-alone novel from Bella Cruise.
She wants a taste - but he’s off-limits. Cupcake queen Jules Rockwell has sworn off men. All men. Because heartbreak is a bitch. But when sexy chef Cal McKenzie shows up in town - with a soft as butter Scottish accent and abs you could like frosting off - she wonders if maybe a no-strings fling is exactly what she needs.
Then she finds out the truth: he’s opening up his own rival bakery, right down the street from her store. Her sexy fling is now her #1 competition - and Jules never backs down from a fight.
Cal McKenzie doesn’t play by the rules. His sex appeal and chocolate eclairs are a deadly combination, and he’s got his eye on worldwide pastry domination - but he didn’t reckon on Jules. Full of wit and spice, she’s more than just a sexy hook-up. But as their chemistry heats up, so does their rivalry. With her heart and her career on the line, Jules isn’t sure she can risk it all again.
She’s been burned before. Will this fling satisfy both their cravings?
Chapter One
My grandmother always said, “Men are like cupcakes. You have to lick a lot of icing to find one worth finishing off.” I think Grams knew plenty about variety (the spice of life!) but fuck-all about love. She was especially no help when it came to staying in a relationship. She had six husbands, and was engaged to be married to a seventh when she passed away at the ripe old age of ninety-two. God bless her. I got her recipe cards and first edition Joy of Cooking when she died. But I have to admit, sometimes I wish she’d passed down the secret of real, honest-to-goodness l
ove, too. Maybe if she had, I wouldn’t be leaning over my laptop on a slow day at my bakery, trying to come up with a dirty metaphor for buttercream.
[email protected]:
You there, muffin?
But fuck it. Maybe Grams had the right idea. I’m pretty finished with love these days, anyway. Sexting and cybering are plenty for me, especially after I went through some traumatic heartbreak a few years ago. It’s healthier, safer, and a hell of a lot more fun. Smiling wickedly, my eyes scan the shop for some inspiration.
Rock n Roll Cakes is a cozy little place, decked out in retro decor, with a checkerboard floor and a fifties vibe. We even have a vintage Wedgewood stove in back, which adds to the charm even though my shop assistant, Summer, is always threatening to leave it on the curb. Anyway, my shop offers lots of inspiration for poodle skirt jokes, but that isn’t quite what I’m looking for. Not today, and not with this guy. At last, my gaze falls on the icing injector tool on the counter.
[email protected]:
Sorry! I was just cleaning up the icing. Was finishing off a big order and it got alllllll over me. It’s everywhere. I’m dripping in it.
There’s a long pause. I let my eyes linger out the front window of my shop. It’s a beautiful Friday in Key West. The sky has just started to go orange and pink at the corners. The palm trees are shivering in the breeze. The sidewalks are packed with tourists, and while usually that would get me a little bit panicked about the lack of business, today I’m content to sit on my laptop and flirt with my anonymous online paramour. Let Summer finish up the groom’s cake for a client’s wedding. I have bigger cakes to bake.
[email protected]:
… where?
[email protected]:
Hidden in some unusual places. You know those icing injector tools?
[email protected]:
Of course.
I feel my wicked grin grow. Of course he knows about icing injector tools. I met this guy on the biggest bakery industry forum on the internet. He was arguing against the proliferation of gluten free bake shops in New York City. Those Williamsburg hipsters and their food allergies! I chimed in over direct messages in enthusiastic agreement, and sparks flew from there. We quickly took things off board to g-chat, but I know he’ll always back me up when it comes to crunchy Key West mamas and their disgusting penchant for agave syrup.
