Page 6 of Faking it with My Billionaire Bosses

“Her name’s Sonnie and you’ve got to try her cupcakes.” I jabbed the button for the elevator to move again and cut my eyes at Cole. “This isn’t our building, asshole.”

He shrugged. “Tell me more about Sonnie and her cupcakes.”

CHAPTER 5

Sonnie

It was always the same. Sweets by Sonnie was slow until it wasn’t. I couldn’t complain about having money coming in, but it was hard when I couldn’t turn down any jobs, no matter how inconvenient they were. Just after I got off the phone with Drake and spent half an hour cursing my big mouth, I saw I’d received an order request for a cake. The customer wanted to know if they could get it by the next day. I’d called them back and assured them I could get to the cake, but mentioned there would be a rush fee. However, after listening to the customer’s reason for needing a cake last minute, I waived the fee.

I was a sucker and I knew it. My biggest fear was that I didn’t have the heart for business. None of my worries or concerns mattered when I was baking, though. It was one of the reasons I loved it so much. It’d always been something I lost myself in. I could start a batter and forget everything else for a little while.

After hammering out the details of the order and taking a deposit for the cake, I’d checked ingredients in the kitchen and rushed to the store to do a baking run. I threw a few things in for Rosie, as well, and then raced back home to start on the cake. I wanted them baked and cooled so I could immediately start working on the frosting and decorating the next morning. Or that night when I got off work, more likely.

They wanted a strawberry cake with strawberry buttercream and lemon curd filling. I avoided flavored extracts as much as I could so I’d already cleaned and chopped up four pounds of strawberries. They went in a pot with sugar and lemon to start the compote to flavor both the cake and the frosting. I didn’t own a double boiler so I started my lemon curd over another pan with a glass bowl balanced precariously on top of it. My hands were full with stirring but when my phone rang, I still dove to answer it, terrified it would be the customer, canceling their order.

“Sweets by Sonnie?” I realized I was breathless and took a breath before trying again. “Hi. Hello?”

“I promise this isn’t a thing. I can normally take a hint, especially when the hint is so clear, but I have a proposition for you.” Drake. He’d somehow already imprinted his voice into my veins and my blood pumped a little faster at the sound.

I held the phone between my shoulder and ear so I could stir both pots. “I’m afraid it is becoming a thing. After I embarrassed myself and hung up on you, you weren’t supposed to call back.”

“Consider me stubborn.” He paused and then lowered his voice. “You had no reason to be embarrassed earlier.”

My homemade double boiler was on the move, with the glass bowl trying to scamper off the pot. I swore and dropped the whisk into the bowl while steadying it, causing a small drop of molten sugar to splash up and hit my hand. I swore, licked it off my hand, and then swore more when it burned my tongue, too.

“What’s going on over there?”

I dropped the phone onto the counter and put it on speaker. “I’m making two things at once and one of them just burned me. Twice, because I’m an idiot.”

“What are you making?”

I was drawn out of my panic by his calm questions. If he was so calm, maybe I could calm down some, too. I took a few deep breaths and felt more settled. “Lemon curd on one burner and strawberry compote on another.”

“How’s your burn? Did you try to lick the sugar off your hand and burn your mouth, too?”

I froze and looked around. “How did you know that?”

He laughed. “I bake. You’re not an idiot. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to lick molten sugar off of my skin. Both the curd and the compote can take a second while you run some cool water over your burn.”

“I need to stir them.”

“Trust me.” His voice had taken on a commanding tone and I found myself doing what he said. “People have turned things like curds and compotes into a legend. If you know what you’re doing, and I’m sure you do based on the cupcake I tasted, you can make heated sugar your bitch. If you stop stirring it for a minute, it’s not going to go bad that fast. I promise.”

I turned off the water and dried my arm, my mind going too fast for me to catch any one thought at a time. Instead, I went back to the stove and saw everything was fine. “Who are you?”

He laughed easily. “That’s part of the proposition. Why don’t you finish up what you’re doing and call me back?”

I cleared my throat and went back to stirring, but I wasn’t as devoted to the task as I had been before his words. He was triggering all the puzzle loving parts of my brain and I wanted to know who he was and what he wanted. “I can listen and stir.”

“Whatever you’re making deserves your full attention. Finish up and call me back.” He hesitated. “Don’t add cornstarch to your compote. Just let it cook for longer.”

I scoffed. “I would never.”

He groaned quietly. “Hot. So damn hot.”

I heard the line go dead and stared at my phone. What the hell was that? Who was he? How did he know so much about desserts and what kind of proposition did he have for me? I wasn’t a patient person. I hated waiting for things, no matter what.

I didn’t want to seem desperate to Drake, though. I’d already talked to him about my lack of orgasms and, despite what he said, I was mortified by it. I didn’t want him to think I was a complete loser.

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