Page 82 of Cakes for the Grump
Three sets of eyes narrow at me.
Panic slithers down my spine.What kind of special invitation? Can I admit I’ve messed up badly? Is that how I can get out of here?
“Who are you?” Daniel asks now, hissing the words out.
My hands slowly go up, and I take a step back. “I…make cakes for Luke Abbot.”
Now, I have their attention.
“I’m his chef. He is outside, looking for me.” I point to the door. “So I should leave?—”
Elevator Man circles me, using his body to block the exit. He is grinning as if he’s won all the money being gambled in this building in one hand. “Luke Abbot? Let him come find you here. I’ve been trying to set up a meeting with him for far too long.”
“Oh.” The back of my dress is damp with sweat. “I—let me call him, then.” I pull out my phone, and then let out a cry when Elevator Man yanks it out of my hand.
“I’ll call him for you,” he says. “Tell me the number.”
With no other choice, I do. Is this a kidnapping? I’m not breathing the whole time my phone rings. And rings some more.
What the fuck, Luke? Now you don’t answer?
“He’ll c-come,” I stammer. “Meanwhile, I’ll?—”
I’m about to say, wait outside, but Dimitri has another idea.
“Go make us a drink,” he orders.
TWENTY-TWO
Behind the bar,adrenaline and dread spike through me as I secretly palm a knife, and use my other hand to pour out the cocktails I very, very slowly made.
You can do this. If it comes down to it, cutting a person is like cutting cake. Think of all these nefarious people as having cake faces. You’re not slicing them up. It’s all cake. Jab, jab, jab the cake.
“Finally. The drinks are done,” says Elevator Man, coming over to loom over me, as if somehow sensing my plan to fight my way out of the room. “Serve us,” he orders.
In the most awkward way ever, I one-handedly give him a glass. The long counter separating us might be boxing me in, but it also hides the weapon I’ve picked up. Even so—I’m not quite ready to leave this corner sanctuary for once I do, there will be consequences. Chaos. Danger. Perhaps further talking my way out of things will help…
Elevator Man pulls out a pill from his pocket and drops it into the pink liquid of my cocktail. There is fizz.
“You first,” he says, pushing it back toward me. “Drink up.”
There is laughter around us.
Hellno.
I tense my muscles, ready to attempt all kinds of evasive and aggressive maneuvers when the main door slams open. Swiveling towards the noise,and everything—literally everything that was coiled, sharp, and shaking inside me—sags.
“You—you’re here?” I whisper.
He stalks inside the room. Cold eyes track over the two men on couches, the topless Fox server lingering in the background, Elevator Man, and then they land on me. Whatever disinterested expression he was wearing slips. Luke’s eyes dart up and down what parts of my body he can see. Three times. Four. There are no visible injuries, but he keeps taking inventory.
“Are you okay?”
That’s Sistine asking. She’s come into the suite behind him, along with a man I don’t recognize. Judging by his all-black outfit, muscled build, short brown hair, the scar bisecting his eyebrow—bodyguard is a good guess.
“Yes!” I tell Sistine, “but I’m also really ready to go now. Shall we leave? Immediately perhaps?”
“Wait. We thought you were having fun,” says Daniel. “Once we heard she’s your chef, Abbot, we asked her to make us some drinks.”
