Page 5 of Sugar, Sprinkles, and Secrets
…I wasn’t asking about Fiona.
I roll my eyes at that. This ridiculous dance these guys have been having for years is old as shit. I would’ve thought Jack’s recent actions would have made things pretty clear, but he and Wells are still in this weird limbo where Wells pretends like he doesn’t see that his best friend is head over heels in love with hislittle sister. Jack walks on eggshells around Wells when it comes to anything related to Tinsley, and Tinsley acts like everything is fine and nothing has changed—even though everything has.
Me
I’ll have Hattie send your teams the info so you both know what’s going on, they were supposed to have a plan by end of the day today I think. Helps when Fiona and Tinsley are such big names, people are more accommodating to last minute plans.
“Hey, Hattie. Can you pop in here please?” I press the intercom button that connects me to her desk. Hattie has been my assistant for the last eight years. I thought she wanted to pursue a more hands-on artist management role when I hired her right out of college, but she discovered she likes running my life, and I discovered if I paid her really well, she kicked ass at doing it.
“¿Qué pasa, viejo jefe?” Hattie grins as she bounces into my office. But even her neon pink hair and sunny grin can’t take away from what she just said.
“Did you … did you just call me old man boss?” I cross my arms and narrow my gaze at her.
“I did! See? You remember more of your Spanish from college than you thought. I’ve been brushing up on it for my upcoming trip to Playa del Carmen.”
“I am not … old.” Forty-two isn’t old, right?
“Adorable, sir. That’s absolutely precious, and I will support this positive thinking because you’re right, age is just a number, even if you need reading glasses these days.” Hattie had a complete meltdown last year when she turned thirty, so maybe to her, I really am old. The girl wore all black for an entire week after her birthday, and before that, I didn’t even know she owned a single piece of black clothing.
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. When the details for the New Year’s Eve concert get adjusted and figured out, Jack and Wells both want to be cc’d on everything.”
“Got it, viejo cabrón!” She gives me a thumbs up before turning to leave.
I try not to laugh as I call after her. “Hey Hattie, what do you think you just called me?”
“Old goat! It’s cute, right? I feel like we need nicknames at this point in our relationship, Maxwell.” She preens, and I can’t hold back my laughter. Friends and family all call me Max, but business associates and colleagues usually call me Maxwell, which is funny because I never introduce myself as Maxwell Riley—that sounds like a man in his seventies who has a manor in the English countryside.
“Sure, but you actually called me an old bastard. Old goat would have been ‘vieja cabra’ not ‘viejo cabrón.’” And I’m also not convinced she made a mistake in the first place.
“Oh! Ha! Well, maybe that fits too!” Hattie laughs as she goes back to her desk outside of my office.
Unfortunately, she’s not wrong, especially lately. I am a miserable old goat bastard. I run my hand down my face before picking up my phone and waving the proverbial white flag. I need advice and the list of people I would even consider calling is extremely short.
Jack answers on the third ring, which for most people would be considered a small miracle when it comes to reaching him—that is unless you’re one of the very few select people on a very short list including his family, Wells, myself, and—something he would not have admitted to me or anyone else up until very recently—Tinsley Sinclair. “What’s going on, Max?”
“Hey, I uh … I should’ve probably checked your schedule to see if you were free, sorry.” Sometimes I forget to the world he may be The Jack Callahan, but to me, he’s just my best friend. I usually have my shit together more than this, but clearly, Cara makes me crazy.
“Are you okay? What’s going on?” I know he’s been worried about me this year. After my mother’s arrest, most people were able to separate her from relationships they may have with my father, brothers, or myself—others lumped us all together. I know none of us had any clue about her bullshit affair or mafia connections, and I can’t imagine ever covering for what she did. I get exceptionally protective when people imply that any of us had any idea what was really going on.
“Remember when I told you how I was seeing someone earlier this year and then after everything happened, we went our separate ways?” Everything happened feels like the understatement of the year because of how my mother’s actions impacted both of our families, but this isn’t the time for that.
Jack hums. “Yeah, Cara. She owns the bakery, right?”
“Yeah, she owns Sprinkles.” And possibly my heart.
“What’s going on, Max?”
“She’s just … Damn it, I miss her so much, Jack. I’ve never felt like this with any other woman. It’s impossible to move on—I’ve tried. I don’t want to move on from her and what we were building. I want to get back together and … I need some advice.”
“And my sterling record was so shiny you thought you should call me?” True, he isn’t one for relationships, or at least successful ones. But he is trying, well, something with Tinsley.
I groan in frustration. “I don’t know how to solve the problem and that’s foreign for me, man.”
“Have you tried asking her?”
“Asking her what?”
I hear him huff into the phone and laugh a little. “Asking her out, dumbass. When is the last time you asked her out?”
