Sugarplum (Silk Stocking Inn Book 5)
Page 1
Sugarplum
Silk Stocking Inn #5
Tess Oliver
Anna Hart
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Sugarplum Cupcakes
Printable Recipe Card
More Silk Stocking Inn
About the Authors
SUGARPLUM
Copyright© 2017 by Tess Oliver & Anna Hart
Cover image: Kruse Images & Photography
Cover models: Amanda Joan & Jonny James
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Chapter 1
Deep green eyes stared out at me from beneath perfectly shaped dark brows. His chiseled jaw was hidden beneath just the right amount of permanent black stubble. The gunmetal gray shoulder and chest plates only accentuated his incredible physique and daunting black metal gauntlets and spiked gloves glistened over his powerful arms and hands. He was pure hero eye candy from the top of the spiked mohawk on his head to the shit-kicker knee high boots on his feet. His trusty steed, a black stallion that transformed into a motorcycle when the terrain called for it, was being designed by Louis, the designer in the next work station.
"Ziggy Holt, you are one hot computer graphic," I muttered to myself as I surveyed the close-to-final design. I did a little happy dance at my standing computer desk. Everyone in the company had to spend at least two hours a day with their computers hoisted in the air. Stan, the boss and owner of Phantasm Game World, insisted it was necessary to avoid what he termed as "Dreaded Flat Butt Syndrome", a plague which rendered its victims unable to wear pants properly. I, for one, was happy to be provided with a standing desk. When I was a kid, my parents called me antsy pants because I could never sit still. I never grew out of it. I particularly liked to shuffle around whenever I working on a digital exoskeleton or color layer. My mom also never dropped the nickname, an embarrassing little fact I discovered when she called me antsy pants last Thanksgiving in front of all the relatives. Of course, they all had a good laugh and decided to use it instead of my real name, Jennifer, for the rest of the night.
I glanced at the time. I had a few minutes before the surprise meeting. Although, calling it a meeting was sort of an exaggeration. A team huddle, as Stan termed it, was more of a free for all where people could air grievances or brag about accomplishments. There was no real protocol in the boardroom. Phones weren't silenced, and sidebar conversations were frequent and expected. At times, there was so much chaos and noise in the 'huddle', I would actually pull out my earbuds and listen to music on my phone to drown it out. Stan didn't even care about that as long as I participated. Stan, my very sexy, rich boss, who knew damn well that he was sexy and, of course, rich, believed that the chaos nurtured creativity and team spirit. I wasn't completely convinced of his theory, but I didn't mind. It had to be better than sitting in a morgue-like boardroom with stuffy, backstabbing coworkers all trying to kiss up to the owner.
Tanya, a team artist and my best friend, skipped down to my work area. "Jen, are you still ogling Ziggy Holt? Maybe if you wish hard enough, he'll just pop off that monitor, sweep you into his metal plated arms and carry you away. You know, like Officer and a Gentleman but with a sci-fi twist."
"I do think he's mighty fine." I pushed up my sleeve to survey the tattoos on my wrist and arm. "I'm seriously thinking of getting him tattooed right here next to the star burst. Too bad guys like this don't stomp around in real life, killing off wraiths, ripping out souls and taking time in between for a good roll in the hay. Or, I guess, in Ziggy's world it would be fire and brimstone." I tilted my head to the side and stared at the three dimensional computer graphic, a graphic so lifelike he could fill a girl's mind with all kinds of dirty thoughts. "I'm still not convinced the spiky mohawk was the way to go." Tanya had been the lead artist on the Ziggy Holt character creation. She was extremely talented, and I loved being the teammate who took her drawings to the digital level. We worked well together. "I loved that cool, short cropped dark hair you had on him in the earlier sketches. I mean hair takes a bit more programming, but I for one am a big fan of the full head of hair. Besides," I lowered my voice and looked around to be sure my nosy, self-important neighbor, Ellen, wasn't in ear shot. She'd apparently left early for the meeting. "I'm not sure how that spiky mohawk would work for oral sex, if you catch my drift."
Tanya snorted a laugh and elbowed me. "C'mon, Jenny, where's your sense of adventure? Now stop having erotic daydreams about our Ziggy, and let's head over to the meeting."
"Right." I grabbed my tablet in the rare case that I needed to take notes or add to my daily planner.
Loud voices and laughter were already bubbling out the open door of the boardroom. Tanya grabbed my arm to slow my pace as we watched Jordan, the new girl from the programming team, walk out of Stan's office. She was an exceptionally pretty blonde with big boobs and a lot of talent, or at least that was what I'd heard from the people in programming.
Tanya tilted her head closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. "See that blush on her cheeks as she's walking out of Stan's office? I've heard she's his newest conquest." I hated the word conquest used in the same sentence with Stan. Not that I was being judgmental because I could have cared less what Stan did, or at least that was what I kept telling myself. My biggest problem with the term was because I too had been one of his conquests. Back when I was new to the company, stupid, silly girl that I was, I got swept up in the fantasy romance of sneaking quickies after lunch with the boss. For him it had been a good time, but I'd stupidly allowed myself to fall for him. And for a time, I was delusional enough to think he'd fallen for me too. But then reality slapped me in the face, and I quickly discovered that Stanford Gregory wasn't a one woman type of guy.
The boardroom vibrated with energy as people speculated what the unscheduled meeting might be about. The last details of our newest game, Hell's Rangers, were being perfected and polished, and the artist and writing teams were already brainstorming and sketching storyboards for part two. I figured Stan's impromptu huddle had something to do with preorder numbers. Hopefully they were good.
Mitch, Shelly and Turk, our main programmers, had apparently gotten bored waiting for the meeting to start and had set up a game of some sort in the center of the table using strategically placed donuts and folded paper footballs.
Tanya grabbed us two chairs, and I headed to the pink box to see which donuts the nerds had left out of their game. Disappointment. I turned to the table. "Uh, is that my French cruller in the center of your game?"
Mitch turned back with a sheepish grin. "We needed a middle earth."
"I told you Jen would be pissed if you used the cruller." Shelly shrugged my direction. "I tried to warn them."
"Thanks for
your effort."
Mitch reached for middle earth and held it up to me. Most of the white glaze had broken off. "It's a little beaten up, but I'm sure it'll still taste good."
"Not with your fingerprints all over it." I waved toward the game. "Carry on, dorks."
I spun around and almost smacked directly into Stan. He was wearing that musky aftershave that I used to love but that I now hated.
He somehow always managed to touch me, even when there was no reason for it. This time he took hold of my arm as if our near crash had thrown me off balance and he'd had to catch me. "Hey, it's my star graphic designer." His blue eyes always had a sparkle. That wasn't necessarily a good thing when it was coming from your playboy boss. "Good work, Jen." He threw a wink in with his sparkle and walked past me in a cloud of fragrance. His fingers didn't leave my arm until he was out of reach. Jerk.
I sat down next to Tanya and didn't need to say a word because we were both fairly expert at reading each other's thoughts.
"What's the old saying?" she mused. "If looks could kill?"
"I don't know why I even waste a second of emotion on the man. He doesn't even have broad shoulders. I mean, jeez, who needs that, right?"
Tanya laughed. "Well, his bank account makes up for the lack of shoulder span, but you're right. Who needs that?"
Stan clapped his hands several times to get our attention. I noticed then that his hands were far too clean and smooth. He could never be one of Hell's Rangers. There. Another reason not to waste a second of thought on the man.
The clamor in the room quieted, and all the attention turned to the front of the room. Stan's eyes swept around the table as he pulled out a chair and propped one leg on it.
I typed a quick message to Tanya on my tablet. "I think he invited us here just to admire his crotch. Joke's on him. It's not all that admirable. I'll bet Ziggy Holt is nicely hung underneath all that leather and metal." I elbowed Tanya.
She leaned over and read the tablet on my lap. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
"I thought the team would like to know that we just surpassed the ten million mark on preorders for the new game."
A loud cheer rattled the tinted windows lining the room. Donuts flew through the air and high fives and fist bumps were tossed liberally around the table.
Stan lifted his hands to quiet us. As rambunctious and out of control as the huddles could get, Stan still had the ability to grab our attention in seconds. "Because of this great news, I've decided to cut short the work day so you all can go home and pack for a ski trip at Swanson's Ski Lodge."
Another round of cheers followed.
Tanya leaned closer. "That's cool. Maybe we can share a room."
"Oh, and I left out the good part—" Stan continued. "I've rented the entire lodge and ski facilities for the whole weekend. We will be the only people on the mountain."
"Holy shit." Even though she was sitting right next to me, Tanya had to raise her voice higher to be heard over the exuberance in the room. "That must have cost him a fortune," she said directly in my ear.
I turned my face to her ear to respond. "We just made him a fortune, remember? Ten million preorders. This weekend will be like pocket change to the man."
"So, all of you finish up your work so you can get on the road by noon. There's a snow storm rolling in later tonight. Not a bad one. In fact, the opposite. It'll be gone by morning, and the slopes will be covered with fresh powder. I've sent an email to everyone with the address for the lodge. See you up there." With that, he walked out with his head held high like the king of the world.
Chapter 2
Tanya hopped up from her chair. "This is so much better than spending Saturday doing laundry and buying groceries. I've got to get home and dig through my closet for my snow gear. Do you want me to drive?"
I followed her out of the boardroom. "I'm not sure if I'm even going to go, Tanya."
She stopped and grabbed my arm. "Are you kidding? What else do you have planned?"
"Stuff. I have stuff planned."
She tilted her head to the side. "Oh really?"
"Yep. All kinds of big, important stuff." I sighed. "I just don't want to go and hang out with Stan and watch him cuddle with his newest conquest." I motioned with my head. "Looks like Becky and Yari are making plans to drive up together. Why don't you catch a ride with them?"
"Darn it, Jen, this could be so much fun. Reconsider. We don't have to be anywhere—" Her face paled slightly, and she sealed her mouth shut.
A smooth hand touched my arm from behind. Musky aftershave swirled around me as Stan circled around with his pearl white smile.
"I've got work to do," Tanya blurted before scurrying away like a traitorous little mouse.
"Hey, Jen," Stan said, "if you need a ride up to the mountain, I've got room in the Land Rover."
"Thanks, Stan, but I'm not entirely sure I'm going. I've got stuff to do."
His dark brows pinched together. "Ah, come on, Jen, it won't be the same without you."
"Oh, I'm sure everyone will have a good time with or without me. But thanks. This is very generous of you."
He squeezed my hand again, a completely unnecessary gesture between a tech president and his designer. "Well, I hope you change your mind."
"Maybe." I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb. "I've got a few things to finish up at my station." I dashed away before he could say any more or find some other non-reason for touching me.
I tried to shake off the odd encounter. My mind rushed back and forth in debate about whether I should go on the free weekend or skip it. I had one foot on each side of the fence.
I reached my computer and shook the mouse to wake it. A website popped up that I had most definitely not clicked on. My eyes dashed across a banner about some place called the Silk Stocking Inn, and I caught some cheesy phrase about filling my every heart's desire blah blah blah. I clicked the X and waited for the site to be swallowed up into cyberspace. But it stayed like melted bubble gum on the bottom of a shoe. I tapped my mouse a dozen times in an attempt to close the site. Instead of vanishing, pictures and a text box popped up. An old Victorian style home appeared next to the banner. Snow was mounded like pillows on its slate gray roof and icicles clung to the gingerbread style fascia board running across various roof lines. Even though the photo was obviously taken in the winter, a long vine of bright pink roses climbed the porch railings and arched over the portico, creating the perfect romantic exterior. I'd been so drawn to the charming vintage house, I'd ignore the text box that came with it.
I blinked at the words. "Hello, Jen, I think you should forget the ski weekend and head up to the Silk Stocking Inn."
My eyes peered over my monitor, and my gaze circled the room. Everyone was busy hunched over a computer or drafting table, working hard to finish up and take off for the snow. But, obviously, someone had finished, and they'd decided to play a prank on me. Funny. I had it narrowed down to Mitch and Shelly since they were the programming geniuses. Maybe they decided stealing my French cruller was not enough.
I looked across the vast room to Mitch's work place. He looked busy enough, and there was nothing suspicious about his behavior. The same regular old boring work scene was happening at Shelly's desk. They were good. I would bet anything they were in it together. I decided to go along with it.
"Oh my, Silk Stocking Inn, huh? It sounds amazing."
"Great. Then I can expect you this afternoon. You won't be disappointed. I promise. After this weekend, you'll never think twice about that arrogant boss again."
My gaze flashed their direction as my cheeks burned with a flush. "You guys suck. I'm done with this."
The text box filled again. "I'm sorry. Who are you guys?"
"Right. Very funny." My fingers pounded the keys.
"Fine then. See you soon."
I clicked the mouse over and over, but the site remained and the text box popped back up. "I forgot to ask—what is your favorite cupcake flavor?"
I shook my head. "Don't you mean donut? And as you know, it's middle earth. Otherwise known as French cruller."
There was a long pause. I stared at Mitch and Shelly over the top of my computer, but they kept up the farce and kept working at their stations.
"Actually, I did mean cupcake. Do you have a favorite?"
I huffed in annoyance, asking why I hadn't just shut down my computer instead of playing along. I looked at the blinking question and thought about a running joke that we had in the company. Whenever it was time to sign up for the annual holiday potluck, Stan always sent a text asking who was bringing the sugarplums. The last person to respond to the text was required to show up to the holiday party with their own version of sugarplums. No one knew what the hell they actually were, and information online was sketchy at best. It was fun to see what people came up with. The task had fallen to me once, and I showed up with powdered sugar covered prunes on a silver platter. Surprisingly, they were kind of tasty.
I typed the word sugarplum in the box and sent it.
"Ooh, I haven't made sugarplum cupcakes in years. Wonderful. See you soon."
The site disappeared. "Very funny, you two," I called across the room. A few people looked questioningly my direction, but Mitch and Shelly never looked back. I decided to walk over to them.
Mitch looked up from his monitor as I hovered over his desk. He kept on with the programming. "You still mad about the donut, Jen?"
"No. Just wanted to let you know the gag was cute. Well done."
Shelly's head popped up over her computer. "What gag? What did you do now, Mitch?"
"Oh don't flash that look of innocence, Shel. I know you were in on it."
They looked at each other. The only thing on their faces was confusion. Mitch took his fingers from the keys. "I'll buy you a French cruller on my way in on Monday."
"No," I said abruptly enough that it caught the attention of several other people. "It's not about the donut," I said in a quieter tone. "I'm talking about the Silk Stocking Inn."