Decadent Dreams. A.C. Arthur

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      He’d arrived at the bakery early; then again he did that on most days when he had three cakes to go out by noon. The orders were usually split among the chefs unless the customer requested someone in particular—which mostly happened to Carter, who was as smooth and charismatic as he was the absolute best artisan cake designer Malik knew. While each of the senior team were masters at baking and decorating signature cakes, cookies, brownies and fine pastries, they all had somehow managed to find their own niche that was respected throughout the business. As for Malik, his favorite dessert had always been fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies so it was logical that he spent a lot of time developing new cookie recipes. Brownies were a new specialty that he’d been working on, and after a tremendous response from customers to his new flavors, he figured he’d hit on something big in that department.

      There was a children’s party later today to celebrate one of the local middle schools’ production of The Wizard of Oz, so in addition to the three cakes on his schedule, Malik had ten dozen cookies and four dozen mint brownies to bake by three o’clock this afternoon.

      He looked at his watch as he moved down the hallway that separated the large kitchen and the offices at Lillian’s, and headed toward the showroom. He knew Amber would already be at the front desk since the bakery opened at nine and it was already 8:50 a.m. Now, he would check the display cases to make sure they were full before heading into the meeting—the meeting he hoped didn’t take too long.

      As he approached the swinging doors to the showroom, Malik heard voices and figured more of the staff was here early this morning. He was just about to enter when he looked through the circular windows first and stopped dead in his tracks.

      There should be a law against being so fine and so uptight at the same time. He shook his head as his eyes stayed fixated on her—a pastime he’d long since developed. His body had a systematically physical reaction to seeing Belinda. The heat always started at the top, with a lick of his lips as he swallowed deeply. His chest heaved, his heart rate increasing. Then his fingers clenched because the thought of touching her was almost irresistible. All that pooled into the groin area, causing an undeniable erection. To get rid of it, he’d have to focus extremely hard on something like baseball stats or the last chick flick he’d been forced to watch.

      About thirty seconds later his brain would once again take control of his traitorous body and he’d be back to business.

      Belinda Drayson-Jones was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. That was a simple fact. Her tall, curvy frame was alluring and the buttery complexion of her skin enticing. But for Malik, it was her eyes that grabbed him by the balls and squeezed so tightly he thought he’d have an aneurysm every time he stared at her. Not just their green color, because he’d seen green-eyed beauties before. No, for him, it was deeper. It was the look of pure sadness that he found in the hazel-flecked depths that kept a stranglehold on him.

      Even today, as he finally pushed through the door and walked into the showroom, he could tell she wasn’t happy.

      “Morning, good people. How are we today?” he asked in his normal upbeat tone as he approached the table where Belinda sat with her brother, Drake.

      “Hey, man, glad you’re here early. I have something for you,” Drake said to Malik as he dug into his leather briefcase and pulled out what looked like a report. “When you get a moment, look that over. I have one for Carter, too. We should meet sometime this week to talk about what we want to do.”

      Malik took the bound papers from him and flipped through them quickly. He nodded. “That’s right. We did talk about this a few weeks ago. I’ll look at it tonight.”

      “When’s a good time for you to meet?” Drake asked.

      “I’m free this weekend,” he told him, still looking at the papers and not at Belinda, who he knew was looking at him.

      Here was a fact he’d discovered about Belinda in the years that he’d known her. She had to know everything, be in control of everything and do everything. Now, that seemed like more than one fact, but actually it all culminated into one—perfection. That should have been her middle name. On most days, to the bulk of the people who knew her, it was annoying as hell. To Malik, it was funny and sad at the same time. Some days, he felt as sorry for her as he was attracted to her.

      “I’m free for a meeting this weekend, as well,” she said in a voice that wasn’t husky but wasn’t dainty and feminine like her cousin Monica’s, either. It was simply Belinda, to which Malik had learned to classify a lot of things about her.

      “You’re not invited,” Drake told her with a quick smile.

      “Sorry.” Malik added his own smile when she eyed him suspiciously. “No girls allowed.”

      “Very funny,” she said, standing and walking from the table.

      Her perfume was heavenly, Euphoria by Calvin Klein. He knew it well and wanted to personally thank Calvin for creating the scent that matched the woman so expertly. He was about to turn and say something else to Belinda when the front door opened and Shari Drayson walked in.

      “Grandma’s here. Time for the meeting.”

      Chapter 2

      Lillian Reynolds-Drayson walked into the kitchen with an air of royalty that rivaled Queen Elizabeth. She was a tall woman, almost five-seven, with skin the color of warm honey weathered only slightly by time. She wore a rose-colored suit, the skirt modestly five inches below her knee, the jacket custom fit with floral appliqués at the shoulders and down the lapels. She loved pastel colors as much as she loved fresh flowers. But what Lillian loved most was this bakery and her grandchildren, most of whom were assembled around her.

      “Good morning. I know you’re all wondering why I called you here this morning so I won’t beat around the bush,” she said.

      Lillian stood at the head of the twelve-foot-long stainless steel worktable. To her left, her grandson Drake sat on a stool, his briefcase and paperwork spread out in front of him. Drake always had paperwork because his mind was always busy. That had been the case when he was a child and more so now that he’d grown up and decided he was better at marketing and advertising than he was at baking. After he’d graduated college and come into the fold, he’d brought new-generation fundamentals and visions into Lillian’s. He’d been the one to suggest those dang computers that took over most of the duties that Lillian and Henry had done themselves. Not that Lillian was complaining. She knew the day was coming soon that she would no longer stand at the helm of this business, dictating what its next step would be. And she wasn’t sad about that. It was the natural course of things. Life had to go on. Together she and Henry had built this legacy so that one day they could sit back and watch their offspring continue on with its success. She’d been fortunate that her grandchildren had the same talent and passion for baking as she did. While her children had also learned at her elbow, watching everything she did, tasting her new creations and helping in the early days of the bakery, they’d all seemed to grow in different directions.

      But Lillian wasn’t one to be deterred. She knew at some point there would be someone to pass down the bakery to. Sitting right beside Drake was his sister Belinda. A more beautiful child Lillian swore she had never seen. A natural talent in the kitchen, tenacious and unwavering in everything she did. Lillian prayed especially hard, however, over this one every day.

      To her right was another one of her granddaughters. Shari was a quiet one, very talented and a great mother to her four-year-old son, Andre. Lillian was proud of how dedicated a mother and СКАЧАТЬ