Licked (L.A. Liaisons Book 1)

by Brooke Blaine

  “Well I just so happened to stumble across this hiding behind the bar next door,” he said, pulling my clipboard from behind his back.

  “Oh my God, you found it. I love you, I love you, I love you.” I hugged the clipboard to my chest and gave a happy squeal. And then I realized what the hell I’d just said.

  My eyes went wide and I knew I had to have flushed seven shades of purple. Oh yes. My skin definitely bypassed the pink flush and went straight to head-about-to-pop-off purple. Gulping, I said, “Uh…I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Like, the love part. I would’ve said, I like you, I like you, I like you, but it doesn’t really flow as well, huh?”

  He laughed and planted a kiss on the top of my head. “I know what you meant, silly girl.”

  Zoe strode into the kitchen again, her thumb pointing back toward the shop. “It’s go time. Aw, and look, your hot piece of ass found what you were looking for.” She clapped Hunter on the back. “Good job, boy toy.”

  I took a big inhale and then blew it out in a rush. They were here. And I was a professional about to blow them away. Yes. Good. Awesome pep talk.

  Hunter ran his hands up and down my arms. “Kick some ass, Miss Phillips.”

  Nodding, I pulled away and looked over my clipboard, making sure all was in order. “All right. I’m doing this.”

  “Good luck,” they said in unison.

  Even though I’d met with them before when I’d won a spot on the show, I knew anything could happen and I still needed to bring my A-game. I wiped my sweaty hands off on my pencil skirt and lifted my chin before walking out to the front.

  “Mr. Lieberman. Ms. Watts.” I gave them firm handshakes and we said our hellos, and then they moved aside to introduce me to their lighting director, Tony.

  “Thank you so much for coming by,” I said. “I reserved a booth for us, but first, may I interest you in trying out one of our sundaes or shakes?”

  “Ooh, I’d love to try one,” Mr. Lieberman said. “I think I remember one with cheesecake ice cream, do you still have that?”

  “Cheesecake ice cream with Oreo, crumbled graham cracker crust, and fudge? We sure do,” I told him.

  “Perfect,” he said, rubbing his hand over his suit-clad stomach.

  “And for you two?” I asked.

  “Chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate sounds good to me,” Tony said.

  Ms. Watts pursed her lips. “I usually like something a bit more…outside the box, if you know what I’m saying. Not so generic.”

  That felt like a slap at me, but I put a smile on my face anyway and said, “We’ve got a sweet corn ice cream with raspberry swirl that I think would be right up your alley.”

  “Sweet corn,” she murmured, tapping her chin. “I suppose that’ll do.”

  “Great. If you’ll have a seat at the reserved table right over there, I’ll place our orders and be right with you.”

  Then I walked over to the counter to Zoe and gave her the rundown.

  “Got it,” she said. “Go kill it.”

  “Will do. Oh, and Z?”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Make sure when you bring out the desserts, you say the names of them with extra oomph. I think they’d really like that.” I winked, and when I turned, I saw Hunter in the doorway, the tarp lifted a few inches so he could see what was going on.

  You got this, he mouthed, and I smiled, grateful for his encouragement. Had it really only been a few short weeks that he’d been in my life? It felt as though he was the one I’d known since high school, not Cameron. How was that even possible?

  “So Miss Phillips—” Mr. Lieberman started.

  “Ryleigh, please.”

  He gave me a friendly smile. “Ryleigh. The first order of business before we go any further would be to go over the contracts and make sure we’ve all signed off on them. Do you have any questions for us before you do that?”

  “No, I’ve looked over them with my lawyer and they look great,” I said, handing the original signed forms his way. I had three extra copies for me too because, well, you can never have enough copies, right?

  “Perfect.” He flipped through the pages and signed off on each one before passing them to Ms. Watts.

  “Now, Ryleigh, we’d like to go over again how the process will work and what you can expect the day of the show. First, remember that only the winner determined by audience votes and judge’s scores will walk away with the cash prize and the backing to open at least five chain stores in major cities around the country.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m on board with that.”

  “Good. Now, Tony here is in charge of all the lighting and getting it set for the film crew to come in and do their thing. They’ll be here to set up around two thirty that afternoon, but no later than three. We’ll begin your interview around six thirty, after we’ve gotten some shots of the interior and exterior. Also, if you could also have a staff member or two on hand that day, that’d be great. We’ll want shots of the drinks and food, but we’ll have to be quick before it all melts.”

  “Speaking of melting,” Zoe said in a projected voice as she came up to the table, a tray in hand. “I’ve got a Triple Nipple Fudge, a Stroke ’n Poke, and a Clam Jam for you fine folks.”

  I helped place the desserts in front of each of them and thanked Zoe before inviting them to dig in.

  Ms. Watts stared at her sundae, gorgeously drizzled with a raspberry sauce to die for, and prodded it with her spoon. “Which name is this?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “That would be the Clam Jam, ma’am,” I said with a smile.

  She jerked her head up at me and then looked back at the bowl in front of her. “The…right.”

  “This might be the most heavenly thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” Mr. Lieberman said. “Stroke ’n Poke. That’s hilarious.”

  “It’s obscene, is what it is,” the blond woman said in a hushed voice. “What about the kids who come to this store?”

  I looked around at the customers and shrugged. “I don’t see any kids here, and we don’t get a lot of them anyway with the warning sign outside the front door and all. The ones who do come usually just get a Dirty Smurf, and they think it’s cute that it’s named after a cartoon.”

  Mr. Lieberman laughed at that. “I’ll have to bring my son here sometime, then.”

  His coworker was not amused.

  As they ate their sundaes—and yes, even Miss Stick in the Mud ate a large dent of hers—I refreshed them on how Licked functioned, how the After Dark would run once it opened, what my plan was for the (possible) future chains, and what my business numbers over the past two years since we’d been opened looked like. And all this using my—woohoo—handy-dandy color-coded notes.

  Mr. Lieberman set down his spoon when he’d finished and said, “I must say, it’s impressive that a woman your age is bringing in those kinds of numbers after such a short period of time. Most would still be in the red, and those are people much older than you. Not to mention the concept is original, the desserts are topnotch, and the design”—he glanced around the room—“well, it’s just fantastic. What’s your experience prior to this?”

  I beamed. “Thank you, I appreciate that. I learned a lot from working in my grandparents’ ice creamery during summers when I was younger, and then when I graduated I was there full-time until they retired. I’m not sure I could handle the business side if it weren’t for them. They also invested in my idea, and that’s the only reason I even have a business to call my own.”

  “You’re lucky,” the woman said.

  “Or hardworking,” her partner chimed in.

  She pushed her sundae away. “May we see the bar portion of your business now?”

  “Of course. Right this way.” I led them over to the entrance and lifted the tarp so the trio could pass through. As they entered, Ms. Watts let out an “Oh…oh my.”

  Clearing my throat, I motioned at Hunter’s guys busy at work. “As you can see, we’re still in th
e middle of piecing together the final touches and moving in the furniture, but we’ll be ready by the day of the show. The booths will be set along the wall opposite the bar, and we’ll have an assortment of high-tops scattered throughout the area. There will also be a back lounge, which I explained a bit about earlier.”

  Ms. Watts eyed the plastic-covered tables with a pointed brow. “I must admit, I’m a little surprised everything is still in such disorder. Yours is the only one we’ve seen that isn’t ready to go, isn’t that right, Jim?”

  “That’s true, Kathy,” Mr. Lieberman answered, “but I’m sure there’s some logical explanation.”

  They all looked at me expectantly.

  Shit. Shit fucker on a stick. I racked my brain trying to find something polite to say, besides the Hunter and his team have been busting their asses, so would you kindly fuck off? that wanted to fly out.

  But that’s not what came out of my mouth. Instead, I said, “I had a few setbacks with the original construction team, but not to worry. These guys will have everything up and running well before the day of filming.” Then I gave them a confident smile.

  Ms. Watts sniffed. “We surely hope so, or we can’t promise things will go well for you.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, we’re still contracted to have you tape the show, but that doesn’t mean we have to air your segment if things are”—she looked around at the flurry of workers—“still in disarray.”

  Oh my Jesus. Stay cool. Don’t grab that hammer and chase her down with it.

  “I can assure you it won’t come to that,” I said, finding it harder to keep a pleasant expression on my face this time. I wasn’t worried we wouldn’t make the deadline, but I was worried now that they had it out for me. Big fat fucking fuck.

  They walked through the space, Tony taking notes and measuring for the setup. The crew working stayed silent and inconspicuous while the trio browsed, and Hunter gave me a wink when we passed.

  “Well, Ryleigh, we look forward to seeing you in two weeks,” Mr. Lieberman said, extending his hand to shake mine. “I can’t wait to see what you do with this place.”

  “Thank you sir. Ma’am. Tony.” I waved at them as they went out the door of the After Dark, and then pressed the heels of my hands over my eyes. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”

  “That woman was a cunt,” T said, standing on the ladder and waving his paintbrush in her direction. “You should name an ice cream after her.”

  “I’ve got one. It’s called the Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Bitch.”

  “I like it,” T said with a laugh as Hunter walked up and rubbed my shoulders.

  “You know we’ve got this,” he told me. “Don’t stress about her. Once they see what you’ve put together, there’ll be no denying you should be on that show.”

  “She hates me already. You should’ve seen her face when I told her the ice cream she ordered was called the Clam Jam.”

  He laughed. “Remind me to try that one later.”

  “Later, you say?” I asked, perking up.

  “Get your head out of my pants, Phillips.”

  “Now why would I ever do such a stupid thing?”

  He shook my shoulders. “Listen. This is you. She may not get that, but this business…Licked and the After Dark…it has everything you are spilled into it. You’re gonna kill it, trust me. My only worry is that once it airs I’ll never see you again because of the stampede.”

  “Well, I have to make sacrifices for my adoring fans, what can I say? I promise to pencil you in at least twice a week.”

  “You hear this?” Hunter asked T. “Give a woman what she wants and she tosses you out like yesterday’s trash.” He shook his head. “Women.”

  I fingered the paint-splattered coveralls he was wearing today, proof positive that Hunter could look hot in any damn thing.

  “Maybe I’ll let you stick around if you wear these later,” I said, my voice low so only he could hear.

  “Maybe you should let me try some of that Clam Jam now, hmm?”

  “That could be arranged.” I pulled him by his overalls and headed back under the tarp.

  “I heard all that,” T called after us, shaking his head. “Perverts.”

  I WAS FLIPPING through our Ballot Box of Assholes when Paige strolled through the front door the next day. I know what you’re thinking: About time that feisty blond broad made a return.

  Wait, that’s not what you’re thinking? Ohhh, you’re probably wondering about the Ballot Box of Assholes. I don’t mean to brag, but it’s only one of the greatest things ever. It’s a suggestion box where customers can enter their horror stories featuring an asshole ex, asshole roommate, asshole teacher… Well, you get the picture.

  Each week I choose an entry, put together a sundae or shake combination, and then give it a super-sweet name. The person whose story I choose can also come in and get the dessert for free as many times as they want throughout the week it’s featured. For example, the one this week was a rum shake inspired by a cheating bastard with a pirate fetish. I called it: “I Hope It Shrivels Up and Falls Off.”

  Classy, right?

  “Ooh pick mine, pick mine,” Paige said, coming up behind me and eyeing the slips of paper in my hand. “If you see one about a bridezilla named Tammy, go with that one. Although I guess it’s enough that karma smacked that bitch with a case of the herps.”

  I snort-laughed and glanced at her over my shoulder. “What? How do you even know that?”

  “I got curious-slash-annoyed after she made me move her wedding date and they postponed the honeymoon plans I’d helped swing. Super last minute. Super chaos for me. Anyway, I fed her maid of honor some vodka for dinner one night and it all came spilling out.”

  Laughing harder, I shoved the entries into a manila folder and turned to face my psychotic friend. “There’s no one in this world quite like you, you know that?”

  “Thank fuck. One of a kind over here.”

  “Isn’t that the truth. You hungry? Thirsty? Oh, hey, can you try this and tell me what you think?” I called one of my staff over to bring me a sample of the new flavor I’d made this morning. All new ideas were tested on the floor, and I currently had Heather making the rounds to customers and getting feedback.

  “What is it?” Paige sniffed the ice cream. “It smells like watermelon.”

  “That’s because it’s the new one I’m thinking about putting out for our Friday night, ‘Flavors from Your Favorite Flicks’ theme. You get one guess as to what I’m calling that one. Think movie lines.”

  She took a bite with the tiny wooden spoon and her eyes drifted shut. “Mmm, so fucking yum. I’m gonna go with ‘I Carried a Watermelon.’”

  “Wow. I’m impressed,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe I should have you naming these instead. Whaddya say? Quit that whole wedding shtick and come up with naughty ice cream all day?”

  “Tempting, but my job is way too entertaining to give up.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. It’d break my heart to lose all the juicy gossip.”

  “Mine too,” she said, finishing off her ice cream. Then she nodded next door. “I don’t hear chainsaws or whatever the hell has been going on over there. They still working?”

  “Yeah, but they’re almost done. I need to check with Hunter to see if it’s still okay to help out tomorrow.”

  “Uh…help out like manual labor? Why would you do that to yourself when you’re paying someone else to deal with the hassle?”

  I shrugged. “I just thought maybe I should contribute a bit. Nothing major, obviously, I don’t wanna mess anything up.”

  “If you insist. But speaking of that hot man,” she said, rubbing her hands together, “how’s it going?”

  “Good…like, insanely good. I’m trying not to jinx anything over here, but…” I bit my lip.

  “But what? Spit it out, Ry. Are you trying to tell me I’ll be planning your wedding sometime soon? Better book me now.”
r />   “No,” I said quickly. “I mean, it’s still too soon to think about anything like that. That’d be insane.”

  “But you’ve thought about it.” Not a question.

  “Doesn’t every girl think about it?”

  “Hell no,” Paige said, scrunching her nose. “Actually, that’s not true. Most do that whole scribbling their names together with hearts all over a notebook thing. I never have, but that’s also because I don’t plan to get married.”

  “I hope you’re not blasting that info out to your clients.”

  “Trust me when I say they’re so busy talking about themselves, their perfect wedding, and how amaaaazing their groom is that my love life isn’t even a blip on their radar.” She held up her ring finger and flashed a platinum band of diamonds she’d bought for herself after her first big event. “Plus, I keep this on, and they assume I’m married and in a perpetual state of bliss. Now are you going to show me the new place or do I have to beg?”

  “You have to beg.”

  “Ugh. For fuck’s sake.” Paige started to get down on her knees, and I laughed and pulled her back up.

  “Come on, ya wacko.” Lifting the edge of the tarp, we walked into the not-so-disaster-anymore area. It was coming along so well; the construction was finished, the first stages of paint were being applied, and then it was time for the fun part—the decorating part.

  “Ta-da,” I said when we entered.

  Paige’s jaw fell open as she walked around, her steps careful on the plastic covering the floor from any splatters. “Holy shit. You have a bar. A super-kickass-looking bar. Can I live here?”

  “Sure, I’ll put a bed in the back.”

  “Make it one of those circular rotating ones.”

  “Nothing but the best for you, my dear.” I caught T’s eye from where he was working on the wall behind the bar.

  “Hey hey,” he said, coming over to the end. “How’s it lookin’?”

  “Unbelievable. Really. I can’t believe you’ve gotten so much done in just a few short weeks. I’m blown away.”

  “Glad you approve,” he said, giving me a pleased smile.