Sweet Seduction

by Camilla Stevens

Patrick felt the longing in him, both in his loins and his heart. It was going to be impossible to go back to Los Angeles.

  It tugged at him even more as he cruised past the familiar sights in Olla, which had practically become a second home to him these past months. Now that the movie was done filming here, it was back to its peaceful quietude that made it so charmingly appealing. He could see why Layla had chosen to settle here.

  When they reached her large white house, he turned off the engine. Neither of them moved.

  “So…,” Layla finally said, staring straight ahead through the windshield.

  “I can come back next weekend,” he offered.

  “That would be nice,” she said idly.

  “We can make this work, you know?” he said, finally turning to her.

  She turned to give him a slight smile, nodding. “Of course.”

  “We can,” he insisted.

  She brought up a hand to cup his face and leaned in to kiss him. It was slow and sweet.

  “I should get inside. I have to unpack and wash clothes and get started dealing with the bakery.”

  Before he could say anything else, she had hopped out. Patrick sighed and opened his door to get her suitcase. He silently carried it up to the front door behind her.

  She turned around at the threshold after opening the door, blocking him from entering as she retrieved the handle of the suitcase from him.

  “Thank you for everything Patrick,” she said.

  It sounded final. Before he could protest, her lips were on his again, giving him one last kiss. Then she quickly pulled back and closed the door before he could say anything else.

  He stood there for a moment, staring at the door.

  If she thought it was over, she was sorely mistaken. There was no way he was letting it end here and now, not like this.

  He would make this work.

  By the time he made it back to Los Angeles the city was dark. It was a far more attractive sight at night, but he had officially left a permanent part of himself back in Olla.

  When he entered his condo, he could still feel Layla’s presence, her feminine scent wafted through the air. It made him long for next weekend when he could make it back up to her.

  Patrick thought about making their relationship work. It wasn’t as though they lived in different countries, or even different states. He didn’t even have to drive each weekend. If he flew that would give them more time together. The logistics of it all were things he could deal with later.

  The ride down had made him think about sharing his life with Layla. She’d revealed her past to him, and he had pretty much met her de facto family.

  The past two weeks he had told her all about his Catholic upbringing with a huge family that all still lived in Brooklyn. She had found it far more envy-inducing than he had remembered it ever being.

  All the same, if she was going to be a part of his life, his family came with it. His mother was owed a phone call, so he decided it was worth diving straight into the deep end. It wasn’t going to be pretty, Layla was not at all who Marjorie Fitzgerald probably pictured her youngest son ending up with: not Catholic; divorced, or at least would be eventually…in a manner of speaking.

  And black.

  He wasn’t sure which of those things his mother would be most opposed to. There was only one way to find out.

  “Patty,” his mother said as soon as she picked up the phone. “How goes it with the wedding cake thing?”

  He heard her chuckle on the other end. She had gotten a kick out of some small town baker sticking it to Lion Studios when she first heard about it.

  “Do I have to remind you which side I’m working for on that case?” he said with a twinge of amusement.

  “Oh, I know, Patty. I’m sorry sweetie. It’s just, you know your Ma, always rooting for the little guy. So I’m guessing it went well, the wedding?”

  “Yeah, Ma,” Patrick said, remembering that night with Layla in the hotel room. “Very well. In fact, that’s part of the reason I wanted to call. The, er, ‘little guy’ involved in this thing, well…I’ve sort of been seeing her.”

  There was a short intake of breath on the other end. “Oh Patty, this is wonderful. So tell me all about her. Is she Catholic?” she asked hopefully. “I suppose that’s askin’ too much. Frankly, I have my doubts about you these days as far as that goes.”

  “She’s not Catholic, Ma,” Patrick confessed. “But she’s smart and gorgeous and she makes me feel…just amazing. Honestly Ma, I’ve never felt this way about a woman before.”

  “Oh, Patty,” she sighed. Was that a sniffle he heard? “She sounds wonderful. So when do I get to meet her? Is she at least coming out for Christmas?”

  Patrick smiled. This was promising. Now to let the hammer fall.

  “Well, I wanted to…tell you a bit about her beforehand. So you’re not too surprised.”

  “What does that mean?” he heard her ask sharply.

  “Well, she’s…black.” There was really no other way of putting it.

  Patrick’s mother wasn’t a dyed in the wool racist. Frankly, he wasn’t sure how she felt about other races. Of course, she had taken issue with the fact that his sister, Eileen, had married “that Italian boy,” and he’d been Catholic!

  “Oh, Patty….I don’t know,” she sighed on the other end. “This, this isn’t good.”

  So there it was.

  “Ma—“

  “Now, before you go painting me as some racist, I’ll have you know I voted for that Obama twice.”

  He suspected that had more to do with her stubborn loyalty to her preferred political party than anything else. Still, it was something.

  “Ma—”

  “It’s just…you should be with someone who’s…who’s like you. Like the people you grew up with.”

  “Ma, I’m nothing like I was when I was a kid. I’ve been out here for 15 years now. I’m different. The world is different.”

  “The world can change all it wants, that doesn’t mean I have to go along with it.”

  “I think if you met her and saw beyond her color, you’d like her. Hell, all this time I’ve called you these past months you’ve been rooting for her like you had bet money on her.”

  “It’s one thing to support a woman handling her own, it’s a whole other can a worms when she decides to get involved with your son.”

  “Would it help to say that I was pretty much the one who pursued her?”

  “Patty, I just don’t understand. All the women out there, and heaven knows you’ve probably been with your fair share, and you go with….” She gave a long and heavy sigh. “Did you ever stop to think about what it will be like for your kids? Or hell, even the two a you as a couple?”

  He thought about Jake and Natalie. Amber was still too young to be aware of the world, but her parents seemed to have fared just fine. Granted, Natalie’s parents were exceptionally accepting of the two; it helped to have a parent who was probably Jake’s number one fan.

  “Ma, I live in Los Angeles. If I have kids with her, they’ll be fine.” That made him think of Layla and their distance problem. If they got to the point of having kids, would they even be living in Los Angeles. He thought of Olla and Bree and Mario, even Saul and Di-Anne, or at least when she finally decided to take the bait.

  “Besides, Are you telling me you haven’t seen kids who were mixed, even in Bay Ridge?”

  “This place,” she scoffed. “Do you know they have a new shop here selling avocado toast. Avocado toast. What the heck is that? I tell ya Patty, I don’t know what this place is coming to.”

  Patrick chuckled on the other end.

  Marjorie gave another heavy sigh on her end. “I’m not gonna lie to you Patty, I do wish…I wish you had your sights set on…well, someone more like us. I’m an old lady, set in my ways. I just want you to think about this. It’s one thing to…well I won’t comment on what you been up to in that city a yours. It’s a whole ‘nother thing to make a life
with someone. To make a family with them. Think about that, will ya?”

  “As long as you promise to think about accepting her. This woman has changed my entire world, Ma. You have no idea. There is nothing in the world I’d love more than to make a family with her. Hopefully, if all goes well I will be bringing her home for Christmas. Then you can see for yourself.”

  “I suppose,” she said noncommittally.

  “I guess that’s the best I’ll get, huh?”

  “You want me to lie and say I’m thrilled?”

  “No, Ma,” he said reaching up to scratch his head with weariness. “So tell me what’s going on with the family,” he said, moving on to another topic.

  As she rattled off the details about his brothers and sisters and their kids, he thought about the conversation.

  It was just another hurdle Layla and he had to overcome. All the same, he still had every intention of making it work.

  25

  “Oh Boris, you naughty boy,” Patrick muttered to himself with a smile, looking at the documents that Sean Donovan had procured for him.

  The good news was, Layla was legally off the hook as far as disentangling herself from the man.

  The bad news was, Boris seemed to be entangled in some pretty naughty business back home.

  He laid the papers down on his desk and leaned back in his chair in his office at Lion Studios. Now that he had the information, and in his profession information was 90% of winning, he pondered how he could best use it.

  Mamba Security had detailed Boris Sokolov’s entire life from his birth in Vitsyebsk, Belarus 33 years ago when it was still part of the Soviet Union, to his current locale at a cheap motel in Los Angeles.

  The last part had surprised Patrick. At first he wondered what the man had been waiting for these past two weeks, then he reasoned that he was probably waiting for Layla to return to Olla where she would no longer have the resources of Patrick and Lion Studios to protect her. That and she’d be $500,000 richer.

  Patrick had no intention of ever letting it get to that point.

  Boris was indeed a shady character, with some loose ties to the Russian underworld. It was nothing that would give Patrick cause for concern that he was in over his head, nor was it enough to be any kind of priority for the Feds.

  There was, however, one minor detail that just might get their attention. It was something that would put the man’s green card status in jeopardy if certain governmental agencies were made aware of it. It was the one ace Patrick had up his sleeve and he planned on using it.

  Obviously, a confrontation with the man was in order. Patrick decided to take a long lunch to handle the business, driving out to East Hollywood where Boris was holed up.

  It was one of those one-story motels where every door faces the parking lot. Patrick strolled up to door 11 and knocked.

  “Yeah?” he heard on the other side.

  “Boris Sokolov?” Patrick asked, even though he knew exactly to whom that voice belonged. “I have information about Layla Brown.”

  That was enough to get the man to open the door, or at least crack it open with the chain still attached. Patrick was still able to get a good look at the man. He was shorter than Patrick by a solid 5 inches. Boris had the kind of physique that focused on the noticeable parts of the body, the arms and shoulders, while being lax with the rest, like his already softening gut.

  Boris had a hard look to him, the kind that women might be initially attracted to but never really act on. The kind that years ago might have attracted a young college student, especially if the owner of that face made it his mission to pursue her. Steely blue eyes and a permanent scowl stared back. The buzz cut only made him look like the thug that he was.

  “Who are you?” Boris asked, giving Patrick a wary look.

  Patrick decided to turn on the charm. As much as he wanted to hurl his fist through that crack in the door and punch the man’s lights out, he had a higher priority here.

  “Boris, I’m a win-win kind of guy,” he said jovially, enjoying the confused look on the man’s face.

  “Get lost,” Boris said with that accent of his, already starting to close the door.

  “Maryna Biryukova,” was all Patrick had to say.

  The door stopped with one inch of Boris left in view. The wary look became startled, then worried. Boris was quick to recover. He opened the door to the full extent of the chain again.

  “Though I suppose she still goes by Maryna Sokolov these days.”

  “Who are you?” Boris challenged. Patrick noted that the Russian accent was heavier, either from the surprise of being caught off guard or in an attempt at intimidation.

  “I’m someone who wants to help you help yourself.”

  “Get to your point.”

  “You are going to leave Layla alone. No money. No surprise meetings. In fact no contact whatsoever,” Patrick gave him a dead look. “Except of course to terminate this farce of a marriage.”

  The man laughed. “So what, you find some information on me and think you can use it? Layla is my wife here. I have papers on it.”

  Patrick gave a sigh. “I don’t think you understand bigamy laws Boris. In America that sort of thing is not only frowned upon, at least in most places, but is also quite illegal. I imagine the same holds true back in Belarus.”

  Boris sneered at him for a moment, no doubt trying to intimidate him. Eventually, he shrugged.

  “If Layla wants divorce, she can pay me. Half that money should belong to me anyway.”

  “That’s not how this works, Boris. In fact, you’re getting off rather lightly, considering. Remember how I said I was a win-win kind of guy? Well, here is your win: you get to stay in America.”

  Boris laughed. “I have green card. Why would I not stay?”

  Patrick was seriously beginning to wonder if the man was being purposely dense. “Boris, I’m going to speak slowly because you’re obviously not too quick on the draw here.”

  He ignored the man’s angry look.

  “Not only is bigamy illegal here, which alone could get you deported, it also invalidates the ‘marriage’ you had with Layla which helped you get the green card in the first place.”

  He saw realization dawn in the man’s eyes.

  “Of course, I’m sure Maryna would be more than happy to welcome you home. Actually, on second thought, she might not be. Seven years is probably enough time to get over someone.

  “So here’s the deal, Boris, since you’re conveniently here in L.A. I’m going to have the paperwork sent over to terminate this marriage in such a way that no red flags are waived. Unless of course you want to raise a stink?” Patrick looked at him questioningly.

  Boris just glared back at him but didn’t respond.

  “Good. And hey, it won’t even cost you a thing. The good news is, no one has to be the wiser.”

  Patrick leaned in close enough so that Boris saw he meant business. “You’re going to take this deal and be happy with it Boris. There are a handful of people who know about this now and should you decide maybe you don’t like your side of the bargain, one quick phone call to INS is all it would take. Comprende?”

  Boris just gave a sly smile. “So you want to fuck her, no?”

  Patrick didn’t take the bait.

  “Well, enjoy. The bitch is not worth it.”

  With that he slammed the door in Patrick’s face.

  Patrick took a moment to control the instant anger that raged through him. In the end, the man was all tough guy exterior and scared little rat on the inside. He’d sign the paperwork just to save his own skin.

  Patrick had come to do what he meant to do and, despite his assurances to Boris, it certainly wasn’t to create a win-win situation. Not when the man had tried to kill Layla, and Patrick believed her when she said she was sure of that.

  Today’s little conversation had been simply to satisfy Patrick’s curiosity about the man who’d been a part of Layla’s life for 5 years. It was also to make su
re Boris kept his distance.

  Boris would sign the paperwork “divorcing” Layla. Then Patrick would be making a call to INS. Within a few months the bastard would be back in Belarus for good. Who knew, maybe Maryna Sokolov would be glad to see him after all.

  26

  THE CAKE THAT RUINED MY WEDDING!

  Layla reread the title to the California Bridal magazine again with shock.

  It was supposed to be a glowing piece.

  It was supposed to rave about her cake.

  It was supposed to restore her reputation. Samantha had all but confirmed it at the wedding.

  Now Layla’s eyes scanned across quotes that completely belied the bride’s original assessment of her cake.

  …absolute disaster…

  …nothing at all like I wanted…

  …completely unbefitting the significance of the most important day of my life…

  …I cried for the entire length of the honeymoon…

  There was even an unflattering photo of the cake taken at a weird angle with harsh lighting, making it look like something some amateur had thrown together in their kitchen at the spur of the moment.

  She placed the magazine down on the table and stared up at the wall of her kitchen completely stunned.

  Di-Anne and Bree sat across from her. As part of the De-Vine Delectables bakery team, she had wanted them to be there to celebrate its come-back while she read the anticipated article. Now, they were just here to bear witness to her utter humiliation.

  Bree reached out to take another look at the magazine. She looked at the garish photo of the cake with a frown.

  “Are you sure this is your cake? It looks kinda….” She stopped at the warning look that Di-Anne shot her.

  “Everything about this is just wrong,” Layla said, shaking her head slowly. “There’s no way that Samantha said those things. It’s…I don’t know. Someone is obviously sabotaging me.”

  Di-Anne and Bree stole a glance at one another then cautiously turned to look at Layla. She knew exactly what they were thinking.

  “No,” she said firmly. “No way was he a part of this. I don’t care if he does work for…those people,” she spat the term, unable to bring herself to name the studio that was responsible for this mess in the first place, “he would have told me if this was what was coming down the pipeline.”