“I can’t give out that type of info, sorry.” He reached back down into the glass cabinet to place more prizes.
“Okay.” There was no way I could prevent my disappointment from coloring my tone. “Well, do you know who I could talk to about getting more info?”
“Who is your boss?” He scratched at his chin as he eyed me up and down again, just like he had when I’d first introduced myself.
“Colleen Neese,” I offered, hoping her name would somehow unlock a secret stash of information Buster didn’t seem to want to part with.
“Talk to her,” he said.
I wondered if that was a roundabout way of admitting Colleen was the ringleader, the one “higher up on the ladder.” I thanked him for his time and ambled back to the bakery, working out in my mind how to confront my boss about the meeting. Again.
Colleen actually looked somewhat excited to see me when I swooped into the bakery while simultaneously tying my apron on. I was glad she was in a good mood because I really needed to pump her for some information.
“Hey, there, how goes it?” I squeezed out a charming smile and waited for her to take the bait.
“Good, Marcus, good. How about you? You’re certainly looking chipper today.” She set down her rolling pin and went to wash her hands in the stainless steel sink.
“I wanted to ask you something.” My pitch lowered to a more serious-sounding level, which made her turn to stare at me.
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you allow temps to attend your super secret meetings?” My head tilted as I looked for her reaction—it might be more telling than her actual words.
“Who told you that?” Yep, brows arched, eyes wide, lips pursed. She didn’t want to talk about this topic.
“Uh, Buster, the guy at the arcade. He said it wasn’t his rule—”
“It’s not my rule either,” she insisted, drying her hands on a cloth towel. “But I do agree with it. I mean, we want employees there who are invested in the company and who get the health insurance and other benefits. Temps don’t.”
“Yeah, don’t remind me,” I said, shaking my head, trying to summon a sad, disappointed tone.
“Why are you so interested in this meeting?” She narrowed her dark eyes on me. “You’ve brought it up almost every day.”
I cleared my throat, buying myself some time to formulate an answer. “Like you said, I’m probably not going to find a job in art history, so I might end up here for a while—I mean, if I can get a full-time position in the fall. So it seems like company policies might be really important to me here soon. If I can help leverage better pay and benefits in any way, then...I’m all about that.” I shot her a confident grin.
She shook her head as she expelled a huff of air. When she looked at me again, there was kindness in her eyes, a softness that wasn’t there moments before. “Marcus, you don’t want to work here. You’re a sweet kid and all, but I don’t know if you’re cut out for this place—”
That was a harsh thing for her to say. Especially since I fucking grew up here. How could I not be cut out for my own destiny? Someday I’d be running this park alongside Clem and Carson, once my parents retired, anyway.
She must have sensed the sting her comment inflicted upon me because she was quick to backpedal. “What I mean is that you’re a really nice guy. Maybe you’re not very experienced, but you have good people skills and a real charming way about you, Marcus. The Sweets—the people who own this place—”
Like I didn’t know the Sweets. For fuck’s sake.
“—they’re assholes, Marcus. They don’t care about their employees. The benefits suck. The wages suck. Like we were telling you the other day, it’s not a family-friendly place, not like you’d think, being a family theme park and all.”
“Aren’t you trying to change that?” I poked around a little deeper, desperately working to stay in character and not defend my parents. Though I wanted to. The rant my father would go on if he were standing here listening to this conversation was beginning to rumble up inside me.
“A group of us are, yes.” I could sense her exasperation as she grabbed some dough out of the fridge and began to pound it against the counter a little more violently than necessary before dusting it with more flour.
I decided to cut to the chase. “Are you in charge of the group?”
Her eyes rocketed to mine in a flash. “No.” It was a curt and adamant denial.
I shrugged, trying to play this off as mere curiosity instead of what it really was, an interrogation. “I also heard there was a secret Facebook group for Sweetopia employees. How do you get into that?”
“Did Buster tell you that too?” She huffed out another long breath before going to work on rolling the dough out thin and flat against the counter.
“Uh, I can’t remember where I heard that one...” I didn’t particularly want to implicate anyone I’d conversed with. I needed to protect my sources, and if Colleen was lying about being in charge, she might retaliate against anyone who provided me with information.
“There’s a secret group,” she confirmed. “But like the meeting, it’s for regular employees only. No temps.”
Damn it. I was being thwarted at every turn. I could hear my father’s voice ringing in my ear, pushing me to dig deeper, push harder. As if I’d summoned him, the phone began to ring on the other side of the bakery.
Colleen held up her flour-covered hands. “Can you get that?”
“Of course.” I nodded to another employee who had raced from the kitchen in the back to help. “Hello?”
“Oh, hello, Mr. Sweet!” I gushed after hearing my father’s voice. “Yes, of course. I will send her right up.”
I had suggested that my dad call Colleen up for a meeting so I could snoop around a bit more, but I didn’t think he’d really follow through on that. I guess I was wrong. I relayed “Mr. Sweet’s” message to my boss, and, looking completely flustered, she washed her hands before taking off her apron and rushing out the back of the bakery toward the secret employee tunnel.
The other bakery employee just looked at me and shrugged. I gave her a polite smile and told her I’d be back in a moment.
It didn’t take me long to reach the gift shop on the other side of the castle. It was still early, and there was a long line extending out of the throne room, but the gift shop wouldn’t be inundated until that line moved past greeting the queen and back into the main hallway. The other place patrons came from was the boat ride dumping its riders off in the gift shop at the end. Genius marketing tactic, of course, creating a captive audience.
Ellie, the manager, wasn’t behind the counter, but I soon realized that was a good thing because traffic was already starting to spill in. I shot a smile over at the girl manning the cash register and the one out on the floor helping a kid pick out a plastic sword before letting myself into the employees’ only area at the back of the store. I noticed the light in Ellie’s office immediately.
“Well, hello there,” she oozed, her bright honey-colored eyes shining at me. “You never came back like you said you would.”
“Sorry about that.” I gave a little shrug. “I’m just now getting a chance. It’s been super busy over at the bakery.”
“Even this early in the morning?” she questioned, her brows tacking together like she didn’t quite believe me. What was with the skepticism among Sweetopia employees? First Buster didn’t buy that I was British or studied art history, and now Ellie was incredulous as well.
“Even this early. Those cookies are addictive!” My lips spread into my most charming smile as I prepared to go in for the kill. I wondered what it would cost me: a kiss? A grope?
Ellie slid out from under the desk, and I immediately noticed she was wearing a somewhat short, tight skirt that didn’t seem like the thing a children’s theme park gift shop manager should wear. She leaned up against her desk, crossing her arms in front of her chest and pushing her small breasts together to form some semblance
of cleavage. It was less than impressive, especially compared to what The Red Velvet Queen flaunted in her corset, but I could tell she was trying desperately to pull off the sexy look.
“Still interested in that secret staff meeting?” Her voice was laced with seduction, and she finished her question by shamelessly biting down on her bottom lip.
“Actually, yes,” I answered, stepping closer to her. “Very interested. That’s why I came to see you.”
Her lips quirked down into a pout. “Is that the only reason?”
“Well, I—I am thinking about taking a full-time job here at the end of the season, and I just sort of want to know what to expect...benefits-wise...”
She laughed. “A young, healthy guy like you probably wouldn’t have any issues with the health plan here. It’s not the best, but...you’re single, right?”
She put a lot of emphasis on the word “right,” and I began to grow uncomfortable when she stood up and moved toward me, slipping her arm around my waist.
She was cute, kinda, in a flat-chested sort of way. She had nice eyes and a decent smile.
But she wasn’t Jolie.
She wasn’t even in the same universe as Jolie.
What on earth was I talking about? I wasn’t dating Jolie. We’d fucked in her dressing room, and I’d barely seen her since. It wasn’t like I was in any way, shape, or form beholden to her.
I can have my cake and eat it too. What could be more “sweet” than that, pardon the pun?
Besides, fidelity had never been my thing. I’d never given up a chance to explore something new, something different, especially when it was so easy, so effortless...being handed to me on a silver platter.
“Why don’t you come a little closer?” she purred, grabbing hold of a fistful of my pink polo shirt and pulling me closer to her waiting mouth.
I snapped, jerking back at least three steps. I don’t know who was more surprised by my reaction: me or her.
“You’re single, right?” she reiterated, her eyes bouncing between mine in a mixture of embarrassment and desperation.
Fuck. I can’t do this.
I had absolutely zero desire to touch this woman or be touched by her.
“Sorry, but—” I stammered as I looked into her eyes, pleading for a second chance, “—but I really just want to know about the meeting. I—”
“You’re not gay, are you?” Her brows furrowed as her face froze in a sharp expression of disapproval. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
Maybe she is a Seinfeld fan too? “No, I, uh—”
“Ellie, can you come help this customer? He’s trying to return something, and it’s not in the original packaging,” came a voice behind me.
Hot damn. Saved by a fellow employee. I knew she wouldn’t understand why, but I shot her the most grateful look I could muster before hightailing the hell out of there. On my walk back to the bakery, I kept asking myself over and over again what the hell my problem was.
I was so close to getting what I needed, but I couldn’t seal the deal.
I thought my session with Theo would distract me from everything going on with my son River and his medical treatment, but it turned out that the only thoughts that could distract me from anything were the ones about Marcus.
And those weren’t exactly welcome.
Not when I was supposed to be tying Theo up and rendering his hiney red as a lobster. While my hands and mouth and body were present in the room, cracking the paddle over Theo’s backside and clobbering him with a litany of insults and curses (he really, really liked that shit), my mind was divided in two. Half was focused on River and the fact that his doctor wanted to admit him to the hospital for a week for what was commonly called a tune-up. I wanted to push it off as long as possible, till the end of summer if we could, but Dr. Grimes said it wasn’t advisable. They wanted to put him on some high-powered antibiotics, a week inpatient and the rest at home. My mom said she would take care of him, but how could I let my baby stay in the hospital and not be there for him?
Summer was the busiest time at Sweetopia. Though my boss, the Director of Characters, claimed to have spoken with the Sweets about my situation a few times, no one seemed to care about me or my son’s illness. Last week when I missed a few days, my boss basically said that I had better not miss any more time that summer. That’s why putting River’s tune-up off till fall would work so much better. There are smaller crowds and reduced hours at the park, and it would be easier for me to get away. Not to mention if we were able to get the Sweets to re-evaluate their health plan and leave policy after the strike we were organizing—I would hopefully be in a better position to pay the hospital bills and take time off.
In any case, the guilt just fucking stabbed me, twisting a knife right into my back.
I was drowning in the guilt most days. How could I have given my precious son this disease? His father and I were both carriers, apparently—not that his father even stuck around to see him born. I tried to find him once upon a time, shortly after River’s diagnosis. I planned to sue him for support. The asshole signed away his rights, saying he never wanted to be contacted again. What kind of man could just abandon his own son? A sick one at that? Only a true monster.
No wonder I have let the other half of my mind drift to Marcus again and again. I know he’s young and just a temp worker—he could never be a partner for me or a father figure for my sons, not that I’d even want anyone in that role, no matter how much my mother thought I needed someone to fill it. But he was fun. The time I spent with him I was able to forget for just a moment how royally sucktastic my life was, pardon the pun.
I saw him earlier today right before I left. He was on break and came to see if I was on break too. Of course, I wasn’t. So he just stood at the back of the throne room and made faces at me, trying to get me to break character. Silly boy. Somehow I managed to preserve my queenly countenance. It took every drop of strength I had, though—no wonder I didn’t have the concentration I needed for Theo tonight!
When I got back to my dressing room, there was a little note taped to my mirror. I don’t know how he got in; I guess my assistant must have let him. The note had a little drawing of a fire with flames shooting up like fingers. Underneath he printed, “Sorry I missed you today, Hot Stuff.”
How cute is that?
“Mistress Magenta?” Theo’s small voice came muffled from behind the latex mask he was wearing.
I bent down to look my sub in the eyes. He usually took his punishment without comment, so I was worried I’d gone too hard. “Yes?”
“May I use the restroom?” he asked, his voice quivering.
“Yes. Go ahead.” I unhooked his collar from where he was tethered to the bench we were playing on. Ordinarily I would have made him do something for me in exchange for the freedom to go piss, but I was obviously off my game tonight. And I needed to wrap up this session. I rented a space in a dungeon, and it was scheduled for another session with a different dominatrix at the top of the hour.
I didn’t feel like I had given my all today as either a mom, a queen, or a Domme. I’d let too many thoughts of Marcus and his mouthwatering cock seep in.
I pledged to do better tomorrow.
Seven
My vow to do better was quickly forgotten when I found Marcus waiting outside my dressing room. He wasn’t wearing his Sweetopia logo shirt yet, but rather a charcoal gray tank top that showed off his arm muscles. How could he be totally ripped and be a nerd too? It just defied logic that someone like him, the perfect dichotomy of brains and brawn, could exist.
“What’s up?” rolled off his tongue as he pushed off the wall to lean toward me for a peck on the lips. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you in the past week.”
I bristled when his lips hit mine. I knew there were cameras in this hallway and hoped he’d get the hint when I flashed my gaze up at the one aimed directly at us. I dug my keys out of my purse and quickly unlocked the door. There were no cameras in m
y dressing room. Thank god.
“Sorry.” I gestured to the rolling chair in the corner my makeup artist used when she worked on me. A glance at the clock above my mirror warned that she’d be arriving in only ten minutes. I had some makeup on, but she would do my eyes and lips, then come back at lunchtime to touch them up after I ate.
“I’ve never seen you without all your makeup on,” Marcus observed as he rolled the chair close to me.
“Sorry to disappoint you. The eyelashes are fake.” I arranged my gown around my thighs as I took a seat, the boning of my corset digging into my ribcage. I must have put on a few pounds in the last few weeks. My costume seemed tighter than normal. Stress eating, I decided. Because of River.
“Whatever,” he retorted, his dark eyes shining, “you look beautiful just the way you are.” He ran a finger down my arm and then took my hand into his.
“I bet you wouldn’t say that if you saw me out of costume,” I snapped back. Then I instantly regretted it.
“What, are you like hiding a third leg under there or something?” His lips turned up into a soft smile. “I have pretty much seen what you’ve got, Jolie. Maybe not all at once, but I’ve seen enough to know you’re stunning, in or out of costume. You are a fucking work of art—and I should know, I’ve studied plenty of art.”
I desperately fought off a blush that wanted to creep out from behind my ears and across my cheeks. What the fuck is that about? I don’t blush. How could I be falling for all his lame lines and cheesy attempts at flirtation? I think the accent lowers my defenses or something. Or maybe it’s the scruffy beard.
Then again, knowing he could back up those cheesy lines with that massive cock he harbored between his legs was probably a major contributing factor. Just watching the way his eyes trailed down my arms, across my cleavage, and then back up to my eyes was making my nipples hard. I wanted his hands on me, his lips. I wanted him to have his way with me again like he did a few days ago. I had thought of nothing else—even though I knew it was wrong for me to obsess. So wrong.
Sugar & Spice (Spicetopia Book 1) Page 6
