“Maybe there was something wrong with the previous men she dated. Maybe they didn’t know how to appreciate what they had.”
“And you do? I mean, you think you can give Belinda what she needs?”
Malik paused. He took a deep breath then stood. “I don’t know,” he told Carter honestly.
“But you’re willing to take that risk?”
“Life’s about risks,” Malik said, turning back to face Carter. “Each time I stepped out onto the floor to play ball I knew the risk of getting hurt. I did it anyway.”
“And look where that landed you,” Carter said.
Malik didn’t take offense. The basis of his and Carter’s friendship was brutal honesty. He could tell his friend when he was being an ass and could take it when Carter threw the same back at him. And he’d long since stopped feeling bad about tearing his ACL and being forced into retirement from the NBA.
“I never would have thought I’d become a pastry chef and actually enjoy it,” he said with a slight chuckle. “My life is so much fuller now than I think it would have been if I’d continued playing ball. So what I’m saying is that sometimes it’s worth the risk.”
Carter nodded. “You sound like you’ve been giving this a lot of thought.”
“I’ve been thinking about your cousin for longer than I care to admit. Now I think it might be our time.”
“You’ve got that right,” Drake said, walking into the office with his briefcase and a smile that said business was good.
“Gentlemen, I come to you today with a proposition that’s going to make us, meaning the male portion of the dynamic baking talent at Lillian’s, look like movie stars. It is definitely our time.”
Carter and Malik shared a quizzical glance while Drake closed the door.
“Sit down, Malik. We’re going to need some of your connections for this, too.”
Malik wasn’t sure what Drake meant by that but went along with him and took a seat.
“So the blog’s been doing phenomenal. I mean we’re getting close to twenty thousand hits per day. But it’s that little impromptu baking lesson we did and put on YouTube that landed this newest offer on our doorstep.”
Drake was excited. Then again, he was always excited when he talked about promoting the bakery.
For the past two months Carter, Drake and Malik had been hosting a blog called Brothers Who Bake. Of course, it had been Drake’s idea and Carter had immediately agreed, which meant Malik was outnumbered. Good thing for him he’d thought it was a good idea to promote the bakery and to possibly get more men to enter the kitchen or more women to leave the kitchen to come into the bakery and place an order. Their statistics showed they were doing pretty decent in both areas.
“Wait a minute. I thought we were only doing the YouTube thing once,” Carter said to Drake when they were all seated.
“Yeah, but it’s getting some really good feedback. So good, this guy James Bandenski contacted me.”
“Who’s James Bandenski?” Malik asked.
“He’s an editor at Cresston Press. They publish a lot of nonfiction books, some textbooks and a good number of cookbooks.”
When neither Malik nor Carter said anything to that, Drake sighed. Malik and Carter shared a glance and a chuckle. They loved to annoy Drake. He was such an easy target and it reminded them of their college days when their frat brothers fell victim to their pranks. Actually, this was the highly matured version of the young men they’d been back then. There’s no telling what they would have done to Drake ten years ago.
“And he wants the Brothers Who Bake to write a cookbook,” Drake said, excitement all but dripping from his already jovial personality.
“A cookbook,” Carter repeated, looking less than excited about the idea.
“I’m a baker—” Malik replied and was stopped midsentence.
Drake held up a hand. “Don’t even say it. I know you’re a baker, not a writer. Ha. Ha.”
Malik chuckled and Carter joined in, knowing instinctively that Malik was referring to the famous Michael Jackson quote “I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Apparently, after all these years working together, Drake was just as tuned in to him as Carter was.
“Can we be serious for a minute? This would be major for us. Coupled with winning the cake competition, we’ll be set. Next year we could start looking at expanding outside Chicago. This could be it!” Drake said excitedly.
Carter nodded. “And since it’s your idea, it could also buy you some brownie points with Grandma and maybe she’ll leave the bakery to you.”
An instant chill filled the air. Malik had been around this family for long enough to know about the camaraderie between the grandchildren. It was no secret that Lillian would be leaving control of the bakery to one of them someday soon. Lately that day seemed a lot closer. Each of them thought they could run the bakery, and probably could, but Lillian would only name one. Was Drake vying for this position?
“This benefits us all,” Drake replied. “Don’t you agree, Malik?”
Always the tiebreaker, Malik took a second to consider Drake’s proposal.
“Like anything in business it’s good to strike while the iron’s hot. We’ve built up momentum with the blog, then the YouTube video took us up another notch. I took your suggestion from the notes you gave me the other day and started tweeting about the blog. I heard from a few of my old NBA buddies as a result so there’s a definite buzz going. With that said, it’s obvious doing this cookbook will only push us further into the spotlight, just like the competition,” he said.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Drake hurriedly chimed in.
“But,” Malik added, “it’s a tremendous responsibility on all of our parts. And speaking for myself I’d have to say, I’m pretty busy as it is. I mean, what we’d have to consider is if this is something we all want to dedicate time to.”
“I don’t know,” Carter said instantly.
“You don’t know about becoming famous for your work?” Drake asked with a questioning glare.
Carter shook his head. “I’m already well-known for my work, Drake. Besides, this is totally different. You’re asking us to sit down and write recipes. The recipes we use here are mostly Grandma’s. We can’t really put them in a book and slap the name Brothers Who Bake onto it. That’s misrepresentation.”
Drake looked a little deflated but he nodded in agreement. “I didn’t say what the outline of the book had to be. We could come up with that on our own. Malik,” he said, turning in his chair to stare at Malik. “What if you used the recipe for those cookies you came up with last fall, the ones with the Belgian chocolate chunks and maple syrup? And those mint brownies. Those are your recipes. Carter, you could have a section on cake design. Take them through the basics and only up to the point where they might be competition for you. I have some new filling flavors I’ve been toying with. We can do this,” he said emphatically.
Malik thought about what he’d said and had to admit he thought it was a possibility. He just didn’t want to
totally commit right now, not with this competition coming up and with things between him and Belinda in limbo.
“Why don’t we all think about it a little more? Is there a deadline for when we need to get back to the editor?” Malik asked.
“No,” Drake said. “Nothing etched in stone but I’m sure he’s not going to wait forever.”
“We’re not going to take forever,” Carter interjected. “Calm down, man. Let’s just sleep on this a night or so then meet up again to see where we are, like Malik said.”
Drake nodded. “Okay, but a few days and then we meet.”
“You said no deadline,” Malik told Drake as he stood.
“I said the editor didn’t have a deadline. I’m giving you two one of my own. Because you,” he said, pointing to Carter, “I know how you are between your personal exploits and work. I’m not giving you time to forget.”
“What about me?” Malik asked jokingly.
Carter laughed, as well.
So now the joke was on him?
“As a matter of fact, I was out last night with a gorgeous female,” he said, giving Carter a pointed look.
He left the office to questions like, “Who was she?” and “Did you pay her to go out with you?” Both questions came from Drake, who had no idea Malik had been referring to his sister. Carter didn’t say a word, because he knew.
Malik left with a smile and an extra pep in his step. He was going to pursue Belinda Drayson-Jones, finally.
* * *
Daisy Drayson-Jones was still a very attractive woman at fifty-two. She was tall, five-nine, having inherited her height from her father, and her figure had only mildly filled out over the years and after the birth of two children, Belinda and Drake. Matt always joked how he loved some cushioning in his women, as if they hadn’t been married for thirty years, and he probably couldn’t remember the last woman he was with before her. It was all right, though, because Matt was her soul mate. She’d known that the day she had met him as she’d walked along the college campus. The years that followed were full of happy times getting to know her husband then having their children.
These days, with her children grown and Matt taken to his newest hobby—which he swore was going to morph into a phenomenal career—golfing, Daisy utilized her accounting/business management degree to take care of the executive decisions dealing with the bakery. Her mother had gradually been asking her to do more, something that used to be a heated debate between the two. As Lillian’s sole daughter, it seemed only right that Daisy take over the helm at the bakery. But baking, while she was good at it, had never really called to Daisy. Working behind the scenes on the business aspect was more her speed. So for the years she was home raising her children, she was also the part-time accountant and business manager for the bakery, a job which undoubtedly rubbed off on her son.
Today, however, Daisy wasn’t thinking about business. She was thinking about her daughter, who had everything a young successful woman could ever want. Everything except happiness.
Belinda made her way toward the terrace seat at
McCormick & Schmick’s, her long legs showing beneath the just-above-the-knee Krista silk bubble dress she’d given her for her birthday. It was a pretty royal blue print that perfectly accented Belinda’s light coloring. With a burst of pride, Daisy smiled as a couple of men did double takes when Belinda walked past.
“Hi, Mama,” Belinda said, leaning forward to kiss her mother’s cheek before taking her seat.
The child had been oblivious to the men staring at her. At times Daisy grew concerned at just how many things Belinda didn’t pay attention to. Like the fact that her biological clock would be ticking sooner rather than later if she didn’t hurry up and find herself a husband.
“Hi, baby,” she replied. “You look pretty today.”
“Thanks.” Belinda gave her mother a small smile. She pulled the napkin off the table and placed it in her lap before she looked up at Daisy again. “You look nice, too. Did Franco do something different to your hair?”
Daisy ran her fingers quickly through the short silky strands of her bronze frosted hair. “Yes. It’s a new color and a cut. He called it sassy.” She shook her head again for effect. “I like it.”
Belinda chuckled. “I like it, too. But what did Daddy have to say? You know he likes you with longer hair.”
Daisy waved a hand. “Your father can’t see past that golf ball and those putt sticks.”
“Golf clubs, Mama. You know that’s what they’re called.”
“I know what I’d like to call them,” Daisy replied instead. “But I don’t want to talk about him. Let’s hurry up and order so I can get to what I really want to say.”
As much as she tried to delay, Belinda knew the moment had finally come.
“So you know the cocktail party is coming up next weekend,” Daisy said as she sipped the coffee she’d ordered after finishing her salmon over pasta.
“What cocktail party?” Belinda asked, hoping if she acted clueless her mother would skip this subject entirely.
With a cock of her head and a knowing look Daisy killed that dream.
“The NAACP fund-raiser I host every year. Come, Belinda, ignorance is not attractive.”
And neither was what was about to come next.
“Right. Where are you having it this year?”
“At the Ivy Room. That place Sylvia selected last year was just not the answer. So anyway, I was wondering if you’ve purchased your dress.”
That was so not what her mother was wondering. But Belinda was determined not to give an inch today.
“No. Not yet.”
Daisy folded her napkin over once, and another time for good measure, then looked at Belinda with one eyebrow raised. “And a date?”
“Do I really need a date to attend a fund-raiser? It’s just a cocktail party.”
“It’s a big event that puts the family name right up there with some of the most influential people in this city. Your grandparents aren’t attending this year and neither are my brothers. Someone has to represent us.”
“I thought Drake said he was going.”
“That’s right, and so are you.”
Belinda nodded. Of course she was because she did everything she was told.
“I’ll find a dress this week,” she said, feeling a little deflated at giving in when she’d said she wouldn’t. At least her mother hadn’t offered to set her up with a date. That was something.
“Helga Livingston’s son Hugo is in town.”
Belinda groaned. She couldn’t help it. And Daisy frowned.
“That’s rude, Belinda.”
“Sorry. But really, I don’t need a date.”
“You most certainly do. You are an eligible young lady. And to tell you the truth, your father and I would like grandchildren before we’re confined to a home.”
“Really, Mom? You’re in your early fifties. I don’t see you or Daddy in a home anytime soon. Besides, Drake is perfectly capable of finding a wife and having some kids.”
“Men tend to take their time,” Daisy said with another wave of her hand. “But I expect more from my daughter.”
Of course she did. They all expected more from her. “I’m perfectly capable of getting my own date. As a matter of fact, I’ve managed to beat you to the punch this time.”
That perked Daisy up. “You did? Who is he? Do I know his parents?”
“No. I don’t think you do,” was Belinda’s immediate response.
“Well, who is he?” she was still asking as Belinda pulled out her wallet and slipped her credit card into the case with the check.
“He’s only coming as my date for the evening, Mama. It’s not an audition for husband and father of the year,” Belinda told her.
Daisy shook her head. “I’m just curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Belinda snapped, then looked at her mother with a wan smile. “I’ll be at the cocktail party and I’ll have a date. All will be well.”
But later Belinda wondered just how she was going to come through with that promise, since she had neither a dress nor a date for next Saturday night.
Chapter 6
“What are you doing still here?” Belinda asked the minute she entered the kitchen at the bakery to the sweet smell of brownies baking.
“I think it’s self-explanatory,” Malik said, looking up only momentarily from the walnuts he was meticulously chopping, and offering her a smile.
It hit her right in the gut, that smile of his that showed perfect white teeth and a deep dimple she hadn’t noticed before in his left cheek. His eyebrows were thick, not bushy but thick and dark like his hair, his chin strong, his jaw chiseled. Desire trickled slowly down her spine, like water dripping from a faucet, gaining momentum each time she was close
to Malik.
She’d reprimanded herself about her thoughts where he was concerned more than a few times since their date last night. It was foolish to believe that a night of wild, uninhibited sex would make a life-altering difference in her world. And maybe, at this stage of the game, it was kind of silly to think Malik would even want a night of wild, uninhibited sex with her. Yet he’d been just as into that kiss last night as she was. And he’d told her, to be sure. Watching the fit of his jeans over taut buttocks as he went to the oven and removed a tray of beautiful, perfect Blondies, she was sure of one thing—Malik Anthony was one fine male specimen.
Belinda cleared her throat, putting down her purse on the table by the door and moving closer to where he had boxes already filled with cookies. Malik made the best cookies. His peanut butter cups and Turtles were her favorites.
“We’re closed on Sundays, remember? What are you making all this for?”
“Spring tournament tomorrow down at the rec center. I bring all the desserts,” he told her.
“What kind of tournament? Basketball?” She presumed it was basketball because of his past but immediately thought she could just as well be wrong.
He nodded, setting the tray of brownies on the table and taking a peek into another oven that held more. There were timers all over the kitchen but nobody used them unless they were in a rush and had lots of orders to fill. Other than that they all sort of knew when their stuff was done.
“The nonprofit youth program I head up has an
annual basketball tournament every April. It’s also our only fund-raiser for the summer camp each year.”
Malik talked while he worked, explaining this as simply as if he were telling her the ingredients of his Turtle cookies, which she’d already asked him for and he would not divulge.
“So you work with the youth?” Why did that surprise her?
He spared her a glance and shook his head. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Belinda. Yes, I work with the youth. I started Hoop’n Stars after I left the NBA, because I wanted to keep active and I also wanted to give inner-city youth some of the opportunities I never had.”
Decadent Dreams (The Draysons: Sprinkled with Love) Page 6
