HER CHERRY

PENELOPE BLOOM
 CONTENTS

1. Hailey
2. William
3. Hailey
4. William
5. Hailey
6. William
7. Hailey
8. William
9. Hailey
10. William
11. Hailey
12. William
13. Hailey
14. William
15. Hailey
16. Epilogue
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 1

HAILEY

M y grandma had always said baking was the cure for sadness.
Grammy was adorable, and she could make cookies to knock
the stockings off a fireplace, but she was dead wrong. I had been
pulling fresh cherry pies, pastries, croissants, bagels, and any other
confectionary treats you could imagine out of the oven in my bakery
for over two years now. And by my estimation, the only thing baking
cured was slim waistlines and commitments to diets.
I wasn’t sad anyway. I'd just turned twenty-five, and I realized I
couldn't wait for life to come get me. Call me slow on the uptake, but
I'd thought if I kept my nose down, worked hard, and acted like a
good girl, everything else would follow. Instead, I just wore myself a
comfortable groove in the routine of my day while time passed faster
and faster. If I wasn't careful, I'd be an eighty-year-old virgin who
made a cupcake that could induce spontaneous orgasms. Great
baking skills, sad life. That wasn't exactly my dream. Deep down, I
knew if I kept avoiding chances like I avoid flossing—except the day
before I went to the dentist—I'd end up as the crusty, old, virginal
baker.
Baking was easy. It made sense. Add this much, take out that
much, bake at this temperature, let rest for so long. It was a science,
and if you kept track of what you did, you knew what to expect. I
liked that about baking. It was my safe place, and if my sister and
Ryan, my only employee, weren't constantly prodding me about my
lack of social life, I'd probably already have retreated so deep into
the baking that I'd be lost. My plans for the weekend included
scouting the local farmer's markets for fresh ingredients from my
favorite locals, testing new recipes, and trying to perfect existing
ones. Baking was my life. I wouldn't be surprised if cherry filling ran
through my veins. At the very least, I wore flour more often than
makeup. There was baking, and there was my life. It was easy to
think that someday the two would collide, that all my dreams of
expanding the shop and perfecting my recipes would somehow lead
me to the excitement I felt was missing. Other days, I felt like I was in
a pastry-encrusted cage: tasty, but a cage is a cage.
Yes, I loved what I did, but no, Grammy, it wasn't the cure-all.
All I had to do was look at the battered old college textbook under
the leg of my oven. I’d bought the oven heavily used, and one leg
was about a college textbook too short. Marine Biology and Scarce
Ecosystem Dynamics. It sounded like someone had plugged a few
science words into a blender and figured college kids would feel
smart for carrying it around. Then they slapped a three hundred
dollar price tag on it for good measure. When the school library had
offered to buy it back for ten dollars, I told them they could go screw
themselves and their ten dollars.
Well, technically, I thought they could go screw themselves. I
might’ve actually smiled politely, said “no thank you,” and then
listened to some Matt Costa on the way home to calm down. I
worked in customer service all my life, and I knew how unfair it was
to give the person behind the desk attitude for something they
couldn’t control.
So I’d put the book to work over the last six or seven years. If
they weren’t going to give me three hundred dollars back, I’d find
three-hundred-dollars-worth of ways to use it. First, it served as a
doorstop in my college dorm while I finished out the sociology
degree that was gathering dust in a filing cabinet somewhere. It’d
been bumped into, tripped over, and downright degraded—I called it
fat once when I stubbed my toe on it, which admittedly had been
crossing the line, but I wasn’t about to apologize to a book. It also
moonlighted as a spider smasher, when it wasn’t holding doors. I
used it as a pillow when my cat decided to throw up on mine. I’d
even doodled inside most of the margins. And now? Now, it was a
cornerstone to my oven. In essence, it was a cornerstone to my
business.
That was a bit of a stretch, sure. But the truth and dough were
more alike than people realized. Give them a tug in the right place, a
snip here, and maybe a little kneading, and viola. You had yourself a
very easy to swallow pill. Or muffin.
All in all, I'd say I was at least up to twenty dollars in value after
all these years. Only two-hundred and eighty to go. There was, of
course, one other reason I kept that stupid book when I sold all the
other overpriced textbooks for pennies. I'd doodled his name in that
book with a little heart around it for the first time. It was the one I was
holding when we talked the first time after class, clutched to my
chest, right over my rapidly beating heart. Nathan. The boy of my
dreams who turned into the creepy stalker from hell. I could thank
him for my virginity, at least in part. I wasn't sure if there was such a
thing as post-traumatic creeper disorder, but if there was, Nathan
had infected me with it. I'd become a master of pushing any and
everybody with a penis away after him. Keeping the book was my
figurative way of hanging a warning sign in the middle of my life:
"Beware the penis, for danger this way lies."
I set down the last cherry pie on the flour-coated steel table by
the oven. They looked perfect. And they should. When it came to
baking, I didn’t play around. I had a notebook full of recipes and the
alterations I’d tried along the way to finding the perfect balance of
flavors and textures. Pages and pages of the difference between one
cup of sugar, a slightly overfilled cup, underfilled, or added half at a
time, and so on. If baking was science, I was the mad scientist. The
cupcake wizard. If people are going to come to my shop to indulge,
they could bet their buns they were going to enjoy every bite.
Baking didn’t cure me of the empty feeling that had nestled itself
deep in my heart, but it did give me purpose. I knew I was good at it,
and I wanted to eventually expand my shop. Step one was figuring
out a way to pay my own bills, but hey, if world domination was easy,
everyone would do it.
My little sister, Candace, popped in on her way to work. She was
an editor at Business Insights, and she always stopped by to pick up
a bagel on her way to work. Her short blonde hair bobbed with every
step as she came half-skipping up to the front counter. She slid her
sunglasses up into her hair and wiggled her eyebrows around.
I dusted the flower from my hands, then gave the book a little kick
for good measure. I wished I could kick him instead, but the book
would have to do. Too bad it didn’t work like a voodoo doll.
“How is my favorite virgin doing this morning?” she asked
cheerily.
“You know I could spit in your bagel, right?” I mentally braced
myself. Candace had the virgin talk with me about once a month,
probably on days I was looking particularly haggard.
“Oooh, the saliva of a virgin. I hear that has magical powers.
Please, I’ll take some of that with my cream cheese.”
"You're disgusting. And the only power in my saliva would be an
anti-aphrodisiac if my history is any indication."
“Hm. That’ll be a hard pass.”
“You know, if you could stop calling me a virgin at the top of your
lungs so often, everyone in my life wouldn’t have to know.”
“Everyone in your life. Okay. So Ryan and grammy?”
"Asshole," I muttered. I turned and started punching my fists into
balls of dough. It wasn't exactly the technique I'd discovered for
getting a perfect consistency, but it was a great stress reliever.
“Well, I guess there’s also—”
“We’re not talking about him, remember?” I asked.
“It’s not healthy to bottle things up, Hailey. Haven’t you ever seen
Me, Myself, and Irene? Jim Carrey thought it was a good idea to
bottle everything up in that movie, and what happened to him?”
I shrugged. “It went bad?”
“You’re damn right it did. He developed a split personality, a crazy
one. If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up sharing custody of
your body with some crazy chick named Hanketta who starts fights
with six-year-old kids in diners. Is that what you want?”
“Rhetorical question?”
She leaned on the counter and looked at me like I was a
wounded, sad animal. “I just want you to be happy.”
“Well, what I want is my sister to worry less about my non-
existent sex life and more about something that matters."
 “Oh, right. Sex doesn’t matter. Let me just go tell all of human
history we’ve been doing it wrong. Stop the presses. Put the dicks
away. Shatter all the dildo molds. Close up the legs, we’re done
here! Sex was overrated the whole time!”
“Dildo molds? Really?”
She shrugged. “How do you think they make them?”
I glared. “I’d rather not think about it. I’m just trying to say I’m not
in some big hurry to hump the first thing that moves.”
“Maybe you should be. Think about it. You’re twenty-five freaking
years old. That’s twenty-five years to build it up to be some huge,
life-shattering moment. You’re setting your standards too high, girl.
Just shake the stick out of your ass and let loose.”
“Shake the stick out of my ass and let loose... Words of wisdom
from Candace. Maybe I’ll have them put that on your tombstone?”
"Who says I'm dying first? I'm going to have them put, ‘here lies
the world's oldest, saddest virgin. Maybe if she'd let a guy get six
inches deep, she wouldn't have gone six feet under.'"
I snatched a bagel out of the display case and roughly slathered
on cream cheese. It was more than she liked, and I didn’t care. I
crumpled some wax paper around it and handed it to her. “If you’re
done, here’s your bagel. Ryan’s due to show up in a few minutes,
and thanks to you, he’s almost more annoying than you about trying
to hook me up with somebody, so why don’t you put it on pause and
let him take over.”
She took the bagel. "The only reason I told him was so that he
would be the one to pop that cobweb-covered cherry of yours. How
was I supposed to know he'd dive headfirst into the friend zone and
turn into Mr. Matchmaker?"
I winced. “Your talent for disturbing images is too much
sometimes.”
“You’re the sweetest. Hey, what’s this?” she asked, picking up the
envelope I’d torn open and set on the counter earlier.
I snatched it from her. “It’s nothing. Just some junk mail.”
“Ah yeah, the old classic junk mail that says eviction notice to
grab your attention. Those always get me too. Okay, girl, stay
virginal.” She blew me a kiss and walked off, bagel in hand.
 I looked down at the letter after she left. It was a notice that I had
one week to pay rent on my apartment or I’d be evicted. I still hadn’t
figured out how I was going to swing that one, considering I had
about two weeks to pay rent on the bakery before I’d have missed
my third payment this year. I sighed. I always found a way to keep
floating, and that was all I needed to do. Just a few more weeks, a
few more customers, and eventually the bakery would pull through
for me.
I gave the dough mixer a good shake until it started grunting and
churning like it was supposed to. Most of the equipment in my
bakery had seen better days, but it was mine. There was a deep
satisfaction in knowing I’d worked for every last thing in here. The
shop was my baby, and the cherry pies were… My baby’s babies? I
guess it got weird if I tried to think about it too hard. I loved the
bakery, even when the rest of my world felt like it might fall apart, I
could always count on the shop. My little sanctuary, even if it did
sometimes feel like a cage.
Ryan showed up right on time, as always. He was fresh out of
college, incredibly handsome, maybe even gorgeous, but for some
reason, he'd felt like a little brother from the moment I met him. He
must have felt it too because we'd slipped into a long-lost-siblings
kind of dynamic as soon as he started working for me. He was
always trying to help me fix my life, and I was always trying to keep
him out of trouble, which he was exceptionally good at finding.
He had a shaved head, a few tattoos but nothing too crazy, and a
muscular build with the defined forearms of a man who has stretched
plenty of dough in his time. His eyes were a warm brown. “Hot date
tonight?” he asked.
“You know, Candace just got done trying to give me a pep talk.
Maybe we could skip the virgin talk today?” I started gently removing
the pies from their trays.
He sidled up to me and leaned on the counter, punching my arm
gently and giving me a look that was, as usual, so sympathetic I
couldn't help find it endearing. I may have been sick of Ryan's
constant attempts to shove me into the dating world, but I always
knew it came from a genuine place, so I couldn't fault him for it.
"Here's what you do. Pick a guy today. Any guy." He smiled broadly
as an idea seemed to pop into his head. "The first guy who buys a
cherry pie. You pick him. Just be bold. Be yourself. Say something
flirty. You don't have to ask for a date or whatever. Just, you know,
compliment the guy, and we'll build from there."
I sighed. “Even if I was considering this, what if the first guy to
buy a cherry pie has a pedo mustache and booger stains on his
sleeve?”
“Okay. The first guy who buys a cherry pie that doesn’t set off
your creep-alarm. How about that? Also, who the fuck has booger
stains on their sleeves? What kind of people are you hanging out
with?”
“Funny,” I said, trying to dismiss the idea before he thought I’d
actually agree to it. He and Candace both seemed to think sex would
solve all my problems. I wasn’t so sure, even though I wouldn’t mind
shedding the irony of being the girl who gave cherry pies to people
all day but had never let anyone have her cherry.
“Not funny,” said Ryan. “It’s a bet. I’m serious, Hailey.”
“A bet?”
“Yeah. You know all that vacation time I’ve been saving up?”
“Yes…” I said slowly, dreading where this was going.
“You follow through, or I’ll use it all during the Sheffield Fair
week.”
Panic spiked in my chest. My bakery was on the outskirts of
downtown New York City, but one of the best opportunities for
bakeries to get noticed was the Sheffield Fair’s cookie contest. The
Food Network even showed up and filmed some of the top winners.
It was going to be a ton of work, and Ryan knew I had no one else to
help me get all the materials and food prepped.
“You wouldn’t,” I said.
He shrugged. “I guess you just have to ask yourself one question.
Do you feel lucky, virgin? Huh, do ya?”
“Asshole,” I groaned.
He looked way too pleased with himself, but he had me cornered,
and he knew it. “So it’s a bet?”
“You know I can’t say no now. But no changing the rules. I just
have to say something flirtatious. One thing. That’s it.”
“That’s all I ask. For now.”
 And that was that. It wasn't dramatically different than the way
most mornings went between Ryan and I, except for the ridiculous
bet, of course. That was a new level of high-pressure sales from my
normally mild friend, but after a few minutes, I’d already forgotten
about it.
We prepped the display case, baked the bread, which lost their
freshness much faster than the pastries, and we made a round of
bagels last. The bagels were the big sellers in the morning, and a lot
of customers would grab a loaf of bread for later or a pie for after
dinner when they came in to grab their bagel.
Jane was our first customer, which was true almost every
morning. I could've sworn she had a designer pantsuit for every day
of the year because I didn't think I'd ever seen her wear the same
outfit twice. She was in her forties and was everything I could hope
to be someday. Powerful. Commanding. Confident. Fashionable.
Somehow I doubted she kept an old college textbook around as a
punching bag to channel her frustration over a stalker ex-boyfriend,
either.
I looked down at my flour-covered apron and the boring jeans I
wore beneath it. My top was just a simple pink collared shirt with my
bakery’s name and logo on the chest: “The Bubbly Baker.” The logo
was a chubby little man with a baker’s hat blowing a big bubblegum
bubble. It probably would’ve been more realistic to call my shop,
“The Baker who has trouble making eye contact when she speaks to
you,” or maybe “Hailey’s Untouched Cherry,” but somehow I doubted
those would be as marketable.
She thanked me and made the same joke she always did. “Gotta
run if I’m going to beat traffic,” she’d laugh. “Not literally, of course.”
I never knew if the idea of her literally running was supposed to
be the funny part, or if her literally beating up people in traffic was
the joke. Either way, I smiled and waved as she left, just like I always
did.
The next few hours went by in a rush of regulars, new faces, and
people somewhere in between. I handled most of the restocking,
while Ryan did the face-to-face work. I liked people, but I had a
tendency of accidentally scaring them away. I used to be the queen
of “too much, too soon” when it came to making friends before
Nathan, so I’d gradually shifted to “not any, not ever,” which had very
successfully led me to my mostly lonely existence.
The little bell over the door dinged, and I turned around to greet
the customer with at least a quick nod and smile, but I stopped when
I saw him. He was tall and broad with dark, messy hair worn in the
kind of careless way only the cream of the crop type guys could pull
off. His hair was a little floppy and had no clear style, but the lack of
style managed to make its own very sexy proclamation. “I don’t need
a stupid comb or hair product, because look at the face and body I’m
sitting on,” it seemed to say. And from where I was standing, I
couldn’t disagree. Not that I’d get into an argument with someone’s
hair—not out loud, at least.
He wore his suit in the way I thought only the bad guy in a movie
could pull off. One too many buttons were undone to look
professional, and he seemed to proudly let the traces of his tattoos
show on his chest and forearms. Everything about him had an edge
of defiance and confidence you’d have to be blind to miss.
And me? I wasn't blind. I was standing stupidly with my lips
parted, my eyes wide, and my hands hanging limply at my side when
I realized Ryan was deliberately ignoring him.
The stranger was looking at me with the most heart-stopping pair
of blue eyes I’d ever seen. He slowly raised one of his eyebrows.
Time itself seemed to be holding its breath. I couldn’t say how long
the awkward silence had stretched already. Three seconds? Four?
“The Bubbly Baker,” he mused in a deliciously deep voice with
the most perfect, manly rasp. “Obviously that’s not referring to your
personality, or this place would be called The Catatonic Baker.”
I knew how fish felt when they were yanked out of the ocean now.
One minute, they’re minding their own business, the next, their world
is turned upside down. In a single instant, nothing will ever be the
same. Even if they manage to slither out of the boat, they’ll always
know there’s a strange, amazing world waiting just above the
surface. Or in this case, a mega-hot guy who was always going to
make everybody after him seem like the knock-off brand.
He cleared his throat. “Or are you giving me that look because
you’re closed and forgot to lock the door?”
 The sound of his voice was enough to snap me back to reality. I
closed my mouth, swallowed—even though my throat felt bone dry—
and formed words, just like the normal human being I wanted to
prove I was.
“I’m wide open. We’re, open,” I added quickly once I saw the
amused twinkle in his eye. “The store is open. Yes.”
“Right,” he said a little slowly. “So I can get a bagel?”
“Actually,” said Ryan, who swooped up to the counter with a look
on his face that spelled trouble for me. “We’re fresh out of bagels.
But you would love our cherry pie.”
The man’s eyes slid past the two of us to the dozens and dozens
of bagels we had set out already, just waiting to be sliced and
served. “And those are…”
“Display bagels. Completely inedible,” said Ryan. “You’d break
those nice teeth of yours trying to eat one.”
“What would I do with a cherry pie at nine in the morning?” he
asked.
“Um, well,” stammered Ryan, “You could take it to work? Share it
with your colleagues. You do work somewhere, right?”
He looked annoyed now. “Yes. I do.”
“Sorry about him,” I blurted. “He’s just messing with you. These
bagels are perfectly edible. See?” I snagged up an everything bagel
from the display and took a bite that was almost as big as it was
unnecessary. I was forced to chew the huge mouthful while Ryan
and the man watched me with mixtures of confusion and discomfort.
I cleared my throat. “Perfectly edible,” I said again, more quietly.
"I'll take one perfectly edible bagel if you would. Maybe one you
didn't already bite, though."
I tried to will all the blood in my body to stop rushing to my
cheeks, which must have been fire engine red already. I didn’t even
ask him what kind of bagel, I just threw one in the bag and set it on
the counter.
“And I’ll take your cherry, too.”
I coughed in the middle of swallowing, which resulted in a kind of
choking, stuttering noise that prompted Ryan to slap me way too
hard on the back.
 “My cherry?” I asked. How the hell did he know I was a virgin,
and what kind of man just… just… straight out of the gate says
something like that? And even if—
“Cherry pie,” he said, but the calm way he was watching my
embarrassment made me think his original phrasing hadn’t been
accidental at all.
I boxed up a pie for him and set it on the counter. Ryan nudged
me as if I wasn't already painfully aware of why he had talked him
into ordering a cherry pie. I was supposed to flirt now. I knew.
The man paid and then started to walk away. It felt like an
invisible hand was clenched around my throat. It was probably divine
intervention because if I said anything at all, it was sure to be life-
shatteringly awkward.
“Wait!” Ryan nudged me. “My friend wanted to ask you
something.”
The guy half-turned his head, watching me from the corner of his
eye. If I didn’t know better, I’d say something in his expression said
he knew exactly what was going through my mind. And my body.
“I didn’t get your name,” I said.
I saw Ryan looking at me with a you call that flirting kind of
expression, but I tried to ignore him. I was just getting warmed up,
okay?
“William,” he said with a smirk. “Should I just call you Cherry?”
It was a miracle I didn’t pass out when what felt like ten gallons of
blood rushed to my face. He knew I was a virgin. Somehow, he
knew. Maybe there was a secret, hot guy society where they passed
around the names of local virgins. Or maybe it was just that obvious
from looking at me.
I knew Ryan wasn’t going to let me off the hook if all I did was
ask his name, so I braced myself for the plunge and tried to flirt,
which felt a lot like trying to get an old, rusted out car to start after
twenty-five years of disuse.
“You can call me whatever you want,” I said. I almost—almost—
planted my hand on my hip like some parody of the sultry
seductress, but even I knew that was too much. I could practically
feel Ryan cringing and trying to hold in laughter beside me. Forget
the fact that I hated the idea of being called Cherry, like some kind of
lady of the night, but the way I’d deepened my voice to deliver the
line was going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
He turned all the way now, giving me his full attention, along with
narrowed eyes and a half-grin. If he noticed my awkwardness, he
gave no sign of it. “Careful. I might take you up on that.”
Ryan actually fist-pumped beside me, which didn’t help my
concentration at all. “You would?” I asked.
If I had any weight in the verbal exchange, I just threw it all away
with my stumbling response, but he didn't seem to notice or care. He
just stood there, looking completely unhurried and totally in control
as he took me in. He popped a bite of bagel in his mouth and held it
there with his teeth. He tucked the pie perilously under his arm and
then grabbed a decorative vase full of flowers that I had on the
counter. He gave me a friendly nod and started to leave.
“What the hell?” I asked. My brain was playing catch-up, but I
was pretty sure he was trying to steal my flowers.
“Sorry,” he said, words muffled by the bagel between his teeth. “I
steal stuff. It’s a medical condition,” at least that’s what I thought he
said.
Without even a wink or a smile, he was gone.
“Wow,” Ryan said and started a slow clap that I was not about to
join him in. “That beautiful, beautiful man. He stole your cherry and
deflowered you in one fell swoop. Respect.”
I sank down onto my elbows and let out a breath I didn’t realize
I’d been holding. “Technically,” I said sourly. “He paid for my cherry. It
was the flowers that he stole.”
Ryan snorted. “Dirty, dirty girl.”
I slapped his arm but grinned all the same. "You're horrible. This
is all your fault. You realize that, right?"
He wandered over to where William had taken the flowers and
scooped up what looked like a business card. “Which part? The part
where I got Thor to hit on you, or the part where he left you his
number?”
“Let me see that,” I said, snagging the card from him. “William
Chamberson,” I read slowly. “CEO of Galleon Enterprises? Have you
ever heard of that?”
 “Galleon?” Ryan plucked the card out of my fingers. He stared at
it and then shrugged. “Never heard of it. But I’ve heard of a CEO.”
“It must be a small company if the CEO goes around stealing
flowers from bakeries.”
“Who cares. That guy could be the CEO of a hotdog stand.
You’re not going to get a more open offer from a guy than you just
did. He’s game.”
I scoffed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you want to date him.”
Ryan laughed. “I’m sure some guys do. I’m just saying. You’re
like a sister to me, and I’ve seen the look you get sometimes.”
“What look?” I asked, even though I had a pretty good idea I
knew what he was talking about.
“Like you’re the kid at a middle school dance and no guys have
said a word to you all night?”
“Am I really that pathetic?”
He gave me a soft smile. “Pathetic? No. But I hate seeing you
look like that. Give this guy a try. What’s the worst that could
happen?”
“I end up in his freezer, chopped up into little pieces? Or maybe
he has a taxidermy collection he wants to show me?”
Ryan looked up and wobbled his head back and forth like he was
testing those ideas out. "Okay. Let me rephrase my question. What's
the best thing that could happen?"
I grinned. "He turns out to be a closeted baking enthusiast, and
we bake cookies together, feed each other frosting off the spoon,
and then rub chocolate syrup all over our—"
“Yikes. Make sure you don’t share that fantasy with him. Or
anyone, actually. We’ll have to rename the shop The Freaky Baker.”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m not going to beg for a date. Do you
have any idea how demeaning that would be? He’ll be lucky if I even
call.”

I HUNCHED OVER THE CARD A COUPLE HOURS LATER ON MY LUNCH BREAK ,

carefully plugging each number into my phone. I was at my favorite
coffee place. New York City was overflowing with coffee places, and
this one was admittedly only my favorite because they always had a
new, snarky message on the chalkboard every day. Today’s
message: Pro tip… An apple a day will keep anyone away if you
throw it hard enough.
I pressed the phone to my ear and waited, chewing my lip while I
watched my leg shake up and down like it was on autopilot. This was
so stupid and demeaning, just like I’d thought. I tried not to focus on
that. I thought about how many times I’d fantasized about some
version of this storyline playing out in my life—minus the part where
he stole my flowers. I owed it to myself to at least give it an effort.
“Galleon Enterprises,” answered a woman who sounded inches
away from yawning. I thought I could actually hear her looking down
her nose at me. It was almost impressive.
"Can I speak with William?" I asked. I made an attempt at
sounding confident but failed.
“William… you’re going to need to be more specific. Last name?”
“The CEO,” I said. “William Chamberson.”
Pause.
“You want me to put you on the phone with William
Chamberson?”
“Yes,” I said, injecting a little more confidence this time. “He left
me his card.”
“Mhm,” she said. “Left you his card. Did he? You must be very
special.”
I could hardly believe the nerve of the woman. Obviously Galleon
wasn't some small hot dog shack like we'd joked about, or he
wouldn't have a secretary, but still, she needed to get off her high
horse. "How do you know I'm not some important businesswoman?
What if I was calling to make a million dollar deal?" My heart was
pounding, and my cheeks were flushed with indignation. The nerve
of this woman had me ready to hit something. Where was my stupid
old college textbook when I needed it?
Another pause.
“Are you?”
“No, but that’s not the point—”
“No. You’re not. Because this is the number William gives women
to call when he wants to impress them. I’m going to put you on hold,
tell him you called, and then he’s going to tell me to hang up on you.
He likes to make you poor girls try so hard,” she sighed. “Hold.”
The phone clicked over, and some infuriating elevator music
played. I tapped my foot and glared at nothing in particular as I
waited. I was tempted to tell Ryan to cover for me while I marched
up to Galleon Enterprises, whatever it was, and found this woman.
Maybe she was using an old school phone with a cord, and I could
choke her out with it. Then I'd take down William and his games with
a paperweight. I sighed. I wouldn't actually choke her or hit William.
But one thing was for damn sure: if he didn’t take my call, I wasn’t
gonna go chasing after him. Making this call was as far as I could
stretch my dignity, thank you very much.
The music cut out and there was a clicking sound on the line.
“Cherry?” The voice was deep. His voice.
"Yes," I breathed. I wasn't proud of how my heart raced, and
pride boomed through me. He was going to hang up on me, was he?
I winced and shook my head. “No, I mean. I’m the one who gave you
the cherry pie, yes. But my name is Hailey.”
“Well, Hailey. I’m busy as hell today. Meetings to sleep through.
Calls to ignore. You know, CEO stuff. If you want to talk so badly, you
can come to the masquerade party we’re throwing to hype a movie
release tonight. Tell the guys at the door your name is Cherry and
they’ll let you in. Oh, and I’m holding your flowers hostage. So if you
want them, you’d better show.”
I stammered out a few meaningless syllables, but he hung up on
me before I could say anything. I stared at my phone like it had just
grown horns. The man was insufferable, and he knew it. He also
knew he looked so obnoxiously good that he could get away with it.
Barely. Just barely. As the day wore on, the idea of actually going to
the party wormed its way into my brain and started to take root. I was
tight-lipped about it with Ryan because I knew he'd just try to talk me
into it. But I didn't even need to tell him to know he'd beg me to go.
I'd just been lamenting how life was passing me by, hadn't I?
Besides, who said I even had to seek out William at the party. Maybe
I could just put on a silly mask and a fun dress to make a night of it.
For once, I was tempted to do something spontaneous and maybe
just a little bit dangerous. I was tempted to go.
 2

WILLIAM

T here was a place in my office no one knew about, not even my

twin brother, who shared the title of CEO with me and liked to
think he knew everything. Sorry, Brucie, but this one was all mine. I
walked up to the bookshelf beside my desk, which looked expensive,
and it damn well better. I'd paid some French woman a small fortune
to decorate my office. My memory is hazy on the details, but I think
my instructions were something along the lines of, "If people aren't
shitting their pants out of pure respect the moment they walk in here,
you didn't do it right." Thankfully, the woman had done a good job.
If the walls in my office could talk, they wouldn’t say a word,
because they’d know they were too good to talk to you. That’s how
perfect it was.
I’d never read a single book on the huge bookshelf, which even
had one of those ladders you could slide around on wheels to reach
the highest shelves. That had been a special request, and when the
blinds were drawn, it’s possible that I sometimes liked to see how far
the ladder would slide if I jumped on it at a run.
I picked up a glass paperweight shaped like a globe and set it on
the bookshelf. There was a magnet in the bottom that activated a
mechanism behind the door. I waited while a series of heavy, very
satisfying, metallic clicks sounded out and then the door swung
open.
Yes. I had my very own secret villain lair, right inside my office. It
was every bit as amazing as I had hoped.
 The room inside was what I liked to think of as my trophy room. It
wasn’t a huge area, which was an unfortunate restriction of the
whole sneaking it under my brother’s nose thing. Too big of a project
or too much space shaved out of my office, and he would’ve noticed.
Bruce could never find this, because I had a section of my trophy
room dedicated specifically to things I’d swiped from that OCD
tightass who called himself my brother. I’d had the space set up like
an art gallery, complete with marble pedestals and glass display
cases. My favorite item was the single, perfectly yellow banana in
the center of the room. I actually paid a chemist to come up with a
kind of transparent lacquer coating that would keep the banana
preserved. You could still see my brother’s name written on it in big,
black sharpie. “Bruce.”
I ran my hand affectionately over the display case and grinned.
Yes. I had too much time and money on my hands. No, I didn't feel
bad. Yes, I had a little bit of a problem with stealing things. No, I
didn't plan to change. The official diagnosis would be kleptomania, if
you wanted to be a dork about it. I liked taking things. It started when
Bruce and I grew up poor and our situation justified it. Eventually, I
realized I just stole things because I liked it, not because we needed
the money. I'd always had to find places to stash my strange little
prizes, and the trophy room was the epitome of all my work. I had
the best stuff in here. Bruce's banana was the crown jewel, but I also
had a towel he'd set aside for himself to keep from getting sweat in
his car after a racquetball match. It brought a smile to my face just
remembering how pissed he'd been when he couldn't find it. I had a
pair of his sunglasses, and a framed display of single socks I'd
stolen from his dresser. I made sure they were part of a pair. I
actually felt a little guilty about that one. Bruce probably could've had
an orgasm if his day went exactly according to schedule, and I knew
the thought of an incomplete pair of socks probably short-circuited
the poor guy's brain.
Oh well. It was good for him. I was born a minute and seven
seconds before him, which gave me the responsibility of being the
older brother, and therefore meant I was obligated to mess with him.
Some brothers might've called it a job, but you never worked a day
in your life if you've enjoyed your job, right? I had staplers I'd taken
from around the office, mostly belonging to people who pissed me
off. I had pens I'd snatched from rude waitresses, and even an "I
Recycle" pin some douchebag had been wearing on his backpack—
seriously, of all the things to brag about. You recycle? I'd almost
been tempted to toss that one in the trash just for irony's sake, but
my need to stash it won out in the end. Not everything made the
collection. Sometimes I'd snag something on a whim and just toss it.
If I was feeling adventurous, I'd try to reverse steal it, which basically
meant sneaking it into someone else's possession without them
realizing. I looked at the newest addition to my collection. The vase
of flowers from the bakery I'd snagged this morning. I'd set it up on
one of the marble pedestals near the back wall.
I couldn’t help narrowing my eyes and wondering as I looked at it.
Everything else in here was something I’d taken because in some
small way, the owner had pissed me off. Maybe it was my futile
attempt at balancing the universe, or whatever, or maybe I just
enjoyed pissing off people who deserved it more. The vase was
different.
Cherry hadn’t pissed me off. On the contrary, I liked her. She had
a kind of undersexed, repressed, bumbling librarian vibe that I could
get behind—literally or figuratively. She was hot, too, which helped,
and not the boring kind of hot. I attracted the boring kind of hot like
Starbucks attracted girls in yoga pants. Like an army of barbies with
gym-perfected asses and faces that had never seen a drop of
sunlight unless it was behind some SPF two-hundred sunscreen.
Most of them had one hobby: themselves. They took care of
themselves and curated their bodies like it was a full-time job, which
was all well and good from a distance, but I’d tried dating my share
of them. They were all the same.
Boring. Predictable. Shallow.
The baker girl, though. She was the kind of girl that got me
interested. I’d seen the internal struggle plain as day on her face.
She liked what she saw, but she was smart enough to see I was an
asshole. In other words, she was a challenge. Sign me up.
Leaving my card had felt a little desperate. I normally liked letting
women come to me, but something about her made me want to take
an extra step, because I wasn’t so sure she’d come tracking me
down if I didn’t give her a nudge. I liked that about her. I even broke
my normal routine with the secretary cold shoulder treatment when I
took her call.
I wasn’t even so sure she’d end up at the party tonight. That was
up to her. At the end of the day, I knew where to find her, and if my
gut was right about her, the flowers weren’t the last thing I wanted to
take from her. There was something else that’d be the cherry on top
—or between her legs, if you wanted to get specific.
 3

HAILEY

I f second thoughts were when you had to stop and ask yourself if
something was a good idea twice, I was having two thousandth
thoughts by the time my cab pulled up outside the venue where
William’s party was being held. “Two thousandth thoughts” didn’t
quite have the same ring to it, but second thoughts didn’t seem
severe enough to contain all the doubts I had.
I wanted to go. I knew that much. The proud, stubborn part of me
wanted to put him through his paces, or prove to him that I wasn’t
one of those girls who goes chasing after pretty guys.
But hey, this was a once in a lifetime kind of party invite. I’d also
always, always had a deep-seeded fantasy about going to a
masquerade party. I think it was the masks and the fancy clothes.
Everyone would be wearing masks and tuxedos and gorgeous
dresses. There would be a sea of sparkling sequins and jewelry
everywhere I looked. The night would be glitter and glitz, like
something straight out of a Hollywood fantasy. It’d be the kind of
night I could stash away forever, a bright spot of light in a night sky
full of dull, faded stars.
For a night, I could pretend my life was the sort of life I’d always
watched from a distance, where the air was filled with promise and
every little choice could lead to something incredible. Ultimately, that
had been the line of thought that won out. I’d take my fairytale night,
thank you very much, and William was secondary. That was my story
and I was sticking to it.
 I picked up my outfit on a budget after work, including the mask,
which I hadn’t been able to find in a thrift shop like the dress and
shoes. I had to brave one of those party stores that inexplicably
manage to stay open year-round, even though I was pretty sure
people only went in them for Halloween costumes.
The girl behind the counter had given me quite the look when I
set down the mask, like she’d seen the movie Eyes Wide Shut and
thought that was the only reason someone would buy a mask. Well,
screw her. I was going to a fancy schmancy party where movie stars
and billionaires were going be strolling around like it was no big deal.
And, as far as I knew, there was no cult of naked, orgy loving people
in the basement. Make that my two thousandth and first thought. If I
saw any signs of orgy cults, I was going to use my heels like clubs
and fight my way out. That was the tentative plan, at least, assuming
no better weapons were available.
I was expecting a burly bodyguard to be waiting out front, but the
address he gave me was just a building in the middle of downtown. I
stepped out of the cab and looked around. It was already past nine
in the evening. In New York City, the streets always seemed to bustle
no matter the time of day. If anything, it came alive at night.
I almost thought I had the wrong place until I saw a limo pull up
and a small party of men and women in suits, elegant dresses, and
masks all filed out. The men wore simple, phantom of the opera style
masks that mostly only covered their eyes and half of their noses.
The women wore everything from feathery, ostentatious masks to
lacy, delicate pieces that hardly concealed their faces.
I adjusted my simple, two dollar mask that was held to my face
with cheap elastic straps. Oh well. Rich people paid a lot of money to
look poor, right? It wasn't my fault I knew the fast-track method to
dress poor: dump all your money into a bakery that barely pulled
enough business to pay the bills. Sometimes I spent money on silly
things like food and water, too.
I straightened my back, put on a brave face, and waltzed right
toward the front door like I belonged. I’d seen enough heist movies
to know the trick was just pretending you knew what you were doing.
I got to the door before the party in the limo, and when I tried to yank
the doors open, they didn’t budge. I spared a quick glance over my
shoulder, flashed a, this happens all the time, because I come here
all the time, kind of smile. Then I yanked again. Still nothing.
I stepped back and flipped my palm up, laughing a little
nervously. “Guess we’re too early,” I suggested.
One of the men walked up to the door and pushed. It swung right
open, and I had to stand there while their entire party walked by
smugly.
I let them all pass, blew out a breath, and pressed the mental
restart switch. “No big deal, Hailey. You’re wearing a mask, right?
Free pass to be a doofus all night!”
And then I saw another couple passing me who had probably
heard every word of my pep talk. I tapped my ear, where there
definitely wasn't a Bluetooth, but turned my body and gave them a
smile. "Bluetooth," I said confidently. "Hands-free talking, always
looks like you're talking to yourself."
The couple just walked by like I hadn’t said a word.
I hadn’t even stepped inside the door and the old “reset button”
was already getting a workout. I pushed the doors open and headed
inside. “Assholes,” I muttered to the doors when I was sure nobody
would overhear this time. The lobby was quiet, with the kind of fancy
flooring that made the clicking of my heels sound like gunshots. I
tried to soften my steps, failed, and approached a woman who stood
behind a thin, hostess style podium. A pair of massive doors loomed
behind her.
“I was invited,” I said, once the people in front of me had their
names confirmed on the list and were let inside.
“Okay,” said the woman. She wasn’t in costume, which meant I
didn’t have to guess if she was looking at me like I was an idiot.
“I should be on the list as... Cherry.” I said the name in a near
whisper, cheeks flushing. Somewhere, William was laughing, I was
sure.
Her eyebrow arched. “Cherry?”
“Could you just—” I arched my neck to try to get a glimpse at her
list. She snatched it up protectively, giving me a cold glare.
She took her sweet time peeling her eyes from me and looking
down at the list. After a few seconds, she let out a disappointed little
grunt. “Go on then, Cherry.”
 “Thank you,” I said a little steamily. “I’ll have fun in the party, by
the way, while you’re out here with your stupid little podium.”
“Totally jealous,” she said dryly.
I couldn’t believe I stooped to saying that, but the woman was
almost as horrible as the one I’d had to deal with on the phone when
I called the number on William’s card. In fact… I was almost positive
she was the same woman from the phone. Manning the doors at a
company party might fall under the secretary job duties.
I walked past her and gave the doors a gentle, experimental tug
to make sure they weren’t push doors too. Thankfully, they swung
open for me.
The party inside was more impressive than I'd ever imagined.
The room was a kind of industrial chic with exposed brick, support
beams, and ultra-modern furniture, including a wrought-iron spiral
staircase, complete with an open-style second floor where dozens of
people were dancing and talking. The most impressive feature was
the far wall, which was completely glass, with a view of Central Park
and the twinkling skyline.
And then there were the party goers. Even with masks, I could
tell they were the elite of the elite. It was a grown-up version of a
high school party where only the most popular kids were invited—
exactly the kind of party I was never invited to.
I scanned the crowd of well-dressed, masked men and women,
wondering if I’d even be able to recognize William from the few
moments I’d had to gawk at him this morning. I didn’t start comparing
myself to all the sleek women with huge breasts and perfect bodies,
either, as hard as it was. The man invited me here. Obviously he
liked something he saw. At least that was what I kept telling myself.
The music was just upbeat enough to dance to, but not so wild
that it didn’t feel somehow like a perfect fit for the wealthy elite.
Partygoers drank wine and champagne out of glasses with long,
delicate stems. Some danced, some lounged with drinks, and others
moved about the party, laughing and mingling. Everywhere I looked
seemed to sparkle with glitter, jewelry, and sequins, just as I’d
imagined. I thought maybe a drink would take some of the nerves
out, so I made it my mission to find where everyone was getting
them.
 I eventually stumbled upon what seemed to be an open bar.
There were glasses of champagne just sitting there. I took one,
waited, looked around, and cautiously took a sip. When nobody
came yelling at me or asking for money, I concluded they were free.
Score.
With my drink in hand, I headed for the stairs. I still hadn’t
decided if I was even going to try to talk to William, but I did at least
want to see if I could spot him. When I turned around, a man was
towering over me. Butterflies exploded in my stomach as I turned,
expecting to see William.
But when I took in the jaw, the lips, the build and the stance,
something uneasy stirred in me. I took a half-step back. It wasn’t
William.
“Nathan?” I asked hesitantly.
He smirked. The sight of that cruel smirk was all the answer I
needed. Nathan Peters. The ex from hell. The reason I got so, so
much pleasure out of kicking my old college textbook from time to
time. The guy who went from just a little boring and disappointing to
the poster boy for stalkers when I broke things off.
“You’re supposed to be in Vermont.”
“Got a new job offer. Figured it was in your neck of the woods,
and how could I pass that up?”
“Pretty easily, if you didn’t want to seem like a stalker,” I said. I
tried to weave a little calm into my voice, even though it felt like I was
screaming on the inside.
“I missed you, Hailey. We were so fucking good together.”
I shook my head. It was too much to take in all at once, and I
wasn’t about to have this conversation with him. Not again. I tried to
walk around him, to head for the stairs, but he grabbed my arm.
“Hailey. Come on. I came a long way to talk to you, the least you
can do is hear me out.”
“No. That’s not the least I could do. I’m not even going to ask how
the hell you knew I’d be here, or how you got in, or anything.
Because asking would mean I cared about you in any capacity. So
I’m going to actually do the least I can do and walk away without
giving you another thought.”
 “It wasn’t hard. I know where you always get your lunch, and I
happened to be passing by when I saw you with your head down.
You looked so interested in something, so I took a glance. You had a
card from the CEO of Galleon Enterprises, of all people. I doubted
you could afford a fortune 500 marketing company, so I put two and
two together.”
“What, and then you followed me all day? Stalked me while I
bought supplies for this and then raced to buy your own? How did
you even get through the front door?”
“I didn’t. I used the back door,” he said, smiling like he thought I
was going to applaud his ingenuity.
My stomach knotted. His creepiness seeped into me like poison,
and for a minute, I thought I might be sick.
“I’ve tried putting it nicely, Nathan. It didn’t work out. You’ve got to
let it go. Please.” So much for a magical, sparkling night.
I tried to pull my arm free, but he just gripped it harder and pulled
me toward him. I put my whole body into yanking away and felt the
first real threads of panic run through me.
A man emerged from between a group of masked party-goers
beside us and put his hand on Nathan’s wrist. He must’ve squeezed
hard, because Nathan’s hand went limp on my arm and fell away.
“Usually,” said the man in a voice I recognized immediately.
“When a girl starts trying to pull away from you, it means they want
you to let go.” The perfect jawline, full lips, and tousled hair would’ve
given him away as William even without the voice. There was no
mistaking who my masked savior was.
“Usually, it’s a good idea to mind your own goddamn business,”
Nathan said. He squared up with William, who had an inch or two of
height on him, even though Nathan had always seemed so tall to
me.
“What kind of guy carries around peppermints?” William did a
surprisingly skillful flourish with his hand and held up two
peppermints between his fingers.
I was confused until I saw Nathan start patting his pockets. He
looked up sharply at William and tried to snatch the mints away, but
William closed his hand and slid them in his pocket.
 “Look, asshole,” said Nathan. “How about you just let me and my
girl talk, and you fuck off. You can keep the mints.”
“Your girl?” asked William, who turned his head slightly to look
toward me for the first time. His lips twitched in the faintest smile, like
he was letting me in on the joke. “I should tell you. I deflowered her
this morning. Actually, I even paid for her cherry. Delicious, by the
way,” he said with a little nod to me.
Despite the pulsing fear in my chest, I had to stifle a laugh.
Nathan’s arms shot out and gripped the front of William’s tux in
two tight balls. William didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, looking
down at Nathan with that same, calm, amused smile.
“Actually…” William fished out the mints from his pocket and put
them back in Nathan’s. “I understand why you’re carrying around
mints now.”
“What?” asked Nathan.
“Your breath.”
Nathan clamped his mouth shut and kept glaring at William. I
wasn’t sure if he was going to try to actually swing at him, or if he
was just racking his brain for a way to get out of this without looking
any sillier than he already did.
“Screw it,” he said finally, letting William go. “Look, Hailey. I know
me showing up here probably makes me look like a stalker.”
“I don’t know the whole story,” interrupted William. “But if you
have to say ‘I know this probably makes me look like a stalker,’ then
chances are, it does.”
“Nobody asked you, asshole,” Nathan spat before he turned his
attention back to me. “The point is, I miss you. I hate how things
turned out, and I’m really hoping you’ll give me another chance.”
“How many ways can I say it?” I asked, feeling drained of energy.
“Move along, stalker.” William started pushing Nathan away by
the shoulder. “You got to give your little speech. She’s obviously not
wanting to talk about it now. I’m sure she has your number, so she
can call you if she changes her mind, but you need to go.”
Nathan put up a weak fight as William moved him away from me
and motioned for a guy by the exit to come escort him out.
It felt like all I could do was stand there and watch. I couldn’t
believe Nathan had come all this way just for a second chance. Then
again, I also couldn’t believe William had swooped in to play the
knight in shining armor like that.
William returned a few seconds later and gave a little bow.
Strange energy stirred in me—as if something mischievous and fun
had been trapped deep in my brain, just waiting for a chance to
escape all this time. Apparently, my mask wasn't doing anything in
the way of anonymity. Both William and Nathan hadn't seemed to
have any trouble recognizing me, but I still felt different while I wore
it. Maybe the gentle buzz I already had from the glass of
champagne, but all the nervousness I'd felt before was a distant
thought now. I wanted to put the trouble with Nathan out of my mind.
I still wanted this to be my fairytale night, and he wasn't going to rob
that from me.
I was going to have fun.
“Don’t look so proud of yourself,” I said, surprised by how
confident my voice sounded. “Next time you want to play white
knight, you probably should try not to be such a dick in the process.”
His lips twitched up at the corners. “Was my dick showing?”
My eyes inadvertently trailed down toward his waist, but I
snapped them back up to the white mask he wore over his eyes.
“Figuratively speaking,” I said, “Yes. And now you’ve also proven that
you can’t make it through a conversation without trying to spin some
dirty joke out of it. I’ll give you three points for maturity.”
He swiped a drink off the tray of a waiter who was walking by and
offered it to me. “Maturity is overrated.”
“What about not constantly stealing things from people. Is that
overrated, too?”
“Highly.”
I couldn’t help grinning a little. There was something so
unapologetic about him. Normally, the slight edge of assholishness
he carried would be off-putting. The way he was so blunt and
forward would also push me away. But with him, the sheer force of
his confidence made them seem oddly charming. I also liked the way
he turned phrases and made conversation so playful. It felt flirtatious.
It felt sexy.
I realized I’d set my champagne somewhere when I looked down
at the drink he handed me. It was red wine, which I usually didn’t
drink because it gave me headaches, but I figured I could make an
exception. After all, if a slight buzz was giving me this much courage,
what wonders could a little more do?
I took a sip and raised my eyebrows in pleasant surprise.
“Good?” he asked.
“Better than the company.”
He clutched at his chest. “You wound me.”
“Somehow I doubt that’s possible.”
He shrugged a little, still wearing that faintly amused smile that
seemed to say our conversation was a game, and so was the party
—and life itself, for that matter. One look at him, masked or not, and I
could see he was a man who couldn’t be touched. Not by worries or
by problems. I envied that almost as much as I was intrigued by it. It
was a mentality I wanted desperately to be infected by.
“I wonder if that tongue of yours tastes as sharp as it sounds,” he
said. “Or maybe as sweet as your cherry pie...”
“You liked it?” I asked. His obvious flirtation flew right out of my
mind when he mentioned the pie. I was a baker before anything else,
and I think I cared more about his opinion of my pie than whatever
dangerous waters I might be treading into with this conversation.
“It was sweet, but something was missing.”
My heart skipped a beat. I’d been perfecting that recipe for years.
I’d tried so many combinations of ingredients, preparations, and
cooking techniques. The idea that he hadn’t liked it stung more than
any insult ever could. “What was wrong with it?” I asked, losing all
the pretense of poise I’d been wearing as well as my masquerade
mask until then.
“Well,” he said. “It needed more baking… soda?” He held a
straight face for approximately one heartbeat before that familiar grin
spread his lips.
I planted a hand on my hip, smiling. “Baking soda?”
“Right. For the baking part. The soda helps it bake.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’ll alert the baker’s union, then. We’ve been
wrong this whole time. Here we thought it was about leavening.”
“Leavening?”
“Making bubbles bigger. That’s what it does.”
 “You and your bubbles. Bubbly baker. Bubbly soda. Bubble butt,”
he muttered.
“What?”
"I called you a bubble nut," he sighed before I could figure out if
he was kidding and tapped his chin, as if he was observing me and
making some kind of mental note.
“What?” I asked. “What does that look mean?”
“It means I’m figuring you out. Piece by piece, Cherry.”
“It’s Hailey. And good luck with the whole figuring me out part.
Want to let me know when you’re done? I could use a little insight,
too.”
“So far, Cherry, this is what I have figured out.” He snagged the
glass from my hand in a quick, smooth motion, took a sip, and then
handed it back to me. “Sorry,” he said when he saw the look of
indignation on my face. “Things you’re not supposed to have always
taste better, don’t they?” He paused, letting his eyes linger on me in
a way that added weight and suggestiveness to his words.
“They do,” I said. Some of the nervousness was creeping back
into me. Just talking to William was like being engaged in a verbal
sparring match, and the more we spoke, the more I realized he was
completely in control. I let my mouth run to fill the powerful silence,
because I thought a man like William could do dangerous things with
silence, with nothing but those piercing eyes of his and the
suggestion he could weave into the slightest twitch of his lips. “We
used to trade stuff from our lunches in elementary school and middle
school,” I said, more to fill the silence than because I thought he
actually wanted an answer. “Airheads candy were like gold. You
could trade one Airhead for pretty much anything. Even a full tray of
chicken nuggets and fries. Especially if it was the mystery flavor. The
white ones. They tasted so much better when you got them in a
trade than if your mom just packed them for you.”
“The white ones were cotton candy. Mystery solved.”
I tried to summon up the memory of what they tasted like and
wasn’t sure I could disagree. “You were saying you’d figured me
out?” I prompted. I was admittedly a little desperate to hear what he
thought of me, even though I was terrified I wasn’t going to like it.
 “I was, and then you made me add ‘likes to interrupt people who
are trying to insert dramatic pauses into conversations’ to the list of
things I’ve learned about you.”
I blushed. “I didn’t realize it was a dramatic pause.”
“Occasionally lacks basic skills of observation,” he said in a
matter-of-fact tone, like he was dictating something to be written
down.
“Hey!” I said, laughing and swatting at his arm. I pulled my hand
back a little too fast and my laughter died when I realized what I’d
done. He didn’t seem to notice my reaction, because he only kept
giving me that analytical look from behind his mask, with those blue
eyes of his narrowed and discerning.
“Physically violent…”
"You better get to the nice parts or I'm going to see if you can
drink the rest of this wine as well when it's airborne."
“Right. The nice parts. Well, that part of the list is private,
unfortunately. At least until it’s complete. And, of course, until I’ve
had a chance to evaluate your private parts.”
I glared.
“You should see your face. I know why they call you Cherry, now.
That’s exactly your color when you’re pissed.”
“They don’t call me Cherry. Only you do. Even though I’ve told
you my name is Hailey.”
“Maybe you should try not to look so adorable when you’re
pissed. People might not enjoy provoking you so much.”
I felt my flushing cheeks grow even hotter. I was about to say
something when another man and a woman came up to stand
beside William. I had trouble saying for sure with the masks, but I
found myself staring in disbelief between William and the man. They
were the exact same height, the same build. They had the same
eyes, mouth, jaws, even ears. The only difference was the man
who’d just arrived wore his hair neatly trimmed and styled, while
William’s was the perfect mess I’d seen earlier in the day. The
newcomer also wore one of those silky white handkerchiefs in his
jacket pocket—I could never remember what they were called.
"Are you torturing another poor girl?" The newcomer even had an
almost identical voice to William. He sounded colder, though. More
serious.
“Cherry, this is my brother, Bruce,” William introduced. “We’re
identical twins, but I’m actually a few seconds older, which means I’ll
always be a little stronger and better than him.”
“Statistically speaking, it just means you’re going to die first,”
Bruce said blandly.
“I’m Natasha.” The woman smiled kindly and reached out to
shake my hand. She wore a gorgeous white dress that skirted the
line between elegant and casual in a way I wished I had the ability to
pull off. Despite the breathtaking dress, a face somewhere between
adorable and gorgeous, and the fact that William’s twin had his arm
around her shoulders, she still managed to seem humble and kind. I
liked her immediately.
“I’m Hailey,” I said, shaking her hand.
She gave me a slightly questioning look when I said my name.
“William thinks he’s funny when he calls me Cherry,” I explained.
“Oh, trust me, I know your pain,” Natasha said. “I had to endure
his attempts at humor plenty of times. I’m sorry he’s using you as his
comedy dumpster now.”
“Hey!” William was smiling despite his wounded tone. “Comedy
dumpster? Jesus, Natasha. Some of Bruce’s coldness is rubbing off
on you. That actually hurts a little.”
“Oh,” she said, her own smile faltering a little. “I didn’t mean to
actually—”
“Don’t backtrack, Natasha,” interrupted Bruce. “William’s ego
could use as many blows as we can manage. Unfortunately, I’m
pretty sure it’ll survive.”
“I’m starting to feel like I’m getting triple teamed, here, and let me
tell you… if I’m going to get triple teamed, I’d prefer one less cock in
the mix. Especially when said cock belongs to my brother.”
“An extra cock in the mix is fine, as long as it’s not mine. Got it,”
Bruce said, some humor leaking into his serious tone.
I choked back laughter.
William dropped something he’d been holding, though I couldn’t
see what it was. I only saw him kneel down suddenly in front of
Bruce and then stand up, shoving something in his pocket. I almost
missed it, but when I looked at Bruce again, I realized the white
handkerchief that had been in his jacket pocket was now missing.
“Well,” William stretched and faked a yawn, “speaking of cocks.
Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Mr. Moneybags?”
Bruce sighed. “You do realize if he ever hears you call him that,
he’s going to immediately stop being our client.”
“I realize it, and I refuse to stop calling him that.”
“Of course you do. Come on, Natasha. I do actually need to find
Mr. Packard and make an appearance. It was nice to meet you,
Hailey,” he said politely before heading off with Natasha.
"I see. So you're the evil twin and he's…"
“The one with OCD. I think you could probably dispense ice
cubes out of his asshole if you tried hard enough. Crushed, of
course.”
I let out a surprised laugh. “That’s a disturbing image.”
“Welcome to my world.” William pulled a silky white handkerchief
from his pocket and blew his nose, even though I was pretty sure it
didn’t sound like his nose was stuffed at all. He looked at the
handkerchief with the faintest smile and then dropped it to the
ground.
“What’s the point of taking it if you’re going to drop it?” I asked.
He looked slightly surprised, like he didn’t think I would’ve noticed
he took the handkerchief in the first place. “Well, not everything can
make the collection.”
“Do I even want to know what the collection is?”
He thought about that. "It's like my hall of fame, you could say.
Play your cards right, and maybe I'll show you someday."
"Someday," I said slowly. "Sounds like you have big plans for the
two of us. Should I start blocking out my calendar?"
“Just the nights.”
I chewed the corner of my lip. “Do you always do that?”
“Proposition pretty girls for sex with not-so-subtle hints? Not
usually, no.”
My grammy had always said if someone gave you a compliment,
you never argued with them about it, unless you wanted it to be your
last. So even though I struggled a little to believe he really thought I
was pretty, especially surrounded by women like the ones here, I
smiled and let it sink in. “I see… And these pretty girls you don’t
usually proposition for sex. What do most of them do when you drop
your not-so-subtle hints?”
“See,” he said, taking a deliberate step closer that eradicated any
shred of comfort and confidence I had. His closeness was
overwhelming. Consuming. “I’m having trouble caring about any
other girls, or what has happened before right now. There’s just one
thing drowning it all out.”
“What thing?” I breathed.
“This girl,” he said. He paused, letting his eyes roam me and his
lips part. Sexuality dripped from him, covered me, and ignited every
sensual nerve in my body. “This girl I met. She’s kind of uptight. A
little bit sarcastic. She talks back.”
“She sounds horrible.” I couldn’t manage to push out more than a
hushed whisper, like my throat was tight and my mouth was dry.
“That’s the thing. I’ve never gone for a girl like her, but this one…
I think I like her.”
“I’m sure she’s flattered.”
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
He grinned. "You want me to spell it out? Sure, I'll indulge you."
He raised his index finger to the space just below my collarbone,
where the low neckline of my dress gave him direct access to my
skin. He pressed his finger there, drawing a shudder from me and a
wave of goosebumps.
He started to trace some shape with his finger. What it was, I had
no idea. My world became his long eyelashes, his thoughtful blue
eyes, those full, absolutely sinful lips, and the heat of contact where
our bodies met. I didn’t hear the music or the people around us in
that moment.
He pulled his finger back after a few moments and looked
expectantly at me. “There. Spelled it out for you. Got it?”
“What?” I asked. I hadn’t paid attention at all to what shape he
was drawing.
He shrugged. “Some women. You can literally write it on their
chest and they won’t get it. Oh well, your loss.”
“Hey!” I said, smiling a little. “Do it again, then.”
 “Nah. You get one freebie, and you blew it.”
I put my hands on my hips, which wasn’t a move in my usual
arsenal, but William had a way of taunting it out of me. “You’re
ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously thirsty. I’ll be back with something strong and
stolen.”
“The drinks are free. You can’t steal them.”
“So innocent, still,” he said wistfully. “Theft is just a matter of
context, Cherry. Don’t worry though, I’ll teach you up before long.”
And with that, he headed off, leaving me wondering what the
heck he could possibly mean.
It wasn’t a second later before a woman gently turned me to face
her with fingertips on my shoulder.
Mask or not, she was breathtaking. Heart-shaped face, kiss-me
lips, big green eyes with long lashes, and a body that could’ve been
sculpted by a team of horny men. She flipped her jet black hair with
a practiced motion of her head that somehow said, “I’m better than
you in every way imaginable, and you bet your ass I know it.”
“Hi?” I asked.
“Sorry to startle you,” she practically purred. She flashed a smile
that managed to look endearing and accidentally sexy at the same
time. Part of me was pulled immediately toward liking her, but
something deeper in my brain told me to be careful with this woman.
“I’m Zoey Parker. You could say I’m kind of like the president of
William Chamberson’s ex-girlfriend club.”
“Oh,” I said. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“Don’t worry. This isn’t a jealousy thing or a threat. I’m coming
here as a friend. As someone who was where you are right now.
William is very good at making promises. He’ll convince you he’s a
good guy, even if he might be a little bit rough around the edges.
He’ll promise whatever he has to. He’ll seduce you. He’ll get what he
wants, and then he’ll move on. He’s done it to all of us, and he’ll do it
to you, too.”
“Well,” I said a little stiffly. “I appreciate the head’s up, but I’m a
big girl. I think I can decide for myself if I want to be romantically
involved with someone or not.”
 She gave me a tight smile. “Of course you can.” She squeezed
my shoulder a bit too firmly. “And listen. Don’t take this personally,
but William inevitably comes crawling back my way after every
couple failed flings. Sometimes I don’t know how I manage to handle
him, but hey, it’s not a job for everyone.”
I smiled, but there wasn’t any friendliness in it. I wasn’t usually
the catty type, but this woman was giving off an overpowering aroma
of bitchiness that had a way of bringing the fighter out of me. “Sorry, I
think I misheard. Did you say you were the president of his ex-
girlfriend club, or was it his fan club?”
She pressed her lips together, but still plastered on that fake
smile of hers. “Good luck, sweetie. William eats girls like you up and
spits you back out before breakfast.” She twinkled her manicured
nails at me as she runway-walked away from me and disappeared
into the crowd.
I was still trying to make sense of my encounter with the ice
queen when William came back holding two glasses of champagne.
He offered me one, but I waved it off when I saw the lipstick stains
on the rim.
“Don’t you think you’re taking the whole thief thing a bit far here?”
I asked. I couldn’t decide yet if I wanted to bring up Zoey. On the one
hand, I was dying to hear his side of it. On the other, I didn’t feel like
he necessarily owed me an explanation. Maybe he deserved a
chance to show me who he was instead of having to defend himself
against claims by some crazy ex.
“Thief is a strong word. I have a slight tendency toward
kleptomania. It’s a medical condition. You wouldn’t make fun of a guy
for a medical condition, would you? Besides, you can have the
flowers back anytime you want. All you have to do is come by my
office. So they’re borrowed, not stolen. Your cherry on the other
hand… I wasn’t planning on giving that back.”
“Is that how this works?” I asked, trying to ignore his cherry
comment. “Taking my flowers was just the old, ‘I forgot something at
your place’ trick but with a kleptomaniac twist?”
“Exactly.”
“Hm. Well, you can keep them.”
 He tapped his chin. “I see. Obviously I didn’t steal the right object.
I guess I’ll have to swing by your shop again.”
“I can’t really stop you.”
“Would you want to if you could?” The playful tone drained out of
his voice, leaving nothing but a piercing note of sincerity. And there it
was again. I’d just start to believe this man couldn’t take a thing in
the world seriously, but then he’d show me a startling flash of
intensity.
"Maybe," I said. It was an honest answer. Maybe I'd stop him so I
wouldn't need to be afraid of the future, of the unknown and the
possibility that whatever this was between us was just a collision
course between me and disaster. Or maybe I'd let him because I
didn't think men like William just wandered into your life every day. If
my past was any indication, it took about twenty years for a man like
William to show up, and I wasn't sure I wanted to wait until I was
sixty for another shot.
"Good thing you don't have a choice, then." His eyes flicked up to
the balcony behind me. He looked back at me, gave me a distracted
smile, and then looked up again. I turned to see where he was
looking, and there she was. Zoey the ice queen, queen bitch of the
William Chamberson ex-girlfriend club. Black dress, black hair, a
dark lace choker around her neck, and a mask with subtle cat ears.
Jealousy stabbed through me like poison, and my heart sank. Maybe
she wasn't lying, after all.
“Well,” he said. “I’d planned to dance with you here. Serenade
you. Eventually lure you back to someplace private and take the
euphemism out of the whole deflowering act I started this morning,
but… I unfortunately have to deal with something else. So, next time
it is.”
He didn’t wait for me to respond. I was left standing there with a
stupid expression on my face. He walked straight for the balcony,
and I realized I didn’t want to know what the truth was. I just wanted
to get away and hold on to whatever shreds of magic still lingered
from the blinding exchange I’d had with him. If I fled now, I could still
look back and think that maybe I was wrong. If I knew Zoey was
right, I’d wind up even more withdrawn than I already was. It would
just be one more experience to scare me away from the penis-
swingers of the world for all of eternity.
I felt very stupid for coming. He was charming and gorgeous, but
I was probably an idiot for even imagining that I could be any more
than a brief detour in a man like William’s life. Had I waited this long
to be a detour?
I was just the girl William had met that morning in the bakery. All
the attention he gave me today might have been special for me, but
maybe it was just an ordinary day in his life. I couldn't even be upset,
so I settled on feeling stupid and naive. Yes. Stupid and naive. If my
life was one of my recipe books, it'd be a long list of all the
combinations of those two emotions I'd tried out for the last twenty-
five years. Spoiler alert: no matter how you mixed them, the result
was always a healthy dose of disappointment with a dash of
embarrassment.
The recipe of my life. Yum.
 4

WILLIAM

I ’d meant to go harass the baker girl the morning after the party,
but time had gotten away from me. My hardass brother was
actually making me do work at the office while we tried to set up yet
another big marketing deal with yet another big, powerful client.
Bruce got off on the whole organizational aspect of our company.
Research, network, coordinate, plan, execute. The guy probably had
wet dreams about it all going off without a hitch. For me, it was more
about the risks.
I liked trying things that no one in their right mind would. Even
better if we risked losing millions or the reputation of our company
should it fail. I was basically a badass at what I did, so we never
failed.
Okay, my ideas occasionally flopped. I’d lost us a few million here
or there and pissed off some big companies.
But that wasn’t the important part. I was an idea guy. To be a
creative genius, you’ve gotta take a risk here, ruffle some feathers
there, accidentally catch your office on fire once or twice. The last
one probably wasn’t as necessary as the former two, but when your
creative process sometimes involves a little bit of the sweet and
sticky, you might have to toss a blunt in the trash can when your
brother comes bursting in the office. Apparently, if there’s enough
paper in said trash can—yeah, you get the point.
Still, Bruce even admitted I was good at what I did. He had to.
When the prick got too uppity with me, I’d threaten to quit if he didn’t
kiss my ass a little. I think I’d probably shaved a few years off his
lifespan by now with that alone. The guy liked to say he was going to
live longer than me. We’d see about that.
Work and my brother could wait. I’d given them two days, or
maybe it was three. The baker girl was probably starting to think I’d
lost interest by now, and I needed to fix that before some other
asshole came by and tried to get his hands on her cherry pies.
As if on cue, Bruce let his ugly face into my office at that precise
moment. And yes, we may have been identical twins, but his face
was ugly and he could deal with it.
“What?” I asked. “I was about to go have a little bit of a life, or did
you plan to shit on that?”
Bruce gave me a look if distaste. “I actually came to ask you
about the girl at the party. A couple nights ago.”
I gave him a skeptical look. I took in the way he was standing in
the doorway instead of storming my desk like he normally would,
along with the hands stuffed in his pockets. Very un-Brucie.
Something was going on.
“Natasha put you up to this?”
“Yes.” He looked even more uncomfortable now.
“She tell you not to tell me that?”
“Yes,” he sighed.
I slapped him on the shoulder. “Just blame it on the twin telepathy
thing. Everybody believes that bullshit. You don’t have to tell her
you’re a terrible liar who could lose our fortune in a poker game full
of toddlers.”
“Poker is just about getting lucky. Anybody could lose their
fortune playing it.”
“And that’s why you suck at poker. It’s okay though. You’re good
at other things. Like… organizing people’s refrigerators. You love
that, right?” I asked, trying to sound encouraging.
“Yeah. I love it about as much as you love stealing purses from
old ladies.”
“Never once,” I said. “For the thousandth time. It was a tote bag,
and she stole my parking spot.”
“So?” he asked, moving into the office finally and taking a seat in
the recliner by my desk. “The girl…”
 “To be determined. I was about to go bother her before your ugly
ass walked in here.”
“Well, what happened after we left you at the party? Did you
chase her away?”
“Why is Natasha so interested in her, exactly? She’s never sent
you to spy on me for any of the other women I’ve wasted my time
with.”
“She didn’t seem to think you were looking at this one like the
others.”
“Well, what makes her an expert? Last I checked, the only thing
Natasha was an expert at was being accident prone.”
“Careful,” he growled. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
I threw my hands up, giving a small smile of apology. “Just
saying. She’s got the wrong mixture of bad luck and bad timing. I’m
surprised you let her out without a helmet on.”
Bruce gave me a healthy glare, but knew it was as close as he’d
get to an apology from me, so he plowed forward. “She never
claimed to be an expert, especially not on you. Nobody who met you
would be dumb enough to think they understood you. Even you don’t
understand you.”
“Compliment taken.”
“She was just curious. So she sent me to investigate.”
“That was her first mistake. She would’ve been better off sending
in a trained rat. Much less conspicuous.”
Bruce cringed a little at the mention of a rat, which I knew he
would. He’d never admit it, but he was terrified of the little guys. I
guess it made sense. If Bruce was a superhero, he’d be Mr. Clean,
and rats symbolized the clutter and mess he hated so much.
“So?” he prompted. “How’d it go with her at the party? You need
to give me something, or Natasha is just going to keep sending me
back. Save us both the misery. Please.”
I crossed my arms and leaned back against the wall. “Well, Zoey
happened.”
“Fuck,” Bruce hissed. “Zoey Styles?”
“The one and only.”
“Think it was mom and dad who sent her?”
 “Could be,” I said. “I give them handouts when they want, but
maybe they’re tired of the song and dance. I don’t see why they think
they could trust Zoey to pay them a cut if she actually managed to
trick me into marrying her.”
“Because our parents are idiots.”
“Bruce, come on. Those are our folks you’re talking about.”
“I’m aware.”
I grinned. “They may have a long and staggering history of
failures, but they are… Well, they’re go-getters. Gotta give them
credit for having the old American spirit.”
“Yeah. They’ve been trying to “go get” our money ever since we
made it big.”
“The devil is in the details, you know.”
“Then you two have never met?” Bruce asked.
“And you could tell me how many fingers he likes in his ass.”
Bruce cringed. “Sometimes I forget how immature you are.”
“If maturity is banana worship, strict schedules, and color-coated
organization schematics, then yes, please count me out.”
“If you’re done… What are you going to do about Zoey?”
“The same thing I always do,” I said simply.
“Fuck her a few times, let her swindle tens of thousands of dollars
out of you, and then take way too long to realize you’re an idiot?”
“Uh, no,” I said. “That was only two or three times. I’m talking
about all the other times when I told her to get lost.”
Bruce gave me a level stare, like he was about to clarify
something he didn’t believe he just heard. “You have a history of
being a dumbass with this girl. Call me crazy for wondering if it’s
going to happen again.”
I looked at the ceiling and tried to think of a way to poke a hole in
his assessment, but failed. “Look. I have attachment issues. Okay?
Besides, that was months and months ago. I didn’t even kiss her on
the mouth. And now I’ve got my sights on the baker girl.”
Bruce broke into a wide smile, then shook his head. “Is that how
it works with you? Doesn’t count if you don’t kiss them on the
mouth?”
“It’s not just me,” I said. “It’s a known thing. Or maybe that’s just
with hookers. But shit, man, I didn’t go up to talk to her at the party
for that. I’m into the cherry pie girl now. Yes, I shouldn’t have slept
with Zoey. Ever. But that was all in the past. The distant past. And
hey, I told her to fuck off this time. So I’m learning.”
“Does the cherry pie girl know that? Does she know you’re into
her, or that you told Zoey to get lost?”
“What are you, Dr. Phil?”
“I’m the guy who is going to get grilled by his wife as soon as he
goes back to his office and calls in the report on how this went.”
I gave him a sideways look. “If the baker girl doesn’t know I’m
into her by now, then someone might need to tell her Santa Claus
isn’t real.”
“What?”
“Forget it. Point is, yes. She should know.”
“And does she know why you were talking to Zoey?”
“What, am I supposed to get a fucking permission slip from her to
talk to another woman?”
“No. But you’re not supposed to be so clueless that you don’t
realize what that must’ve looked like. What’d you do, just ditch her
and charge on to confront Zoey?”
“Something like that,” I said slowly. “But I knew if Zoey figured out
I was interested in Hailey, she’d find a way to screw it up. I didn’t
have a choice. The woman is relentless.”
Bruce sighed as he stood up. “Got it. So the report for Natasha is
that my brother screwed it up with the girl Natasha liked.”
“Easy there. You’ve got your ways and I’ve got mine.”
“And your way is?”
“High risk, high reward,” I said. “I mean, think about it. If she was
scared off by such a little thing, I’m just saving myself annoyance
down the road. You’ve got to put a woman through her paces to find
out if she’s a keeper.”
Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Since when do you look for
keepers?”
I blew that off with a dismissive noise, even though his question
unsettled me. He was right. I didn’t look for keepers. I never had. I
looked for distractions. Most importantly, I looked for temporary.
“Okay, Mr. Spy. That’s enough for now. If Natasha’s reporter instinct
isn’t satisfied after all that, she can come complain to me directly.
Are we good?”
“Not usually,” Bruce said. “But I actually have work to do.”
I showed him my palms and wiggled my fingers, not even
knowing what the gesture was supposed to mean. I think I was going
for something that said, “we’ve got a big shot over here who works,
fancy schmancy." Bruce rewarded me with an annoyed groan as he
left my office.
I normally used my driver to get around. It was the fastest option,
and I paid the guy a yearly salary to be on call at all times, so I
should probably try to get my money’s worth. I decided to take the
subway today, which was definitely out of the ordinary for me.
Maybe I just wanted some time to sort through my thoughts.
Bruce’s comment had rattled me a little, and I wanted to try to get to
the bottom of why I’d said that. You’ve got to put a woman through
her paces to find out if she’s a keeper.
I took a seat on the train, which wasn’t crowded because it was
too early for lunch and too late in the morning for commuters.
I wondered if it had been a simple slip of the tongue. One of my
favorite hobbies was irritating my brother, so I usually said whatever
popped into my head if I thought it’d get under his skin, true or not.
But that little nugget of trouble had slid right across my lips so easily.
It didn’t feel like a well-crafted lie or jab. It was just…
I leaned my head back against the window, staring at the
handholds that gently rocked as the train rattled through the subway
tunnels.
I got off the train a little while later and had to shove through the
smelly station to get to the surface. The streets of New York seemed
sweet and pure to me by the time I made it out of there, and that was
something I never thought I’d think. I heard rustling in an alley
between two buildings as I walked toward her bakery. I must’ve still
been looking to stall, which was also completely unlike me, because
I broke away from the foot traffic and took a few steps into the alley.
I got closer until I saw a stack of soggy cardboard boxes move.
I jumped back, then stepped closer again, narrowing my eyes.
The boxes burst open as a small, filthy puppy came out from
beneath them. It was holding a chicken bone that it'd picked clean
already. The image reminded me of the dog we'd had as kids—which
had been a miracle, since our parents were so poor they could
hardly feed Bruce and me, let alone a dog. My dad had given him a
chicken bone after dinner one night, and he didn't realize they
weren't safe for animals. The bone splintered, and it ended up
cutting something inside our dog's stomach that left him unable to
eat, and we had to put him down.
I took a cautious step toward the little dog, hoping I could wrangle
the bone from him.
He growled at me. The little asshole actually had the nerve to
growl? He looked like some kind of mutt. No clear breed, just a
generic, brown dog with black ears and a light beige patch under one
of his eyes. He couldn’t have been more than a few months old.
“Listen, you little shit,” I said quietly, not wanting anyone walking
by to hear me arguing with a dog. “You give me that, or I’m going to
take it.”
He took a step back, hackles raising as his ridiculous little growl
deepened—and by deepened, I mean it went from songbird high-
pitched something a hair deeper.
“We can make this easy, or we can make it hard. Your choice.”
He ignored me, still backing away with his prize clamped
between his teeth.
“Give it to me!” I yelled as I lunged and made a wild grab for it. I
was fast, but he was faster. He yanked his head back and spun,
setting off at a scampering pace down the alley that turned his short
legs into a blur of motion.
I wasn’t about to be beaten by a homeless puppy, so I ran after
him.
I was gaining on him. He thought he was going to get the best of
me, but he was a dumbass. I jumped over trash cans, old boxes,
puddles, and dodged a dumpster as I made my wild chase. He was
about to burst out into the street on the other side of the alley when
he came up short. There was a crowd of people passing by, creating
a human wall that left him right where I wanted him.
I reached from behind him, got a hold of the bone, and yanked it
free.
 I held it high over my head, looking down at him in contempt.
“Your first mistake was testing me, you little asshole.”
He cowered a little, making a pathetic noise.
“Yeah, screw you. I’m not falling for the puppy dog act. You smell
horrible and you’re probably full of diseases, but I’m not going to let
you off yourself over a fucking chicken bone.”
He whimpered again, big eyes set on the bone.
I sighed. I didn’t do pets. If I had to be completely honest, it was
partly because I was worried I’d forget to feed them or let them out.
So I gave him a slight shrug and then pushed my way into the
crowded street. There was enough scrap food in New York City for
him to live off of. Hell, maybe after a really rainy day, he could pass
for cute and trick somebody into taking him home. It wasn’t going to
be me, though. I’d already done my good deed for the day by saving
his smelly ass.
My wild chase through the alley had actually gotten me closer to
the bakery, which meant all I had to do was cross the street now.
Once I reached her store, I felt a slight nervous tingling in my
stomach. I couldn’t even begin to count all the times I’d done
something similar, and I’d never felt nervous before. Then again, I
guessed this was actually outside my usual behavior. I’d sometimes
barge into a woman’s life and let it be known that I was interested.
Interested, yes. Showing up to her shop after she hadn’t made any
effort to get in contact with me though? That admittedly pushed past
the interest barrier. I was somewhere inside desperate territory, and
it was an unexplored frontier for me.
The idea brought me uncomfortably back to the end of my
conversation with Bruce. When did I decide I was done fooling
around with a new woman every week? I knew just hours before I
met baker girl that first time, I was already planning on calling back a
girl I’d been stringing along for a couple days. Now that I thought
about it, I’d never called her. I hadn’t so much as flirted with another
woman since I deflowered the baker girl. I hadn't even technically
gone on a date with the woman, and I was already trying to be
exclusive?
I ran a hand through my hair and blew out a confused sigh, which
was a lot like a normal sigh, except it came with a frown. It was the
kind of sigh you let out when you wake up in the middle of the night
bare-ass naked and you’re standing in front of a refrigerator you
don’t recognize. Again. It was the kind of sigh that came right before
you inevitably asked yourself, “what the hell?”
I pushed it all out of my head as I opened the door to her shop.
Confused or not, I could smell fresh-baked bread, and I was hungry.
It was time to stop trying to psychoanalyze myself and go back to
doing what I normally did. Leaping without looking.
The scent of freshly baked pastries and pies washed over me. It
was a nice smell, and I’d noticed a hint of it had clung to Hailey, even
hours after she must’ve left work when she was at the masquerade
party. The scent already struck a familiar chord with me. It reminded
me of the way her eyes had widened when I stepped close. Of how
her heartbeat felt when it pounded through my fingertips.
My little, untouched Cherry. The girl with wide, innocent eyes who
smelled like flour and fresh-baked bread. It seemed fitting. She
smelled delicious, just like I imagined she’d taste.
I saw the same guy behind the counter as last time. I gave him a
quick glare for good measure. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I felt
a little jealous at the idea of her working alone in the shop with this
guy every day. I was never big on the whole jealousy thing, though. I
always thought jealousy was for guys who lacked confidence. What
was there to be jealous of if you were the shit, and your girl knew it?
Still, glaring at him wouldn’t hurt. It was just a precaution.
Hailey was standing there with flour all over her black apron and
even a smear of it above her eyebrow. It was kind of adorable. Her
hair was in a messy ponytail and her nails were short, making me
think she was probably a nail-biter like me.
“You realize there’s a puppy behind you, right?” she asked.
“What?” I asked, turning around and looking down. “Shit. I told
you to get lost,” I said to him.
The puppy barked at me and wagged its tail.
“You’re not getting it,” I said, holding the chicken bone a little
higher. “Toss this for me. Will you?” I said to Hailey, handing her the
bone.
She looked at it like I’d just handed her a dead body, which,
technically, I guess I kind of did. “Do I even want to ask?”
 “This little asshole thinks he can have it, but he can’t. End of
story.”
The guy behind the counter was looking at me so closely I was
starting to question his sexuality. I’d seen women give me that look
before. It usually came right before they tried to come up and make
some thinly-veiled attempt at getting me to hit on them. Good for
him, I guess, but I wasn’t into the whole crossed swords thing, so he
was out of luck.
Hailey took the bone and dropped it in a trashcan nearby.
“Okay… Mission accomplished.”
“Thanks. See?” I asked, turning to the dog. “Your loot is gone. So
get lost.”
“Don’t be mean to him,” Hailey protested. She came around from
behind the counter and knelt down to rub his cheeks and head. She
paused, made a face, and then kept petting him. “He may smell like
a dumpster, but he’s adorable.”
“I think he is a she,” the guy that I’m definitely not jealous of said.
Hailey and I both tilted our heads and looked down.
“Well, she is still an asshole,” I said.
“I think she likes you.” Hailey was still petting her as she spoke.
“Poor girl. She has bad judgment and she smells horrible.”
“I was thinking we could go somewhere,” I said. “We could call it
a date. The whole nine yards.”
Hailey stood up and dusted her hands off on her apron. A
suddenly somber look wiped all other emotions from her face. “I’m
flattered, and I really appreciate it, but… no. I don’t think we should.”
“We could go to—wait, what?” I asked.
“I’m sorry. I’ve had a while to think about it. I don’t think it’s a
good idea. For either of us.”
I had to think for a few heartbeats to find a way to respond. I'd
been rejected before, sure, but I'd seen those coming. This one was
catching me completely off-guard. Hailey looked every bit like the
picture of innocence to the world. A virgin girl with repressed
sexuality and fire that was waiting to be unleashed. I thought I had
her figured out, and I thought her lust would win out over everything
else. I mean, come on, how do you go twenty years and some
change as a virgin and not want to hump anything that moves?
 “Agree to disagree,” I said finally.
She gave me a sad smile. “Well, I have actual customers
sometimes, so, if there was nothing else, I need to get back to
making the cannolis I was working on. The bills don’t pay
themselves, you know.”
She stood up and started walking back behind the counter. I was
embarrassingly desperate to find a way to salvage where this looked
like it was headed, so I said the first thing that popped into my head.
“Be my personal chef,” I said.
She stopped mid-step. “What?” she asked.
“Personal chef. You can just do it at night, after you’re done here,
so your shop won’t suffer for it. You could use the extra money. Get
new… shit, I don’t know. Whatever bakers buy with assloads of
money. Dough shredders? Cake stretchers? Cupcake wrapping
machines?”
A slow grin spread across her lips. “There are dough mixers. I
don’t know why you would be stretching cakes, and you don’t wrap
cupcakes after you cook them. You cook them in the wrappers.”
I threw a hand in the air. "Whatever. The point is you could use
the money, right? Name your price."
“There’s no way. Even if you were serious. I couldn’t—”
“I’ll market your bakery through Galleon. What about that? It’s not
a handout. No money. No checks. Just marketing. You’ll have more
business than you know what to do with,” I said.
Her friend, who had been standing behind the counter and
watching the whole thing like a tennis match, suddenly collapsed.
The sound of his body crumpling to the floor was pretty loud, given
the stunned silence on Hailey’s end.
I looked to where the guy had just been standing. “Is he okay?”
Hailey jumped a little, like my voice had woken her from some
kind of coma, then looked over to her friend. “He’ll be fine. Ryan just
does that sometimes.”
“Passes out?”
Ryan popped back up suddenly, red in the face and smiling. “I’m
good! Continue. Please.” He pulled a cookie out of the nearby
display case and popped it in his mouth, never taking his eyes from
us. “Low blood sugar,” he said quietly, as if that was a perfectly
reasonable explanation for falling to the floor like a wet sack of
potatoes.
“Why would you make me an offer like that?” Hailey asked
suspiciously.
“This is the part where most guys would make up something. I’ll
spare us that part. I’m making you that offer because I wasn’t done
trying to woo you, and you seem intent on pushing me out of your
life. I have the best marketing company in the world at my fingertips.
All I have to do is say the word and a team of twenty experts will
start drafting up a promo plan for The Glittery Baker. This is a perfect
idea. Admit it.”
“The Bubbly Baker. And sure, it’s perfect, except the part where I
was trying to push you out of my life for a reason. And that you’re
assuming you can just buy me? What does that say about your
opinion of me?”
“It says I think you’re a logical, reasonable woman. Nobody who
makes it big does it on their own. Everybody catches a lucky break
somewhere along the line, and all you have to do is make me dinner.
You can leave right after. You can ignore me if you want. Besides, if
you say no, you’re going to have to deal with me coming in here
every day to hassle you until you say yes. You might as well get the
marketing blast of a lifetime out of it, right?”
She watched me for a long time, and I could tell her thoughts
were racing. Ryan was working on his fourth or fifth cookie, eyes
wide like he was watching the climax of a soap opera.
"I'll do it," Hailey said, "but I have one condition. You have to take
that poor puppy home with you so I can come to visit it when I go to
cook at your house. And you need to give it a bath."
I looked down at the puppy, who looked up at me with a shit-
eating grin. It probably was literally the grin of a shit eater, I realized.
“You realize you’re forcing this puppy into a neglectful relationship
with me, right?”
“You’ll pamper that puppy if you want this to happen. Non-
negotiable. It had better be smiling and smelling like roses when I
see it.”
I took in a deep breath and let it out through my nose. How did I
end up here? One fucking cherry pie and I went from being the one
who made women come begging, to the one on my knees. Screw it,
though. I was already in this. There wasn’t any turning back.
“Fine.”
“And you need to give it a name,” she added.
I gave her a long, suffering look. “Gremlin?” I suggested.
“That’s a horrible name.”
“I kinda like it,” Ryan put his two cents in.
“Too late,” I said, watching the puppy, who was wagging its tail
faster now. “Gremlin already decided she likes it. We’ll see you
tonight. Six p.m. sharp, or you’re fired.” I started walking for the door
and noticed her menu was displayed on a black kind of cork board
with letters that could be removed and rearranged. I snagged myself
her “v”, because I figured if I euphemistically took her v-card enough
times, I’d make it all the way to the grand prize.
Really, she should have been thanking me for what I was trying
to do. But alas, the real white knights of the world are never
appreciated. I’d have to suffer through persecution and
misunderstanding while I trudged ahead toward my noble cause.
After all, nobody ever said being the good guy would be easy.
 5

HAILEY

I had two landlords. One for my apartment, and one for my shop.
Both had been trying to call me all day. I could listen to their
voicemails and risk ruining my mood for the night, or I could be
irresponsible and ignore them all together. Ignore them it was,
because, hey, it’s not like I had the money they wanted. Listening
would just make me feel hopeless. I was going to keep baking and
keep sleeping in my bed until they kicked me out, when or if that
happened, I’d figure something else out.
It was surprisingly easy to put my financial trouble from my mind.
Besides, William promised me world-class marketing, and I had
every reason to believe his help could be exactly what my shop
needed to start profiting.
When there was a knock at my door, the first thought was that
William had decided to show up at my place—even though he had
no way of knowing where I lived. My stupid, irrational heart started
thumping all the same when I went to open the door.
It was Nathan. He was holding flowers and dressed to impress
with a sports coat and tie.
I shook my head. “Nathan. You can’t keep doing this. Seriously.”
“What? Is it the asshole from the party?”
“No, it’s that I already told you we’re done. So please just give up
on it. This isn’t some movie where the girl eventually softens for the
guy because he doesn’t give up. In real life, it’s just creepy. I’m sorry,
but it’s true.”
 He clenched his teeth together, jaw flexing. He stuck the flowers
out for me. “At least take these.”
I sighed. “Nathan, I’m sorry.”
I closed the door on him and let out a long breath. I hated that he
forced me to be so rude, but I knew in his head he’d think me taking
the flowers was some secret signal that I wanted him to keep trying. I
wanted him to stop, especially because I was pretty sure the only
thing that had him so invested in me was the sick idea that he
deserved to be the one to take my virginity because he had been my
first long-term boyfriend. I wasn't making that up, either. He more or
less said as much around the time we were breaking up.
I waited a few minutes, half-expecting him to bash on the door
and demand to be let in, but after a while, I heard his footsteps
trailing away.
Thankfully, I had tonight at William’s to keep me from dwelling on
Nathan all night. Otherwise, I knew I would’ve let paranoid thoughts
start to spiral, and I’d end up with the curtains drawn and the door
barricaded. Instead, I was going to get myself ready and go fulfill my
end of the crazy bargain I’d struck with William.
As tempting as it was, I didn’t let myself waste an hour doing my
makeup, hair, and picking the perfect outfit for the night. I was
tempted, but I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t just another
one of William’s flock—assuming Zoey had been telling me the truth,
which was admittedly a questionable assumption.
This wasn’t a date. I was going to cook for William. It was a job,
and you didn’t get all dolled up to go to work, unless you were trying
to impress someone. If anything, I wanted to be unimpressive,
because I had a feeling William didn’t need any help deciding to
devour me. The thought made chills run through me, and yet I held
strong. I wore my flour-dusted clothes, applied a fresh coat of
deodorant, just for the sake of sanitation, and brushed my teeth. I
didn’t even mess with my messy ponytail. Good for me.
I knew he was insanely wealthy by now, but even that didn’t
convince me he meant what he said about the offer. I wasn’t going to
lie to myself. I could use the business. Getting free marketing wasn’t
exactly like taking a handout. After all, it would just bring more
people to my business and I'd need to work harder to earn the extra
money. Some people would still say it was a handout, but those
people could munch on my muffins. Even if the offer hadn't been in
the picture, I was secretly thrilled that William hadn't let things end so
easily.
Apparently, William was like a virus in my brain that made it so I
couldn’t even figure out which way to feel. A virus that probably had
a six-pack and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. Boing. He
even had the nerve to be charming, as if it wasn’t enough to look the
way he did. If looking like a movie star and being able to charm the
habit and veil off of a nun wasn’t enough, he decided to add a huge
pile of money to the mixture. The worst part? I actually kind of liked
that he had a criminal streak. It kept him from being some boring,
picture of perfection.
I didn’t know if he was capable of being exclusive with me, or if
he even wanted more than to seduce me out of my clothes, but I’d at
least seen that he was persistent. He wasn’t going to let me go
without a fight, and that counted for something, too.
He’d made this whole ordeal into some kind of elaborate game. I
realized that. Maybe it had been my mistake with men all along. I
took it too seriously. I didn’t step back and see the game board or the
pieces at play, so I never stood a chance. Maybe that was the
secret. Love was a game, and before you played, you had to know
how you wanted to win.
If this thing between William and I was a chessboard, I didn’t just
need to defend myself from his advances: I needed to find out what
his goal was in playing the game. I’d have to let him make his
moves. I’d need to be patient, to see if he was only after the “cherry”
he loved to joke about, or if he wanted something more. Until I knew
why he was interested, I wouldn’t know what I wanted. So for now,
that was the plan. Put up my defenses and wait to see what he did
next.
I called my grammy before I left for his place. I’d lost both of my
parents before I was really even old enough to have much more than
vague memories and a scrapbook of pictures. It kept a place in my
heart for them, but for all intents and purposes, my grammy had
become my mom. My real parents were strangers to me, as sad as
that was. Grammy was eighty-five now, and she lived a couple hours
outside downtown New York in a cozy little town by the river. She
was in a nursing home, which she enjoyed, because her favorite
pastime was gambling. The nursing home gave her easy access to
plenty of un-skilled and even senile gamblers that she could rob
blind.
She picked up the phone almost immediately, like usual. “Hey
squirt,” she said. You wouldn’t guess she was well into her eighties
from the energy in her voice. It was easy to believe she’d live to be
the world’s oldest woman when you spoke to her, and I hoped she
would. She was my emotional crutch, and I wasn’t sure what I’d do
without my almost daily update on the mischief she was getting into.
“Hey, staying out of trouble?” I asked.
“Life is about getting into trouble. One day you’ll learn. I’ve still
got a body like a sixty-year-old bombshell and a mind like a steel
trap. I’m not slowing down.”
I laughed. “If your mind is a steel trap, it’s one that got left out in
the rain and rusted shut.”
She barked a cackling laugh back over the phone. “You’re only
so quick with a comeback because of your old Grams. You know
that, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Like a wrinkly old apple right off your tree. But I was
actually calling for advice. I have a boy question.”
Pause.
“Well, well, well. I knew this day would come. Ready to dust off
the cobwebs between your legs, are you?”
“Oh my God, Grammy. Can you please never talk about what’s
between my legs again?”
“That’s how you ended up twenty-five-years old and a virgin,
dear. You’ve been ignoring God’s gift to the world. You’ve got to
cherish your vagina, not ignore it. It’s a weapon that women have
been using to bring even the most powerful men to their knees since
the beginning of time.”
I plastered my palm to my face, mentally willing the last ten
seconds of conversation into the deepest, darkest abyss of my mind.
“Let’s focus on the boy, and less on me. Okay?” And let me never
have to hear my grandma say the word “vagina” again.
 “The boy,” she said calmly, but I could hear a note of mischief in
her voice. “Well, there’s only two reasons boys come sniffing around
a beautiful girl like you—and you can trust me on this, because I was
sexy as sin in my day. I still know how to turn a head or two, the only
problem is that men my age don’t quite have the flexibility for head-
turning. But you can see they wish they did when I walk past. Bet
your ass you can. Anyway, men either want to use you like a toy, or
they want a partner. There’s a time and place for being a toy, let me
tell you. There was a boy back in Venice—”
“Grammy,” I said quickly. I knew her well enough that she wasn’t
going to give me the G-rated version of the story if I let her continue.
“How do you know which type of guy it is?”
"Well, you sleep with him. If you're a toy, he'll back off with all the
lovey-dovey talk because he mostly has what he wants. Maybe he'll
buy you some gifts or whatever he thinks it takes to get you back in
the sack if he liked it, but you'll see the difference after the first time
you sleep with him. That's when they start to let their guard down
and get off their best behavior."
“And let’s assume I don’t want to just throw my body around like
a measuring stick?”
“Then we can first question how my daughter passed so few of
my genes on to you, and then, well, I suppose you could also see
how he responds to you holding out on him. Boys will only wait so
long for a toy they want. If he’s looking for a partner, he’ll be more
patient.”
I thanked my grandma for the advice, endured a highly detailed
story about how she’d managed to get Earl to lose his entire yield of
tomatoes from the garden outside his room. The short version of the
story was that Earl never suspected my sweet old Grammy of being
a cheat at poker. His loss, according to her. She had really enjoyed
the fact that she hated tomatoes, so she was planning on trying to
sell them back to him to turn a profit.
In the end, I didn’t feel like I’d actually learned much. Grandma
sometimes helped just because her advice was generally so crazy
and impractical that it made me feel like whatever I’d already been
thinking was extremely rational and logical by comparison. To that
extent, my conversation with her had helped, I guessed.
 William had called to leave a quick, clipped message on my work
phone. He gave me his home address and reminded me to be on
time. That was it. I wasn’t sure if he kept it cold to make me nervous,
or if he was really planning on acting professional about the
arrangement. Whichever it was, I had fresh butterflies in my stomach
the whole ride over.
He lived in the East Village. Given the area's reputation for a
lively nightlife, I wasn't entirely surprised. He lived in a large
apartment complex, and of course, he had the penthouse suite. The
building was apparently fancy enough to warrant a doorman and a
staff member behind a front desk. Both were dressed like they
worked in five-star hotels, and I immediately regretted dressing down
for the night. I'd purposely gone with the aggressively casual route to
send William a message: I’m not trying to impress you. I’m just going
to take the ridiculous opportunity you gave me and nothing else. At
least that was the plan. But now I felt like I might get tackled and
mistaken for a homeless woman before I made it to the elevator.
“William Chamberson?” I asked the woman at the front desk.
She nodded and gave a Vanna White gesture toward the
elevators.
“Thanks,” I said, wondering how much they had to pay her to
point people from the front doors to the elevators, which were clearly
in front of said front doors. Probably more than I made, I thought
sourly.
There was a short man with a silly little hat waiting for me inside
the elevator. He stood from a small stool with perfect posture and an
air of “I’m better than you, even though I run an elevator for a living.”
“Floor?” he asked in a prim and proper, nasally voice.
“Penthouse, please.” I may or may not have injected a little bit of
satisfaction in the declaration. Yeah, that’s right, you tiny little
elevator man. I’m going to the penthouse.
He made no show of caring as he pressed the “P” button and
then waited with eyes half-closed. Then, he unexpectedly turned to
me and tapped his ear knowingly. “Best to keep it quiet. They listen
when the elevator is stopped.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Your bosses?”
He blew out a dismissive puff of breath. “The government.”
 When the elevator thumped to a stop at the top, he wiped the
expression from his face and made a “lips are zipped” gesture at me,
then winked.
Instead of polished metal doors like all the other floors we’d
passed, the top floor opened straight into a view of a huge living area
sealed off only by a pair of wrought-iron gates. The elevator man put
a key into the gates and then lifted it up, kind of like those gates they
pull down when stores at the mall close.
Without another word, he closed the gate behind me and
descended back down, leaving nothing but a brick elevator shaft and
a trembling bunch of cords and wires that the elevator must’ve relied
on.
I had expected William to be waiting for me, but the place almost
seemed empty, except for the sound of running water. He told me to
be here at six, and when I checked my phone, it looked like I was
right on time. Maybe he expected me to have dinner ready for him
when he got out of the shower?
There was a scampering, unmistakable sound of tiny paws on the
wood floors. The puppy—Gremlin—came skidding around the
corner. It was a clean, fluffy ball of brown puppy fur, almost to the
point of ridiculousness. There was no way he did that without
professional help, but I guessed I couldn’t fault him for paying a
groomer to do a good job. It thumped into a wall, straightened, and
then charged me. I knelt down to pet the adorable little dog, even
subjecting myself to a flurry of puppy kisses.
“Okay. Okay. I get it, you’re clean now. And you’re super cute. Is
he being nice to you?”
The only answer she gave was to pant at me while she wagged
her tail. I stood back up and looked around. I felt a little bit like an
intruder, even though I knew he was expecting me. I was a little
worried he'd thought I would wait outside or something, but it wasn't
like there was a hallway or a door to knock on.
“William?” I called. “William!” I tried, projecting my voice a little
more the second time. When no answer came, I eventually
convinced myself that he wanted me to find my own way to the
kitchen. I passed through the main living area, which was situated
underneath a modern industrial style catwalk that was welded to the
exposed brick walls. The place had billionaire bachelor pad written
all over it. Admittedly, it was in the impressive category of bachelor
pads instead of the sad and creepy category.
I was tempted to snoop a little bit for pictures, mostly out of
curiosity to see what a young William had looked like, or maybe a
glimpse of his parents, but I kept it professional.
The view was amazing, the floors were a deep, antique style
wood, and he had an eye-catching array of paintings along the walls,
along with a full-sized sculpture of a man who looked like he was
exploding into pixelated squares of metal. I paused for a minute in
front of the sculpture, running my fingers over the little squares and
marveling at how they seemed to float outward in an expanding
cloud, even though the effect was a trick of perspective. From the
side, it was clear that the burst of tiny metal squares all connected to
the square behind them in some way and eventually to the sculpture.
I decided to give him at least one bonus point for good taste. In
movies, it seemed like the mega-rich always had provocative art
pieces of six-foot vaginas, naked women, and phallic objects littering
their mansions. I guess once you had enough money, that sort of
thing stopped being seen as trashy and started being visionary.
Unless you asked me, then it was just weird. Who wanted to walk
into a vagina hallway before bed and be metaphorically reborn every
day? Or who wanted to bump their forehead on a twelve-foot-long
erection when they were trying to sneak to the fridge in the middle of
the night.
The kitchen was beautiful. Windows let in an amazing amount of
natural light, and the second floor of the penthouse was open above
the space, giving it an incredibly spacious, natural vibe that I wasn’t
used to feeling in New York City. I found the pantry fully stocked with
just about anything I could imagine needing, so I started planning out
a menu.
And that was when I heard the sound of whipped cream being
dispensed from a spray can. I turned around to see William standing
in the doorway wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist.
He was just finishing adding whipped cream to his nipples when I
saw him.
 "Oh hey," he said in a mock-seductive voice. "I was just putting
something decent on."
I covered my eyes with my hand, even though it was admittedly
hard not to gawk. I’d only caught a glimpse of his bare torso, but
even a glance told me he was built like something straight out of my
dreams. Every single muscle on his body had stood out in perfect
definition. Slabs of muscle on a lean torso without an ounce of fat,
and just the right balance between bulky and thin. He could’ve
passed for a professional athlete, easily. If only the package came
with less cocky and obnoxious.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said. “Haven’t you ever heard
of workplace harassment?”
“Workplace? This is my home,” he said, sounding offended.
“A home you asked me to work in.”
He sighed. “Fine. If you want to be a wet blanket about it, I’ll go
grab—shit! Gremlin!”
The outburst made me peek from behind my hands just in time to
see the towel getting stripped off his waist as the little puppy yanked
on it with all its weight. I clapped my hands back over my eyes. My
cheeks burned with embarrassment. “This isn’t happening,” I said.
“Hold on.” There was that sound of whipped cream dispensing
again. Two more times. Then one last little burst of it. “Okay. We’re
good. You sure you’re not craving something sweet? I’ve got
cherries in the fridge if you aren’t into banana sundaes.”
“You couldn’t just get the towel back from the five-pound puppy?”
“You told me to be nice to her.”
I turned my back to him. “Can you please just go put on clothes?”
“What am I supposed to do with all this whipped cream?”
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you acted like a
two-year-old.”
He sighed. “You know, words hurt, Cherry. You just remember
that.”
I grinned, rolling my eyes as he walked off. Gremlin trailed after
him. I wanted to dislike him. I wished it was easy. Instead, he had
this kind of natural carefreeness that I'd never seen in anyone else,
like he wasn't even breaking the rules in his mind—he'd just never
bothered to learn half of them. From any other man I'd ever met, his
little stunt would've sent me running for the hills as soon as he left.
With William, I honestly didn't even feel surprised, or threatened. He
was so easy-going about everything. I was pretty positive he knew
exactly how I'd react to his whipped cream trick, but he did it anyway
just for a laugh.
By the time he came back, he was thankfully dressed, which
meant my brain was functioning again. Seeing him half-naked had
made my brain feel like it was in between two stations on the radio.
"I have to ask," I said as I worked on his dinner—a simple stir-fry
of veggies and chicken, but with my secret blend of seasonings and
sauces that I knew would blow him away. "Is this all a joke to you, or
are you serious?"
“Huh?” he asked. He was sitting at the table, flicking his thumb
across his phone while I cooked. He had put on a black dress shirt
and some gray pants, but apparently decided shoes weren’t
important. His dark hair was still a little wet from the shower, and the
way it sat messily on his head made me want to run my fingers
through it, to try to tame it.
“Well,” I said, steeling my nerve. I wasn’t going to just play meek
church mouse. I was a grown woman, and I deserved to know what
the heck this was supposed to be. “Are you just trying to sleep with
me, or is this something more?”
“Woah there, killer,” he said, looking up from his phone. “This is
the workplace. Haven’t you ever heard of sexual harassment?
Honestly, I feel threatened right now. Uncomfortable, even.”
I planted my fist on my hip, feeling every bit like my grandma at
that moment as I rounded on him. "Don't even start with me," I said,
jabbing the spatula at him. "You're lucky I don't—"
“What, go to HR? I’ll make myself go through sensitivity training if
you just admit you didn’t think it was funny. One word and I’ll do it.
Swear to God.”
I pursed my lips, but couldn’t help smirking. “It was unbelievably
immature and childish.”
He made a “go on” gesture, circling his hand in the air.
“But it was kind of funny.”
“Knew it!” he declared, pumping his fists into the air. “I saw it in a
movie once and wanted to do it ever since. Just had to wait for the
right girl.”
Pause.
“You know,” he said a little too quickly. “Someone who wouldn’t
get their panties in a bunch over it. You’re cool like that. You’re not
so uptight. I have enough of that in my life with Mr. Banana.”
“Who?” I asked. I had to make a mental effort to focus and stop
from asking more about his whole ‘right girl’ comment, even though I
was dying to grill him on it and see exactly what he meant.
“Bruce. The guy is religious about his banana intake. He likes
them a certain way. Has them at a specific time every day. Hell,
that’s even how he met Natasha. The girl ate his banana on the day
she was interviewing for a job. I’m pretty sure he only hired her to
punish her, as dumb as that sounds.”
“So you skirted around my question,” I said. “What is your plan
with all this? What is this, even?”
He grinned, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t actually know.
Whatever we’re doing is a little bit new for me.”
“What? Come on. You must be with a new girl every week.”
“Not that part…” he looked down, flashing a rare moment of self-
consciousness. “Let’s just say I’ve never offered a woman I liked a
job. I also don’t usually have the patience to wait around for
someone to give me what I want. I either get it when I want, or I walk
away and move on. Not with you, I guess.”
“A woman you liked?” My heart immediately set to pounding like I
was back in middle school and just got a note from my crush.
“Don’t go getting that look in your eye. You could probably fill a
room with people to tell you what a piece of shit I am. Maybe you
had it right when you were trying to ghost me, after all.”
I waggled an eyebrow. “Maybe I’m just after your money.”
He laughed. “Doubt it. I’ve been around enough women to smell
that particular note from a few miles off. Hell, you didn’t even
compliment my badass apartment. You also are the one who tried to
talk me out of seeing you again, which isn’t exactly a gold digger
move.”
“Maybe I’m just more crafty than the golddiggers you’ve met in
the past.”
 He stood, walking closer to me until I had to bump into the
counter to avoid being pressed against him. The vegetables and
chicken sizzled and popped. I knew they needed a stir, but somehow
I couldn’t focus on that. All I could think about was the way he
smelled and the fact that I’d just seen him topless and shimmering
wet from the shower a few minutes earlier. All that perfection was
only separated from me by a few layers of clothes and some air.
A shiver ran through me.
“Crafty, are you?” he asked. His breath was warm and minty.
Each syllable blasted me with a gentle puff of air. “Not from what I
can see.” He ran his eyes over me, almost lazily, like being this close
and having this effect on me was nothing to bat an eyelash at. “So,”
he said, looking down at something in his hand. “Who is ‘G-rizzle’?”
“What?” I asked. My eyes followed his. He was looking at my
phone—which had somehow mysteriously worked its way into his
hand. A notification was on the screen. Unfortunately, the portion of
the text shown in the preview was enough to do plenty of emotional
damage. G-rizzle: Bag the boy yet? Need deets…
“G-rizzle is actually my grandma,” I said slowly. “She thinks it’s
embarrassing to try to act like an out of touch old lady, so she usually
studies the urban dictionary and pulls out some weird slang to make
me cringe. She’s eighty-five, and she changes her name to
something embarrassing in my contacts every time I see her.”
A grin spread across his lips. God, he had nice lips. I caught
myself staring and then flicked my eyes back up to his, hoping he
didn’t notice. “Got it. G-rizzle is the grandma. And this boy you’re
trying to ‘bag.’ What’s that? Like a body bag? Should I be worried?”
“About getting put in a body bag, or about another boy?”
“Well shit. Both? Maybe we could just put the other boy in the
body bag.”
I laughed. “There’s just one. One boy,” I said, feeling silly. There
was nothing boyish about William, except maybe the glint of mischief
that always twinkled in his eyes. “And I think she means—well,
actually, let’s just pretend that yes, it’s a body bag.”
“Ahh,” he said, nodding his head. “So you told your grandma you
were hoping to get me in the sack did you? Liar. I’ve practically lit the
path to my bed with neon signs and you’ve been walking past every
last one like you’re Stevie Wonder.”
“That’s so insensitive,” I said, but couldn’t help laughing a little.
“Insensitivity is one of my many talents. But let’s not change the
subject. Why does G-rizzle think you’re trying to bag me?”
“Because she’s borderline insane?” I tried. “I didn’t even tell her
your name. I’ve been careful to avoid bringing you up more than I
have to.”
“I see. So it’s a struggle not to talk about me. Do you often find
yourself having to fight off the temptation to think and talk about me?
Especially at odd hours of the night?”
I opened my mouth to say something—who knew what—but the
smell of burning food caught our attention at the same time.
“Shit!” I hissed.
William had to step back to even give me room to turn around. I
moved the skillet off the heat, but the damage was already done. I
turned the vent fan on high and then leaned my palms on the
counter, sighing at the charred food.
“Cajun style it is,” said William.
 6

WILLIAM

H ailey remade the dinner while I shot off an email for work. It
was rare enough for me to actually do work when I was
physically in the building, so sending a work email from home was
way off the radar for me. I guess it was a week for firsts.
My lawyer had sent me an email with a subject line in all caps.
"Another one..." I checked the contents and saw that yet another
person was making some obscure legal claim against me. It was a
weekly occurrence, and one I'd learned to get used to. If you
become a big fish, the small fish are always going to be looking for a
way to take a bite out of you. It was just the way of the world. I could
admittedly be a dumbass from time to time, but I wasn't dumb
enough to steal money from my own company when it was already a
fucking printing press for cash or any of the other hundreds of things
I'd had legal cases brought against me for. I had more money than I
knew what to do with. Literally. I'd once stared at my bank account
and tried to mentally play the game of spending all my money in a
year. The only way I could do it was buying skyscrapers or mega
yachts in bulk.
The sad truth about having all the money in the world was this:
people are hard-wired to want more. More stuff, more power, more
influence. We’re taught that money unlocks all of it, so we bust our
asses every day with those goals dangling in front of us like carrots
on a stick. Then one day, once you’ve bought properties across the
world, hired people to handle all the menial aspects of your life, and
bought all those things you always wished you could have, what was
left?
I could tell people, but no one would want to hear it. They’d miss
the point. They’d think I didn’t know what it was like to wonder if we’d
have a place to live next month or food that night. I knew it better
than most. The truth people didn’t want to know was that money is
just another drug, but it’s one that only a tiny fraction of the
population can afford to build up a tolerance to.
I looked back at the email. Legal threats always made me think
about money, because it was one way I could imagine actually losing
my fortune.
Threats to my wealth or not, I couldn't seem to keep my attention
on the details. My eyes were locked onto Hailey's ass while she
shuffled and side-stepped from one stovetop to another, bent to pull
brownies from the oven, and tiptoed to reach the microwave. It was
more beautiful than any opera or Broadway show I'd ever been to.
There was poetry in that ass. Two cheeks in perfect harmony,
working together for a common goal, sheltered from the world by
nothing but a heartbreakingly thin layer of cotton. There was mystery
in those buns, too. Was it a thong beneath that skirt of hers?
Panties? Boy shorts? And what color?
So many questions.
"So," I said. "Is your stalker ex a no-fly zone for questions? Or
can I ask what his deal was?"
She brushed her hands on the apron she’d strapped around her
waist and then tucked a hair behind her ear. “It’s not a juicy story. We
broke up and it wasn’t mutual.”
“How long were you together before that?”
“A few months.”
I rubbed my chin. “So what you’re really saying is that it’s a juicy
story, but you’re only willing to cough up the dry version?”
She smiled a little guiltily. “He’s nothing I can’t handle. Okay?”
“I believe that. You’ve got a kind of quiet nun who secretly knows
karate and could choke you out vibe. It’s sexy.”
She barked a surprised laugh. “What? Is that really what you
think of me?”
 I held up my palms in surrender. “Which answer keeps you from
choking me out?”
She glared. “The one where you never call me a quiet nun
again?”
“Deal. I’ll stick to nicknames that not-so-subtly reference your
virginity.”
She set the spatula down with a clatter and turned to look me full
in the eye. “What made you so immediately sure I was a virgin,
anyway?”
I shrugged. “Intuition? Instinct? Or maybe it was that your friend
at the bakery mouthed the word to me when he was standing behind
you. And he kept pointing at you and then giving me thumbs up. It
was actually a little much, if you ask me.”
She half-smiled and shook her head. “I’m going to kill him.”
“I’ve got a good lawyer, if you need one after the murder.”
“Very funny. Well, your dinner is finally ready,” she said, handing
me a plate. She had made warm tortillas with a container of
steaming chicken, onions, and peppers. She set down sour cream,
cheese, and lime wedges for me as well as what looked like
homemade tortilla chips and salsa.
“Where’s your plate?” I asked.
“You want me to eat? With you?” She looked genuinely surprised.
Leave it to the baker girl to be so innocent. Sometimes I thought she
knew exactly what I was playing at, and other times, it seemed like
she was clueless in the best kind of way.
“Get yourself a plate and sit with me. I’m not about to have some
lonely dinner while you stand there and stare at me.”
She gave me a wry smile. “You could send me home. You
wanted me to be your cook, and I cooked. Didn’t I?”
Her tone said she didn’t actually want me to send her home. It’d
serve her right to call her bluff and send her off, but I couldn’t resist
taking her bait and playing along. “How do I know it’s not poisoned if
you won’t eat it, too?”
She snatched up a piece of chicken and chewed it with raised
eyebrows. “Satisfied?”
“What if I just admit I want you to hang out and eat with me?”
 “That would be a better approach,” she said. There was
something shy in the way she smiled that I liked. Some women
smiled like they knew they were hot shit. People had been telling
them how beautiful they were their whole life. Then there were
smiles like Hailey’s. It was shy and almost apologetic. For an instant,
it was wide and genuine with no reserves, but then it was as if she
started to question herself. I could almost believe she was crazy
enough to think she wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous and her smile wasn’t
perfect.
When I first met her, I saw her as a challenge. She was a virgin,
and that meant she had something I could take. Something she
hadn’t given away all this time. The klepto in me had been drawn to
that.
Every minute I spent with her made me start to wonder if I’d
missed the real prize with her. She wasn’t just some woman I wanted
to get into my bed and move on from. What I said with Bruce about
looking for a keeper might not have even been a slip of the tongue.
Hailey was real. She didn’t kiss my feet because she thought I was
hot. She didn’t seem to care that I was loaded out the ass with
money. Hell, she was the one trying to push me away half the time.
She was different.
The sun had set by the time we finished eating. The conversation
came surprisingly easy between us, but once our plates were clear,
there was a new kind of expectation hanging in the air. The weight of
it started to suffocate all the easy words and smiles, leaving nothing
but a deep, uncomfortable silence.
“I should get going,” she said finally.
“You could stay,” I said. I didn’t explain myself any farther. I didn’t
try to force it or back out of the offer. I just let it sit there and
marinate. I watched her eyes, which never left mine.
“I shouldn’t,” she said. “I enjoyed tonight, though. Really.”
I stood with an easy smile. I wouldn’t have said no if she wanted
to stay. And if she stayed, I would’ve likely ended up taking her to my
bed. Good intentions or not, I was only human. But part of me was
glad she had the backbone to say no. Somehow, I thought if she
really did let me sleep with her tonight, it would’ve ended up like it
did with all the other women.
 As I was leading her to the elevator, I smoothly swiped a hairpin
from her hair. She didn’t seem to notice as she tucked the stray hairs
behind her ear and smiled, looking up at me.
“Same time tomorrow?” she asked.
“Same time.”

I ROCKED BACK IN THE CHAIR BEHIND MY DESK AT G ALLEON , WATCHING AS

my mom and dad filed into the room and sat across from me. As
usual, my dad swaggered in like he’d done something impressive
with his life, aside from having the disturbing talent of clogging toilets
wherever he went—that’s not even an exaggeration.
He hiked up his pants and sank into the chair across from me
with a satisfied sigh. My mom at least had the good grace to look like
she understood their place in the world. The two of them lived like
leeches. Once they realized Bruce and I were going to be a potential
payday for them, they checked out of the working world. Their only
occupation now was making monthly attempts at squeezing some
cash out of us.
Bruce tended to put his foot down and tell them to fuck off. Me
though? I guess I had a soft spot for them. Becoming rich had turned
the world into one hell of a cynical place for me. I saw money-hungry
users wherever I looked. People who only knew me as Mr.
Millionaire. My parents, on the other hand, had known me before.
Yes, they only seemed to stop by when they needed cash, but at
least they were trying to do something with their lives. Sort of. If I
was honest, I thought my dad probably gambled most of the money
away and spent the rest on dumb shit.
I guess it didn’t make much sense, but I always gave them cash
when they wanted it, unless I was in a bad mood. It was easier than
fighting it, anyway. My only concern was making sure they at least
felt like they needed to work hard to convince me to pay them.
Besides, I kinda liked hearing whatever insane stories they came up
with every month. They were a weird, twisted connection with my old
life. My monthly dose of nostalgia, and all it cost was a few grand.
“We’re in a tough spot, son,” said my dad.
“Yeah?” I asked, leaning forward.
 “We were really making good progress with the car wash idea,
but now that Simmons prick is saying he wants double the down
payment for that lot out on Kingston. Can you believe that? Asshole
thinks he’s selling in downtown New York instead of some bumfuck
town in the sticks.” My dad was a good actor. He was the type of guy
who wouldn’t bat an eyelash over scamming an old woman out of
her last dollar. That’s probably exactly what he’d be doing if I wasn’t
pumping him full of cash every month.
“Yeah?” I asked again.
My mom and dad shared a look. At times, I thought they felt guilty
about this song and dance. I just waited it out until we got past the
money part and we could talk. That was probably pathetic, come to
think of it. I basically paid them off so we could talk like a normal
family when the business portion of the meeting was out of the way.
"We thought another ten grand could get us over the edge with
the bank," said my dad. "They won't give us the loan unless we can
put down a bigger deposit."
“Sure. If you think that’s what it’ll take.” My voice sounded colder
than I intended, but I didn’t apologize. I could make light of them all I
wanted, but there was plenty of bitterness built up inside me. Plenty
of anger. It didn’t help that I was pretty sure they had talked Zoey
into sniffing around my life again.
I pulled my checkbook out and started filling it out. “Do you want
me to make it out to the bank, or…”
“Why don’t you go ahead and just write it out to me. I’ve got to
put together the rest of our money, anyway. Might as well get it all in
one spot before I go to them.”
“Sure,” I said.
“So,” said my dad cheerily as he pocketed the check. “How’s
life?”
“Can’t complain, can I?”
“Just because you’re well off,” said my mom, “doesn’t mean you
can’t complain, honey.”
“Okay, well I ate a chocolate bar on my way to work yesterday
and little flakes of it got under my thigh. I only realized after lunch
that I’d been walking around all day with melted chocolate on the
back of my thighs. Very embarrassing.”
 My mom grinned. “You’re such a goof, William.”
“Have you thought more about Zoey?” asked my dad.
“There’s nothing more to think about, dad. I gave her a chance
and it didn’t work out. End of story.”
“I just think she’d really be a great fit for you, son. She’s good
enough, not like some of these tramps I’ve seen you romping around
with on the tabloids.”
“I was on a tabloid. Once. And that was only because I didn’t
realize the girl was on a TV show.”
“We just want the best for you, William,” my mom said.
“I’m a big boy, and I can figure out what’s best for me on my own.
I figure the best way is to personally experience everything that’s the
worst for me first.”
My dad sighed. “Just keep it in mind. Zoey is a really good
woman. I think you two would be a perfect fit.”
A few minutes later, I had finally shooed them from my office.
Yes, I liked a dose of nostalgia, but damn they could wear me out
fast. They were different with me than with Bruce. He’d turned a cold
shoulder to them long ago. I saw how icy it was between them, and I
wasn’t ready to cut them off like he had.
I kicked my feet back on my desk, templed my fingers, and
watched after them. If they actually cared about me, they’d be happy
to meet Hailey, I realized.
Ever since meeting her, my thoughts had developed a tendency
to spin everything back to her. The promise of seeing her tomorrow
loomed over everything like a blazing neon sign. Surprisingly, I didn’t
even think I was going to get any action, and I was still excited. I
patted between my legs to make sure my balls were still intact.
Check. Intact and as beautiful as balls can be—just hibernating, I
guessed. Good things came to those who waited, and I hoped like
hell the saying was true.
 7

HAILEY

I sat with Candace and Ryan at one of the tables in The Bubbly
Baker half an hour before we opened. My mind ran over what I’d
say to Ryan if I lost the shop. It wasn’t just my career on the line,
after all. I had a fresh set of voicemails this morning from my
landlord, and I was still ignoring them, God help me. I had an
appointment at the bank after work today to apply for a business
loan. My credit was about as impressive as Mike Tyson’s when the
repo men came for his pet tiger and sports cars, so I wasn’t
expecting a miracle, but I had to try.
Candace drummed her fingernails on the desk and glared
straight through my soul.
“Well?” she said. “You’ve got brain damage if you don’t know
what we’re going to say you should do.”
Ryan nodded. “It’s right there, just waving in the wind, waiting for
you to step up and grab it.”
“William’s dick,” said Candace. “He’s talking about William’s
millionaire dick.”
Ryan sputtered. “A-actually, no. I was talking about opportunity.”
“Semantics,” sighed Candace.
“Dick and opportunity are definitely not the same thing,” I said.
“In this situation, they are. As your sister, I’m telling you that you’ll
regret passing this chance up for the rest of your life if you don’t
make a move.”
“What’s the rush? I’m locked in to see him every night now.”
 “Well,” Ryan started. “To play devil’s advocate. There’s a chance
he’s not really expecting the personal chef arrangement to be long-
term. It sounded like he made it up on the spot when he was in here
yesterday. Like he just wanted a reason to get you over to his
house.”
“He paid for that poontang,” agreed Candace. “And now it’s your
turn to give the man what he paid for.”
“I’m sorry.” I held up my palm and closed my eyes for a second
before looking Candace in the eyes. “Did you just say poontang?
What is that, Grammy’s word of the week?”
“You’re not even using it right, Candace,” said Ryan. “That’s
like… poontang is like a booty call girl. Just a sex toy type of deal.
It’s not a body part.”
Candace waved both of us off. “It doesn’t matter. I’m saying it’s
like when a guy takes you out for dinner and picks up the check.
You’ve got to at least consider giving him a little something for that.”
“Wait, what?” Ryan asked. “Do girls actually think that way?”
She gave him a dirty look. “Don’t play choir boy. And it’s not like I
said you have to put out because a guy bought you dinner. I’m
saying there’s a sense of obligation. And that’s just for dinner. I can
only imagine what a guy expects when he puts a multi-million dollar
advertising company at your disposal just to get you to come to his
place.”
“He’s probably going to have an intern print out some fliers for me
and stick them up on telephone poles.”
Ryan laughed. “You’re underestimating man’s age-old
desperation for pussy, Hailey. Before there was fire, there were
cavemen bashing each other over the head with rocks for pussy. It’s
biblical, you can look it up.”
I rolled my eyes, even as Candace nodded like it was the wisest
thing she’d ever heard.
“Ryan’s right,” she said. “Society has trained women to protect
their purity and it has trained men to chase after it. If a girl gives it up
too easily, she gets a bad reputation while the guy gets a pat on the
back to go with the notch on his bedpost. Well guess what? You only
know three people, and all three of us are telling you to go for it. And
social standards about sex are bullshit anyway.”
 “I know more than three people,” I said.
“Name them.”
“There’s Jane. The lady who comes in sometimes. I know
William, his brother Bruce, and Bruce’s wife, Natasha.”
Ryan and Candace both folded their arms, watching me with
unimpressed looks on their faces.
“Didn’t you say Natasha and Bruce kind of looked like they
wanted you two to hit it off?” Candace asked.
I sighed. “I might’ve said that.”
“Okay, then let me amend what I said. You only know seven
people, and five of them are telling you to go for it. One of them is
probably rocking a hard-on right now while he dreams about you
giving him what he wants.”
“I get it, I get it. But for the record, I doubt William is the type to
dwell on me when I’m not around. The guy has a picture-perfect life.
I’m sure he has a million better things to do than think about me right
now.”
I noticed that Ryan hadn't been looking at me for the last minute
or so and finally followed his eyes to the window. There was a tall
figure standing there, but I couldn't make out the details through the
morning condensation that had gathered on the glass.
“Is that?” Candace started.
“That’s the guy who has a million better things to be doing than
thinking about Hailey,” Ryan said smiling. “Yep.”
He must’ve seen us looking his way, because he tapped on the
glass and motioned to the door.
I made a quick, tight face toward Ryan and Candace. “Nothing
weird. Please. Just act normal and don’t make this awkward, okay?”
They held up their hands like I was aiming a gun at them. “We’ll
be good.”
“Scout’s honor,” Ryan agreed.
“You were never a scout.”
He shrugged. “Am I not allowed to say ‘Oh my God’ if I’m not
religious, too?”
I ignored him and went to unlock the door for the man I could
pretty safely assume was William. After all, I didn’t run into many
people his height and size. Most people as tall as him looked
somehow gangly, like they were all legs or their arms were too long
for their body.
When I pulled the door open, he flashed me a smile and let
himself in. He casually put his hand on my hip as he passed, like he
was politely letting himself by, but the gesture still made a
shockwave of heat wash over me.
He looked good, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. He wore
a black jacket that probably would have paid the rent on my shop for
a few months, a white shirt with his trademark number of buttons
undone, and dress pants. His hair was messy, as usual. He raked a
hand through it, which put it in place for exactly half a second before
it flopped back to look exactly how it had before.
“Having a strategy meeting in here?” he asked, gesturing to
where Candace and Ryan were still sitting with almost comically
tense expressions. They looked like they were waiting for a bomb to
go off.
“Y-yes,” I said, realizing it wasn’t actually a lie.
He nodded. “That’s good. We rolled out the first wave of your
marketing plan last night, and I wanted to come by and let you know
to expect a little extra work today.”
“What? Already?”
“Yep. Galleon doesn’t fuck around, Cherry. You become our
client, and we go to war for you. I’d suggest hiring some new
employees to help out with the extra business. As fast as you can.”
“Ryan and I can handle more people than we usually get. Adding
another employee is an expense I don’t have room in the budget for,
right now.”
“Trust me. By the time Anderson Cooper talks about your
amazing cherry pie on Good Morning America in about…” he
checked his watch. “Thirty minutes. You’re going to wish you had
three or four times as many employees. Hell, we might even need to
get you a bouncer.”
“He’s kidding, right?” Candace looked as shell-shocked as I felt.
I studied William's face. Cocky, amused, but not dishonest. "I
don't think he is." My stomach flipped a few times, did a barrel roll,
and then felt like it crash-landed straight into my butt. I wanted to
faint.
 “You okay?” he asked. He took a step forward and put a hand
around me, clutching the small of my back and steadying me.
I heard a small clapping sound from Ryan and Candace’s
direction. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was the sound of a high-
five.
“I’ll be okay,” I said. “I doubt it’s going to be that busy, anyway. I’m
sure it’ll be fine.”
William winced a little. “I gotta be honest. The Anderson Cooper
thing was a favor I’d been holding onto for a special client. The last
time he talked about a shop in New York on air, he turned a relatively
unknown chef and shop into a national phenomenon. I basically
dropped the marketing equivalent of a nuclear bomb on day one.
Maybe I got a little carried away?”
I felt like falling over again. My head was spinning, but his arm on
my back felt so, so good that part of me didn’t want to recover if it
meant he’d keep holding me like this. I closed my eyes, took a few
deep breaths, and stood up. If he was right, I needed to start busting
my ass as soon as possible to prep for a big crowd.
He let his hand fall away from my back and looked at me like he
was trying to figure out if I was steady on my feet. “Hey, tell you
what. I’ll pitch in today. Bruce can live without me at the office, and if
I go in, I’ll just end up dropping more marketing bombs for you,
anyway. Maybe it’d be best if I have the team hold off on anything
else for a little, until we see how this goes.”
“I appreciate the offer,” I said. “But it might take too long to show
you the ropes for you to really be much help.”
“Shit, come on. Don’t you know who you’re talking to? I’ve tried a
lot of things, and I’ve pretty much been amazing at every last one of
them.”
I rolled my eyes. “What about modesty?”
“Yep. Nailed that when I tried it once.”
Candace grinned. “I can help, too. We can all chip in.”
“What about your boss?” I asked.
“I’ll text him and say I’m on my period. It’s like a no-fly-zone for
guys. What’s he going to say, tough it up, buttercup?”
“I’ll set Candace to work.” Ryan stood and started strapping on
his apron. “You can work with William, Hailey.”
 William smiled at me. “Do I get an apron?”
“Yes,” I said. I was too focused on the fear that I’d run out of food
if too much business came to feel amused. “Hold on. I have some
extra shirts in the back. I have one for you, too, Candace.”
“Great.” William stripped off his jacket and went straight for his
buttons.
“Hey!” I reached up and clutched his hands to stop him from
stripping down in the middle of the store. “What is it with you and
public exposure?”
“Right,” he said, nodding. “I almost forgot that the whipped cream
thing didn’t go over too well.”
I glared, then leaned closer as I lowered my voice. “And even if I
did enjoy the whole striptease thing, I’d rather you not give my sister
a peep show.”
He put his lips beside my ear and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“You just got yourself an appointment for a private striptease, Cherry.
How does tonight sound?”
I blushed. “It sounds like we should focus on surviving the
craziness you so kindly got us into before we think about tonight.”
"Hey," he said, leaning back and raising his voice again. "You
said you wanted the business. Can't fault me for being too good at
what I do."
“Let’s see how good you are at following directions.”
He winced. "Okay. I forgot about that one. Not a specialty."

W ILLIAM ROARED WHAT MUST ’ VE BEEN HIS EIGHTH F- BOMB IN AS MANY

minutes when a puff of flour exploded out of the mixer and covered
his face. It had only been about ten minutes since he strapped his
apron on, and he had already jammed one dough mixer, ruined a
batch of cookies, melted a pot holder on a stovetop, and eaten
several spoonfuls of frosting. I’d never seen him so out of his
element or so frustrated, and even though I was practically counting
down the minutes until the supposed mob of hungry people flooded
in after Anderson Cooper’s moment on live TV, I was enjoying
watching him too much to send him away.
 Candace clapped her hands excitedly when Ryan nodded his
approval. She had already nailed the piping tool for spreading the
decorative frosting on my trademark bubble bites—they were thin,
hollow balls of sweet dough that I deep fried and then painted with
white, blue, and pink frosting to make them look like reflective
bubbles. Get it? The Bubbly Baker, because—yeah. Each was small
enough to fit in the palm of your hand and filled with either chocolate,
fudge, raspberry compote, or cream.
And William… William was self-destructing, but in the kind of way
I couldn’t seem to stop watching. He’d bump his head against
overhead cabinets, mis-measure, and generally sow chaos wherever
he moved. In the oddest way, despite all the stress I felt from the
impending rush of customers, I liked it. I liked his sort of bumbling,
well-intentioned chaos beside me in the kitchen. It humanized him.
After just a few minutes of him destroying my shop, I felt like I’d
learned more about him than I had with any of our previous
encounters.
He came up to me with confectioners sugar all over his face and
raspberry jam on his neck. The large collared t-shirt I gave him with
the bakery logo fit very snug on him, I noticed.
“The muffins are done. And you’re right. I can see why a muffin
wrapping machine was a stupid suggestion now. The little bastards
wrap themselves.”
I grinned. “I don’t know if that’s exactly how I’d phrase it, but
thank you. Maybe you could just… hang back for a few minutes
while we get the hot stuff out of the ovens?”
He pulled his head back and frowned. “What? You think I can’t
handle a little heat? Cherry, Cherry, Cherry what am I going to do
with you?” He planted his big hand on my shoulder and shook his
head. “Nobody learns as fast as me. I’m probably two minutes away
from having this whole deal down. Trust me.”
I scanned my eyes across the mess he’d left in his wake and
then looked back up at him, letting the skepticism I felt show through
in my expression. “Well, if you’re that confident. I just need the bread
pulled out and set in the back.”
He held up his hand like he didn’t want to be insulted with any
more instructions. “Yep. Pretty sure I can figure out how to take
bread out of an oven.”
He reached for a wet towel that was hanging over the edge of the
sink and yanked the oven open with his other hand.
“William!” I said quickly. “You can’t use a wet towel to grab a hot
pan.”
He laughed. “Right. It’s called science, Cherry. Water cools down
hot things. A wet towel works even better than a—Fuck!” He yanked
his hand back and shook it, gripping his wrist with his other hand.
I had to spend a few minutes I couldn’t spare nursing his already
blistering burn. I sat him on the chair in my office and stepped back
once I had a bandage on it. “That should be good. But you’ll
probably want to let it air out every half hour or so. Maybe? I’m not
really good with medical advice.” I gave him a wry grin. “But let me
guess, you’re amazing at it?”
He smirked. “Apologizing is one of my many talents, believe it or
not. And I apologize for being an ass. You were right. I suck at
baking. And, well, general survival skills in a kitchen, I guess.”
I laughed. “I never said you sucked at it. You just, well, you’re
about as far from a natural as I’ve ever seen at it. I’m sure with some
practice—”
“If you’re the teacher, sign me up. Can we do the move from
Ghost? You can be Patrick Swayze and stand behind me while I
straddle a mixing bowl. You could teach me how to get my hands
dirty in the kitchen, and then I could teach you how to get yours dirty
when the lights are off.”
“Why would I want to cook with the lights off?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Because—Shit, seriously?”
I laughed. “I’m kidding.” I caught myself biting my lip, a sure sign I
was enjoying this way too much, especially when I had a mob of
customers that was probably about to come breaking down the door
if William’s advertising ploy worked. “I just have one question.”
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Why do I have to be Swayze? I want to be Demi Moore.”
“We’ll take turns. A Chamberson always pays his debts, after all.”
“Do Chambersons also push little boys out of windows and sleep
with their sisters?”
 “Depends if the little boy has it coming, and the only sibling I have
is my brother. So no, my similarities with Jamie Lannister from Game
of Thrones stop at the whole debt thing.”
“That’s too bad. The sword fighting stuff is pretty hot.”
“I could learn.”
I laughed. “If you picked it up as quickly as you’ve picked up
cooking, you’d end up chopping yourself to bits before you figured it
out.”
“Totally different. Baking is harder than it looks. Remind me why
you choose to do this?”
“Because... well, baking makes me feel safe?”
“Yeah, for sure,” he said, holding up his burned hand.
I grinned. "There are rules and they don't change with baking. If
you are careful, and if you take your time, you get rewarded. In real
life, it feels like the opposite. Take your time and life passes right on
by. Be too careful, and you'll watch all the opportunities of your life
slip away."
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You take risks. Look at you sitting
in here with me.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Are you saying I should think of you as a
risk factor?”
“Oh, definitely. I’m dangerous. I’ve even been called a criminal. A
deviant.”
“My own personal rogue,” I said with a wicked smile.
The bell above the front door to the shop chimed. I realized how
close I had been standing to him and straightened immediately. I
cleared my throat, and it felt like the pink, lovesick mist that had been
settling around me evaporated in an instant. “If you’re right about this
marketing scheme, I think it’s starting.”
“I’ll come help,” he said.
I put my fingertips on his shoulder, urging him to stay where he
was. "As much as I enjoyed watching you flop around the kitchen
like a blind fish out of the water, it might be better if you stayed back
here."
“Ah,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “Of course. I’ll wait right
here.”
 I had expected a little more resistance, but I wasn’t about to
complain if he wanted to go easily. “You know, there’s no reason you
have to hang around. I’m sure there’s something important for you to
do at work, right?”
“I’m good.” He pulled out his phone and gave it a pat. “If Brucie
needs me, he’ll call. Besides, I can’t let my little Cherry deal with this
all on her own.”
I felt my lips twitch up at the corner, amusement trickling through
me. “Your little Cherry? I can’t tell if that’s an upgrade or a
downgrade in offensiveness.”
"It's a term of endearment. The more cringe-worthy it gets for
somebody else to hear, the more meaning it has. That's the way it
works."
"I see. So I can call you a thief or klepto and it'll be considered a
term of endearment?"
“No. That’s just offensive. I’ve only stolen one thing this morning,
anyway, so it’s an exaggeration at best.”
“You stole something?”
“Borrowed, technically. It only becomes stealing when I die. As
long as there’s a possibility that I’ll give it back at some point, how
can you tell me the difference?”
“Do you ever plan to give the things you take back?”
He thought about that. “No. Not really.”
“Then it’s stealing. And what did you borrow today, anyway?”
He held up a little plush oven mitt keychain. “Saw this on your
keys and I liked it.”
I tried to grab it but he pulled his hand back, keeping it from my
reach.
“Did it occur to you that I liked it too? Maybe I don’t want you to
borrow it?”
He held it out for me. “You can have it back if you really want, but
I should warn you. I never give anyone anything back. The moment
you take this, you graduate from the ‘everybody else’ category.”
I plucked the keychain from his hands. “Call me crazy, but I’ll take
that risk.”
He grinned. “Yeah. You’re the craziest person I’ve ever met. A
natural risk-taker.”
 “Shut up.” I couldn’t say it without a smile, but I turned before he
could see it. Little by little—okay, more like a lot by a lot—I was
starting to wonder how much I’d miss William if it didn’t work out
between us. He was the injection of life I’d been moping over, and
since he showed up, I had hardly even thought about Nathan. For
once, it seemed like things were going well, like maybe Nathan had
even taken the hint for the first time in his life.
I rushed out front and saw there were already a dozen people
lined up while Ryan was ringing them up and slinging out bagels and
Bubble Bites. For her part, Candace was actually doing a good job
finding everything Ryan was barking out for her to get.
They both eyed me up and down when I returned.
“Blushing, but still a virgin, I think,” said Candace.
“Yep. I agree.”
“Would you two please focus on the customers?” I asked
between my teeth, even though our customers could clearly hear
every word.
“Hey.”Candace looked offended. “We’re the ones who have been
out here working while you were playing doctor with the hottie in the
back.”
I glared, but couldn’t argue with her, which was endlessly
frustrating. I jumped into work and quickly lost myself in the rhythm
of it. Prepping and baking in the spare moments between restocking
and bagging up orders. I tried not to look at the growing crowd, and I
definitely tried to ignore the impatient faces as we dealt with what
was clearly a bigger rush than we were equipped for.
I just had to hope they liked the food enough to come back. Even
if a tenth of these customers started coming regularly, I’d have more
than enough money to start investing back in the shop and in
expansion, if my landlord didn’t make me leave, that was. I hadn’t
earned a spot as his favorite tenant by constantly falling behind on
my rent for the shop. It was a dizzying thought, and it was one I had
to sideline if I was going to focus and survive this.
I wasn’t sure how long had passed since I told William to stay
put, but I knew it hadn’t been long. He came waltzing out of the back
with a confident smile. “Ready to admit you could use my help yet?”
he asked.
 I slammed an oven door shut with my hip, spinning a hot tray of
cookies around and setting it on the table. “Help would be staying
out of the way.”
He blew that off with a puff of breath. “It’s okay. I won’t make you
beg. Believe it or not, I worked a cash register for a few years during
high school. Let Ryan help out back here and I’ll take care of the
front.”
I waited to see if he was going to smile or say he was kidding, but
to his credit, he looked serious. “Okay… But watch what Ryan’s
doing for a few orders so you get a feel for how the system works.
It’s pretty intuitive. If they order cookies, you press the cookies tab
and find which one they want under there. That sort of thing.”
“Yeah, yeah. Pretty sure I can figure it out.”
“Oh, and try to get people to fill out email cards if you can. If we
get their emails, we can send them a coupon and hopefully get them
to come back after all this.”
He gave me a disgusted look. “Nobody likes giving their emails at
the register.”
“Just pretend you’re stealing it.”
“Hm. Fair enough.”
He walked off and leaned on the counter beside Ryan for about
fifteen seconds before sending Ryan to help me. I kept thinking I’d
hear some sort of commotion or trouble from the front, but all I saw
was William schmoozing customers like he was some kind of
customer service prodigy. He had everyone smiling, laughing, and
batting their eyelashes at him, everyone from old men to young girls.
If I wasn’t dripping sweat and feeling like I was thirty minutes from
running out of stock on everything and having to close, I might’ve
spared a thought to be jealous. Instead, I was just grateful that he
was managing to be useful.
As it turned out, our supplies lasted another hour. There was a
never-ending line of customers, even after we put up a sign on the
door apologizing and promising we’d be stocked up again tomorrow.
When I finally locked the door, I felt like I'd just been through a
war zone.
“Well, Galleon Enterprises gets an A plus from me when it comes
to marketing. Holy crap,” I said.
 William took a little bow. “Glad it worked.”
Candace dusted her hands off. “That was fun. Maybe I should
quit my job at Business Insights and come work for you. Who knows,
I could be running the place in a few years.”
I gave her a confused look. “Unless you’re planning on a hostile
takeover, that’s not likely.”
She shrugged. “Watch your back. Caesar never expected Brutus,
did he?”
"Et Tu, Candace?" I asked. "You'd need Ryan to overthrow me,
and he's too loyal. I'm not scared."
Ryan crossed his arms. “Scout’s honor and all that. Sorry
Candace.”
“You were a boy scout?” William asked. I could see he was barely
holding back laughter.
Ryan threw his hands up. “What is it with everyone and thinking
you have to be a boy scout to say scout’s honor?”
William stood with a sigh. "Well, kids. As fun as this has been, my
brother must've called me fifteen times by now. He usually stops at
fourteen if it's not important, so, I'd better head out and go to work on
phase two of my marketing plan for The Bubbly Baker."
“No!” Ryan and I shouted at the same time.
“I was just fucking with you. I’ll see you tonight, though, Cherry.
Wear what you wore last night.” He kissed his fingertips in a poor
impression of an Italian. “Magnifico. Really. Oh, and I put the email
cards on the right side of your register. Phone numbers are on the
left.”
“I didn’t tell you to ask for phone numbers.”
“I didn’t ask for them. Oh, and we’re not doing the dinner thing at
my place. It’s going to be a date, instead.”
“William,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m flattered, really, but let’s
just stick to the plan, okay?”
He thought that over for a second, then nodded. “Sure. Stick to
the plan it is. See you tonight.”
I watched him go, wondering at why he had let it pass so easily. I
also wondered why I was still fighting it. I guess part of me worried
about starting any kind of relationship while my life was on the verge
of collapsing financially. Even so, I wasn’t sure how long that would
actually stop me from letting William push things further.

I WALKED OUT OF THE BANK WITH AN EMPTY FEELING IN MY STOMACH . I’ D

been holding onto a glimmer of hope that they would approve me
despite my credit, but of course, my loan request was denied. They
didn’t even go through the pretense of acting like they needed to
check the paperwork for a few hours and get back to me. The
woman had flashed me a strained smile when she pulled up my
record, spoken with her manager, and then promptly informed me
that I wouldn’t be getting the loan. Simple as that.
I stepped outside into the already darkening night. I had about an
hour before I needed to be at William’s, and I was hoping I had time
to steal a quick shower. I nearly bumped into a man just outside the
bank. Bumping into someone on the street in New York City was
hardly an event, so I apologized and tried to walk on.
The man gripped my arm and turned me around.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Long day, I didn’t mean to—”
“You’re the one who has been sniffing around William
Chamberson’s wallet. The one who owns a bakery,” the man
sneered. He managed to inject about as much disapproval into the
word “bakery” as was humanly possible. He looked to be about fifty,
with an air of self-importance and snappy clothes. The woman
behind him wore a designer dress, an expensive necklace, and a
few pounds of makeup. I couldn’t be sure, but I was almost positive
I’d never met either of them.
“I’m not sniffing around anyone. And yes. I do own the bakery. A
fact I’m proud of, actually. So if you don’t mind—”
“We do mind.” The man sidestepped to stop me from walking
past him.
I was in the middle of the street in New York City with hundreds of
people passing by every second, but I still felt threatened. I never
forgot the story of the woman who had been stabbed in broad
daylight right in front of a huge apartment complex. We learned
about it in psychology class back in high school when our teacher
wanted to teach us about the bystander effect. Something like
fourteen people saw the stabbing and saw the woman lying on the
street, bleeding out for hours, and not a single one of them called the
police. Nobody called because everyone assumed someone else
already had. The woman eventually died because her attacker came
back to kill her three hours later. So yeah, I’d never quite felt safe in
crowded places after that. Apparently human nature was to just
assume somebody else would help. Actually, in today’s world, people
would probably just whip out their cell phones and film it.
“I have mace in my purse,” I said. It was true. I’d made sure I
always had it once Nathan showed me what a creep he could be.
“Congratulations,” the man said. “But I’m not here to assault you.
I just need to be certain you get my message, loud and clear.”
“And what message is that?”
“To stay away from Mr. Chamberson. It would be mutually
beneficial for everyone involved if you did.”
I crossed my arms. I realized something then when I saw a flicker
of familiarity in his face. “Mr. Chamberson? You’re talking about your
son, aren’t you? You have his eyes.”
The man shifted, uncomfortable for the first time. The woman
tugged at his arm like she wanted them to retreat now that they had
been recognized, but he yanked away from her touch. “I am. And
you’re not good enough for my son. Plain and simple.”
I clenched my teeth, wondering how good it would feel to slap his
stupid face. “I must’ve missed the part where you knew me well
enough to say something like that. And what, did you seriously just
wait outside until I would leave work and follow me here? Maybe I
should call the cops and tell them you’re stalking me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. We happened to be passing by. Simple
coincidence, which there’s no law against. Besides, there’s nothing
we need to know about you. Our son has already found a woman
who fits him perfectly. He doesn’t need some hussie like you trying to
steal him away from her.”
I felt my mouth hanging open. I honestly couldn’t believe this
conversation was happening. “As tempting as it is to sit here and
have this pointless argument with you, I’m leaving. And you know
what? I’m going to William’s apartment in less than an hour. We’re
both going to enjoy ourselves, and there’s not a thing you can do
about it. Have a great night.”
I had taken two steps away from them when I heard Mr.
Chamberson raise his voice over the hum of traffic. “I wonder what
William will think of your financial troubles, then.”
“What?” I asked, spinning. “If that is your attempt at blackmail, it’s
a sad one. I’ve never—" I was about to say never even thought
about how William's money could solve my problems, but that wasn't
exactly true. I wasn't blind to it. But I also didn't want a handout or an
easy road. I wanted to find my own success in the world, and getting
a check from William wouldn't have given me that. Even accepting
his marketing offer had been stretching my principals, but I had to do
something, and that was the one exception I’d been willing to make.
“I’ve never asked William for money, nor do I plan to.”
“Of course not. You’re too sly for that. You’ll wait until he’s more
invested in you, won’t you? Maybe once talk about an engagement
starts. I bet you’ll try to tell him he doesn’t need a prenup, too?”
I shook my head. “Let me guess, William has no idea you two are
out here having this conversation with me?”
“It’s not important what William knows. We’re his parents, and we
want what’s best for him. We know what’s best for him. And it’s not
you. You are in over your head, little girl. Fuck with our son, and we’ll
fuck with you. Simple as that.”
He turned on his heel and strolled off, his wife trailing behind him.
 8

WILLIAM

I dusted my hands and looked at the monstrosity I’d created for

Gremlin in the middle of my apartment. It was basically a tower
made of cardboard boxes, which I’d cut up to allow her to scamper
from room to room. I used the scraps to build ramps so she could get
up to the higher floors if she wanted, then I taped the whole thing
together. It was a marvel of human engineering, and the little asshole
was refusing to go inside.
“Just try it,” I said.
She sat on top of the couch with the pink bow in her hair the
groomer had put there and looked at me like I was an idiot.
I got on my hands and knees and stuck my head inside one of
the openings. “See? You crawl in here, then you can go all the way
to the top. It’ll be badass. Trust me.”
Gremlin rested her head between her paws, still watching me, but
not moving.
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll just go buy a cat later. Maybe then you’ll wish
you had been more cooperative, won’t you?”
As usual, Gremlin didn't respond, so I walked off to check my
phone. I realized I hadn't even given Hailey my personal number yet,
but I kinda liked it that way. It was like an old-school romance. I had
to actually show up at her shop to talk to her, which I enjoyed having
an excuse to do. The only text I had was from Zoey Parker. I
suppressed a groan of annoyance.
 Zoey (6:24 P.M): We should really talk. I found some things out
about your little girlfriend you might want to know. Already passed it
on to your parents. Trust me, she’s not who you think she is.
I set the phone down, shaking my head. It was sad, really. Zoey
had seemed okay at first, but it wasn’t long before I saw the crazy in
her. She’d memorize the smallest details in conversation and know
things I’d never even told her about myself—presumably from
stalking me on social media or articles written about me. She felt
more like a fan than a girlfriend, and she was the last woman I’d
thought of as a girlfriend. After her, I moved to the zero commitment
way of life, and hadn’t looked back. At least until I met my baker girl.
Hailey showed up to my apartment right on time. She looked
pissed off, and it was kind of a good look on her. Then again, I
imagined just about anything would look good on her. Pissed off,
happy, me…
“Oh good,” I said. “You showered.”
She reeled back a little. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m taking you to a party, and you’re playing the role of arm
candy.”
“Uhh, last time I remember, I told you we should keep it
professional.”
“We will. You’ll be professional arm candy. Only the finest. And I’ll
only make a move if you give me the eyes.”
Some of the anger drained from her face as she gave me half a
smile. “Does being blindly persistent always work for you?”
“Depends. Is that a yes?”
She sighed. “Yes. Today was kind of a crazy day, and a party
might actually be fun. Except I’m not exactly dressed for a party.”
Gremlin perked her head up at the sound of Hailey’s voice. She
was sitting on the couch, curled up on a blanket. I’d never admit it,
but I was already bonding with the dog. We watched a rerun of
Seinfeld together last night while I rubbed her belly.
“I took care of the dress part.”
She crossed her arms and eyed me, almost suspiciously. It
looked like she was about to say something, but she licked her lips
and shook her head. “Should I be scared?”
 “Only if you have a fear of looking like a sex goddess on
steroids.” I left her standing by the elevator while I grabbed the box. I
gave my personal assistant instructions a little over an hour ago to
pick out the sluttiest and most expensive dress she could find, and I
couldn’t wait to see the look on Hailey’s face.
I opened the box and lifted it up by the shoulders. It was a loosely
woven web of silky, cream-colored fabric with small diamonds at all
the cross-sections. I tried so hard not to laugh as Hailey took it in
with wide, panic-stricken eyes.
“I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, but—”
“I’m fucking with you,” I laughed. “I mean, obviously you’re going
to put this dress on for me eventually, but we can worry about that
later. The real dress for tonight's this way.”
“What in God’s name is that?” she asked when she saw what I’d
built Gremlin.
“That would be the dog tower I lovingly built for my ungrateful
pet.”
“Dogs don’t use towers… You’re thinking of cats.”
“Or maybe people just don’t build dogs towers and give them
opportunities to have a little fun?”
“Yeah,” laughed Hailey. “That must be it.”

I GAVE H AILEY MY HAND TO HELP HER OUT OF THE LIMO , BUT THAT WAS
where my gentlemanly manner ended. My eyes drank in the bit of
cleavage I could see and the smooth skin of her legs as she slid out
of the car and stood beside me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she gasped.
“What, do you get seasick?”
“No… I just thought parties on boats was something they made
up for movies.”
I grinned. “Rich people spend a lot of time and money thinking of
dumb shit they can do, especially if it makes everyone else think
they’re special.”
“You say that like you’re not a ‘rich people.’”
I shrugged. I slid my hand around her side and started leading
her down the dock, where a few other well-dressed couples were
trickling toward the biggest yacht in the harbor. “I wasn’t always rich.
That puts me in a different category, as far as most rich people are
concerned.”
“What, like old money and new money?”
“Yep. I had to get my hands dirty and work my way to a fortune,
so I’m not part of their imaginary noble line.”
“Don’t take offense to this, but I actually have a tough time
picturing you working hard.”
I laughed. “No offense taken. Believe it or not, I busted my ass
just as much as my brother when we were coming up. Lately, I feel
more like a caged lion. There’s no thrill in the chase anymore. Bruce
is wired differently. He never cared about the chase or the thrill. He
just enjoys the process. The details.”
“Is that how Natasha is?”
“Hah. No, not at all. Natasha is exactly what he needed, though.
She draws chaos like a magnet. She has actually helped make
Bruce more bearable, so she gets my vote of approval.”
“And is that a Chamberson brotherly trait? Seeking out women
who are their polar opposites?”
“Hm… I don’t know if we’re polar opposites or not. I guess I’ll
have to quiz you.”
She smirked. “Quiz me?”
We reached a long walkway that led up to the yacht, and Hailey
clung a little closer to me once we passed over the water and started
heading for the boat.
“Let’s see,” I said, tapping my chin. “Do you think anybody
actually believes q-tips are being purchased for something other
than cleaning your ears?”
“What?”
“Look at the box one day. They specifically tell you not to clean
your ears with a q-tip. They are supposedly just for cleaning
keyboards, removing makeup, or rubbing on baby faces—still
haven’t figured that one out.”
“I guess I’m a rebel then. I clean my ears with q-tips. And I like it.”
She gave me a rebellious flicker of her eyes, and it might’ve been
the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I cleared my throat, stashed that
image in my brain, and nodded to the security guard who waved us
inside the boat.
The interior of the yacht was like a cruise ship on steroids. The
walls were polished wood. The floors were marble. Men and women
in tuxedos and dresses circulated with trays of free food and drinks,
and there were easily hundreds of guests just where we could see in
the lobby area. Two sets of stairs spiraled off toward the upper
decks, which were a labyrinth of rooms, lounge spots, bars, a
bowling alley, an indoor pool, and of course there was the upper
deck pool.
“Wow,” she said. “Is this yours?”
“Nah. I’ve bought some dumb stuff, but never a yacht. The guy
who owns it is a real-estate mogul. Owns an NFL team, that kind of
thing.” I guided her off to the side of the room where we wouldn’t
keep having to move out of the way of newly arriving guests.
“And you’re friends?”
"Well, strictly speaking, no. I'm actually only here because the
security can't tell the difference between my brother and me."
“Wait, what? We weren’t invited?”
“Easy. It’s all good. Bruce and Natasha might have a little trouble
getting here when they arrive, but it’s not like it’s some kind of blood
feud. He didn’t say I couldn’t come. He just didn’t go out of his way to
ask me to come. There’s a big difference.”
She slid away from my arm, which I had been enjoying having
around her back, and glared up at me like an adorable, angry little
gnat. “What did you do to him?”
“Oh come on. Who says it was my fault?”
“My limited history with you says it was.”
“I just borrowed one of the lifeboats last time I was at one of his
parties.”
She lowered her eyebrows and waited.
“There was a huge line to get out and I had to use the bathroom.
I figured it’d be faster. It’s not like I was going to strap the thing to my
car and take it home. I left it where he could find it.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
 “Sounded like one.”
"Maybe you damaged your eardrums with all those q-tips, then."
I smirked. “I never told you my stance on the q-tip controversy.
Maybe I’m waxy and proud.”
She was trying to be upset with me, I could tell, but her lips
betrayed her amusement. “You don’t look waxy.”
“How would you know from down there?”
“Short jokes? Have we reached the middle school portion of this
conversation?”
“You never left the middle school portion of sexual experience, so
I thought it was appropriate.”
"Wow." She shook her head but grinned nonetheless. "Can you
swim? Because if you can't, I'm definitely going to push you
overboard the first chance I get."
“Premeditated murder. I knew you had it in you.”
“Something makes me think I’m not the first person to threaten
your life. I’m probably not even the first person to threaten it today for
that matter.”
“Believe it or not, most people think I’m charming. Death threats
aren’t exactly a daily occurrence for me.”
“You must be giving me special treatment, then.”
“Only the most special,” I agreed. “I’d even go as far as calling
this a date.”
“Isn’t that something we both need to agree on?”
"Nope. I don't remember needing your permission to call this
what it is. You're wearing a dress I bought for you, which you look
ravishing in, by the way. We're at a schmoozy party on a yacht.
Someone is playing the piano. And I'm hoping to get laid at the end
of this whole thing. That's a date, whether you like it or not."
She gave me a crooked smile, and her cheeks reddened. I
thought she was about to say something seductive, but the mischief
in her expression melted into a troubled look. "I've wanted to ask
you… There was this woman. Zoey. She came up to me at the party
and—”
"Fed you a bunch of bullshit," I said. My blood boiled to think that
Zoey had harassed Hailey. It was one thing for her to try her shit with
me, and by extension, for my parents to try their shit with me. But
Hailey? She was off-limits, and if they wanted to learn how quickly
they could get their asses cut off, all they needed to do was get in
between Hailey and me. "She was a mistake. Ex from hell. She's
probably in the same ballpark as that Nathan asshole of yours."
"Please," she said, holding up her palm. "He's not mine. Gah,"
she pantomimed gagging. "But Zoey made it sound like you had this
huge list of ex-girlfriends like there was some scripted seduction
procedure you ran everyone through. I tried to brush it off, but I
guess I just wanted to bring it up because it has been stuck in my
head ever since."
"Well, it's bullshit. Mostly. Yes, I've been with other women, but to
call them girlfriends…” I cleared my throat. I didn’t really want to
scare her off and say they had just been fuck and forget kind of
situations, but that was the truth of it. “Listen. I’ll admit it, I’ve done
some shitty things, but I’m not a liar. I don’t make false promises,
and I don’t string people along. Every woman I’ve ever been with
knew exactly what I wanted and what to expect. Simple as that.”
“I believe you,” she said, nodding slowly. “I actually do.”
“Well shit. Don’t sound so surprised about it.”
She laughed softly. “Can I be honest about something?”
“Please.”
“I’m running out of reasons to push you away.”
I took a step closer to her. I wanted to touch her. To put my thumb
against her cheek or pull her closer, but she had such an aura of
fragility around her, like the slightest wrong touch could send her
scampering off and out of my life for good. She had a toughness
about her, and she could banter with me like a champ, but I was
fairly sure there was a scared girl just behind the sarcasm and quick
tongue. That was the part of her I had to be careful not to bruise, so I
kept my hands at my side and smiled. “Hopefully that includes
running out of reasons to push me overboard, as well, because I
really do suck at swimming.”
We made our way to the upper deck, where a posh little bar was
positioned in front of the pool. Some token hot girls were floating and
giggling in the pool, which wasn't surprising.
“You didn’t tell me to bring a swimsuit,” she said.
 "Nobody actually swims at these things. The host has models
come and pays them to walk around looking hot. Some of them
always end up in the pool."
“You’re kidding, right?”
"I wish. Rich people run out of smart things to spend money on.
Eventually, it just becomes a pissing contest. The dumber and more
excessive it is, the richer you must be."
“And what about you? What kind of rich person are you?”
“Hm,” I walked over to the edge of the boat and leaned on the
railing. The water looked glassy and calm, but inky in the moonlight.
“I’m not going to pretend I’m better than all of these people. I do my
share of stupid shit with my money.”
She took the spot beside me. “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve
ever spent your money on?”
I laughed a little as I flicked through memories of my stupidity. "I
had one of Bruce's cars towed while he was at work and replaced
with an identical model, but I had a mechanic tweak a couple things I
knew would drive him crazy. The wipers only went full speed. I threw
an extra neutral gear onto the gear shift. I swapped the position of
the fuel gauge and the odometer. Just little things."
“Should I even ask why?”
I grinned. “Bruce is my little brother, and I hated seeing how
uptight he was getting. His ex fucked him over, and he was kind of
spiraling out of control with all the OCD shit. I saw once that they
treat phobias by forcing people to face their fears. If you’re afraid of
snakes, they work you up to holding one, that kinda thing. So I
thought maybe if I messed up his perfect little routine enough, he’d
realize he didn’t need it.”
“That’s actually kind of sweet.”
“No, you want to see sweet? Come here.”
I took her hand and led her along the deck. We eventually
reached a section of the boat where dozens of lifeboats were tied to
the side of the boat. There was a little door that opened up on the
side of the yacht and allowed access to each of the boats.
“Come on,” I said, motioning for Hailey to follow me as I stepped
into the little inflatable raft with an onboard motor.
 “Didn’t you get in trouble for taking one of these last time?” She
asked, still not taking a step toward the boat.
“Sort of, but come feel it. It’s really cool in here.”
She frowned but stepped into the boat. "It doesn't feel like
anything spec—”
I pushed the door closed and yanked on the release rope. The
lifeboat dropped suddenly beneath us before the rope caught in a
pulley attached to the yacht. I lowered us the rest of the way to the
water by hand while Hailey stared wide-eyed at me.
“What are you doing?” she asked once we were in the water. The
sounds of the party were muffled and distant now, replaced by the
soft lapping water against our little raft.
“Borrowing a lifeboat.”
She bulged her eyes and waited like she expected more of an
explanation.
“Because it’s fun?” I tried.
“Becoming a criminal isn’t fun. What if we get caught? How are
we supposed to get back up there?”
“Easy there, Nancy Grace. We’re not supposed to get back up on
the boat. The whole point of a lifeboat is to get away from the boat. I
swear, the things I have to explain to you sometimes.”
She glared. “I think the point is also that you use them when you
need to get off the boat.”
“And we did. I saw Bruce and Natasha show up. He would’ve
blown a gasket if he saw us here. I was just trying to save the mood.”
"By forcing me to be an accomplice in your criminal activity?"
I faked a snoring noise. “When the FBI comes for us, I’ll cover for
you. Happy?”
She crossed her arms. “No, because I don’t get you. You’ve got
the world at your fingertips, but you still do stuff like this. It doesn’t
make sense.”
I motioned to the water around us and to the sky, which was
admittedly not full of stars because New York City blotted out just
about everything but the sun and the moon with all its lights. “I don’t
know. I think this is pretty nice.”
She tugged on her arm, looking around. “I’m not just talking about
the lifeboat. I’m talking about whatever you’re doing with me. Your
life is full of these supermodel girls and glitz and glamor. Is it crazy
for me to wonder what you could actually want with a boring baker
like me?”
“Not crazy, no,” I said, starting up the motor and driving us away
from the yacht. I saw a few curious heads pop up on the railing a
couple dozen feet above and point out at us. “But,” I said, having to
raise my voice a little to be heard over the motor. “If you knew these
people like I did, you’d know exactly why I’m so into you.”
She paused a few moments before responding. “See, when you
say things like that, is it real? Or is it part of your… thing.”
I eased off the motor a little and let us drift. We were along the
shore with a great view of the city. “My thing?”
“It seems like you don’t take anything seriously. So I can’t tell if
you mean what you say to me or if it’s just part of the game to you.”
“That’s not true. I take you seriously. You bet your ass I do.”
She bit her lip. She looked gorgeous. She wasn’t the picture-
perfect model. She had big eyes that were maybe farther apart than
the golden-ratio would say was ideal, and her front teeth were a little
lower than the rest of her teeth, but I liked the way it looked. What
she didn’t realize was how much there was to appreciate in her little
flaws and imperfections. Life wasn’t about perfect. It was about
finding your own place and your own way. I didn’t want a woman
who was everybody’s ideal. I wanted a woman who was my ideal,
and I’d found her.
“You know what else I take seriously?”
“What?” she asked.
“Blue balls.”
She burst out laughing, then frowned in confusion. “I’m sorry, am
I supposed to know what you’re talking about.”
I sighed. “Such an innocent soul. Blue balls. The thing that
happens when you think you’re going to get some and you don’t? It’s
a painful condition.”
She swallowed. “I’m sorry. About… your balls.”
“Actions speak louder than words, you know.”
She smiled down at her hands. “I’m worried I’ll embarrass myself
with you. I’ve never really done much of anything with a guy.”
“Oh. Well it’s not much different than doing it with a girl.”
 She slapped my arm, still smiling. “You know what I meant.”
“I do. But you don’t have to worry. Just follow my lead. Just keep
being you, and there’s no way you can disappoint me.”
 9

HAILEY

I thought my breastbone might crack in half if my heart beat any

faster. On the one hand, I was sitting in a stolen lifeboat, wearing
a fancy party dress that came down to my ankles, and I was about
as alone as you could get with anybody in New York City. The
skyline was lit up behind him, casting a shimmering reflection on the
water. It was quiet and perfect, if I could ignore the awkward
squelching of rubber under our bodies every time we moved.
I’d done my due diligence in holding off, sort of. I tried to fight my
feelings for William, if only to be sure he wasn’t trying to use me and
toss me aside. Granted, it had been the kind of fight you have when
you’re deep in dreams, where it feels like every time you try to run
your legs are submerged in water. Resisting William had been about
as effective as resisting the urge to flip the channel when those sad
pet donation commercials came on and “In The Arms of an Angel”
played in the background--I wasn’t trying to cry in between rounds of
Wheel of Fortune, thank you very much.
We were alone, and I was out of excuses. I was out of reasons to
say no, and once I looked past my crippling self-consciousness, I
knew I wanted this.
I gave the slightest nod of my head to William, who was waiting
patiently, watching me with those blazing eyes of his. He looked
good in a tux, but then again, he looked good in everything. When I
nodded, he came toward me. The boat was a little wobbly, so he had
to do it on his knees, but I wasn’t about to complain. The image of
him planting a hand beside my hips and advancing on his hands and
knees toward me was something I would never forget in this lifetime.
He brought his lips to mine, pausing just before we made contact.
I breathed in the divine way he smelled. Expensive and manly, just
like always. My skin prickled from head to toe while heat bloomed in
my stomach and started inching its way down.
“Usually,” he said, moving his lips to my ear, where they were so
close they brushed my skin as he spoke. “People start with kissing. If
it’s just a hookup, sometimes they don’t even kiss on the mouth,” he
said breathily as he planted a heart-stoppingly warm and soft kiss
just below my ear. “But if it’s serious, then you have to go for the
lips.”
He brought his face back up so we were eye to eye and then
closed his, leaning in and kissing me for the first time.
I’d kissed boys before, but I froze like it was my first time. I didn’t
even remember to close my eyes for several seconds. I just sat
there, eyes still half-open, mouth unmoving, and hands planted
behind me on the soft rubber of the raft. I felt the world close in
around me until it seemed like we were in our own, private little
bubble. My ears even seemed to close up, like my body was shutting
off every non-essential system and focusing all the energy on just
my lips.
I finally closed my eyes and kissed him back. His lips were soft
and playful. He’d kiss me slowly, then pull my bottom lip between his
and let it trail away with a quiet little pop. He’d nip at me with his
teeth or tease my tongue with his. It wasn’t just the mindless, horny
kissing of two teenagers in a dark movie theater. It was an
exploration. It was intimate. It was a display of personalities on a
level I’d never experienced before.
“The kissing,” he said, pulling back just long enough to get the
words out before stealing a few more kisses. “Leads to some
touching. If the guy goes for the boobs right away, he’s definitely
planning on going all the way.”
His hand slid up my side and cupped my breast. I gasped against
his lips. Heat spread from everywhere he touched, electrifying my
skin and my mind. My cheeks were flushed so hot, I wondered if he
could feel the warmth radiating from my face against his.
 He massaged my breast while he kissed me, and I didn’t think I’d
ever felt sexier. Every movement of his hands on my body
telegraphed his desire for me. I could feel how much he was
savoring the experience, and second by second, he was obliterating
my self-consciousness.
“Most guys,” he said, breaking away from the kiss again. “They’ll
want you to start touching them around this point. Otherwise, they
might worry you’re not into it.”
“I’m into it,” I breathed.
He laughed softly, resting his forehead against mine. “Prove it.”
He took my wrist and pulled it around his back, planting my hand
directly on his ass. I sucked in a surprised breath and gulped. I
couldn’t call myself an expert, but I knew divinity when I felt it. His
ass was the ass that all asses aspired to be. It was the Ferrari to
most men’s Corolla. My hand involuntarily squeezed, and the
warmth I’d been feeling swirling through my body burst into
something more like a wildfire. Like a switch had flipped, I needed
more. I craved more. I brought my other hand up to grip him with
everything I had, forgetting I was holding myself upright. I flopped to
my back, yanking him down on top of me by the ass as I did,
because I wasn’t about to let go of my glorious prize.
He sank down on top of me smoothly, not even interrupting his
kisses. “Very good, Cherry. You’re a natural.”
“I think I can figure it out from here,” I breathed.
He made a grunting sound that told me I had said the right thing.
His hand slid down from my breast to my thigh. I reluctantly let go of
his ass to start fumbling with his belt. He saw how much trouble I
was having and flipped the buckle open, then stripped the belt away.
I immediately went to work on his button and zipper while he slid the
shoulder straps of my dress down.
I couldn’t catch my breath, and my hands were shaking like I was
going into hypothermic shock, even though the night was pleasantly
warm.
He took my hand in his and put it up to his mouth, kissing my
fingertips. He flashed a gorgeous smile at me. “Does it make you
feel better to know I’m nervous, too?”
“Liar,” I said, and even my voice sounded shaky.
 “I told you before, I’m a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”
I frowned up at him. “Why would you be nervous?”
“I’ve never cared about what was going to happen after I slept
with someone. This time, I care.”
I licked my lips. “Well, even if you’re saying that just to help me
relax, it worked. So thank you.”
He kissed my fingertips again. “Sorry if dragging you out here
was a bit much,” he said, nodding to the water surrounding us. “I
wanted your first time to be memorable.”
“You were so sure I was going to give it up to you once we got
out here?” I asked.
William nodded. “I told you at the masquerade party, I already
had you figured out.”
“And you only told me the bad parts.”
“Well, tonight is about the good parts. Your fingers,” he said,
kissing them. “Your slender little wrists,” he said, kissing his way
down as he spoke. “Your kind heart,” he said.
“That was my boob,” I laughed.
He grinned up at me. “Shh. I’m trying to seduce you. Don’t ruin
it.”
“You had me seduced a long time ago. I think right around the
time you stole my flowers.”
He chuckled. “You sure? Because it looked more like I had you
ready to kick me in the balls.”
“Maybe that was just going to be the foreplay.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Kinky.”
He seemed to be done with words, because he buried his head
between my breasts, kissing me through my dress while pulling it
down, clawing at my dress with increasing intensity. I tugged at his
clothes, too, but men’s formal-wear was a lot harder to take off than
a woman’s. Every surface was clad with buttons, ties, belts, and
zippers. All I succeeded in doing was loosening his tie by the time he
had my dress stripped completely away. I was completely absorbed
in getting his tie loose when I heard a soft little splash of something
hitting the water.
I looked around, fingers pausing their work, and couldn’t find my
dress anywhere. “William…” I said slowly.
 “Ooh. It’s so sexy when you say my name like that.”
“Like I’m about to murder you?” I asked.
“For what?”
“Where is my dress?”
“Oh…”
He looked to his left, where the garment was slowly sinking
beneath the water. “It’s right there, about to make some little girl
fish’s night. Imagine how pretty she’ll look, Hailey. It’s—”
I tried to swat at his cheek, but he caught my wrist and kissed it
again.
“Sorry about the dress,” he said. “Totally an accident. But look, I’ll
make it up to you.” He stripped out of his own shirt and tossed it into
the water. “See? Now we’re both in the same boat. Hah. Get it?”
He looked divine in the moonlight. My eyes started at his waist
and trailed up, devouring every inch of him as they did. I started with
the sharp “V” of muscle above his waistline. He had dark hair on his
stomach and chest, which created deep lines of definition outside his
abs and on his chest. It wasn’t so thick that it was gross, but I also
liked that he didn’t shave himself bare like some kind of male fashion
models I’d seen in magazines. It was real. It was raw, and I could
barely wait to run my fingers across every inch of that muscular,
deliciously masculine torso of his. Each little movement of his body
showcased muscles I didn’t even know existed, from a rack of
diagonal lines below his ribs to the way his shoulders looked like
they were carved from living, breathing rock.
I glared. "If you were still giving me the first-timers tutorial, would
this be the part where you try to tell me that bad puns are a critical
part of foreplay?"
He nodded, leaning back down and planting his hands on either
side of my head. He reached back to his pants and pulled out a
condom for me to see. "Let me answer your question with a
question. What is the difference between a tire and three hundred
and sixty-five condoms?"
I raised my eyebrows and shook my head slowly.
“One’s a Goodyear. The other is a great year.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “How about I make you a deal. Never
tell that joke again, and I won’t jump overboard right now.”
 “Fair enough. I have plenty of fresh material where that came
from, anyway.”
“Great. So my only way to keep you quiet is to keep that tongue
of yours busy?”
He smirked. “Now you’re getting it.”
I tugged gently on his neck, pulling him down. It felt out of
character to be so forward, but it also gave me a quick rush of
adrenaline. My dress was sinking to the bottom of the harbor along
with his shirt, I was about to give up my virginity in the middle of a life
raft at night to a millionaire, and this was all going to end with a half-
naked romp back on shore and a desperate search for a car.
It was the story I’d always wanted. The kind of night I imagined
people walking outside my shop having. This was my movie
moment, and I was delirious with happiness. I wasn’t sure if I could
make things work with the bakery, or if Nathan was really done
coming back to haunt me. But I knew I had found someone who
could make me feel loved and excited. That was enough. No, it was
more than enough. It was perfect.
He pressed his hips into me, letting me feel the hard bulge of his
arousal. I gasped and reached for it. I didn’t need sexual experience
for that instinct. I felt a kind of hollowness between my legs, like a
pulsing ache to be filled, and I knew exactly where I’d find relief.
“I’m ready,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said.
“Cocky bastard,” I laughed, but even my laugh fell away. I could
feel the weight of the moment crushing everything except lust,
except need. Sexual momentum had us both in its clutches, and I
knew there was no stopping it now. Instead of fear, the thought filled
me with freedom, like a release. It was out of my hands. Instinct was
in control now.
“He peeled my panties away, then skillfully undid my bra.
Thankfully, he was more careful with my underwear, which he laid
beside us. He shimmied out of his own pants with one hand so he
could still prop himself up and kiss every inch of me. My exposed
nipples hardened at the warmth of his mouth and the attention of his
tongue.
 I was suddenly glad I wasn’t a guy, because I thought I might
actually climax before he touched me between the legs. My head felt
thick with pleasure, with a pounding pulse of white ecstasy that was
only getting stronger by the moment.
“Now you get to find out why foreplay is the best part.”
“I thought that was foreplay,” I said.
He chuckled and locked eyes with me. The heat in his gaze sent
a spear of fire through me. “This is foreplay.” He bowed his head,
kissing down my sternum and past my navel, nearly tickling laughter
out of me as he passed the sensitive skin there. My breath caught
when he kissed just below my waistline. I said a quick “thank you
God for making sure I showered before I came here” prayer and
closed my eyes.
The lifeboat rocked underneath me with the gentle motion of the
water and William’s kisses kept getting lower and lower. Just when I
thought he was going to reach his destination, he slid past to kiss the
insides of my thighs. The man was a goddamn tease, but I also
couldn’t complain when every kiss was like fresh-bottled bliss.
10
 WILLIAM

I hooked my arms under her knees and lifted her legs. She was
spread out perfectly for me, and the dirty little baker had even
shaved for the occasion. I was so far gone for her, I don’t think even
a Bob Ross downtown afro would’ve stopped me, anyway.
I kissed up her thighs as I got absolutely drunk on the scent of
her. She even smelled sweet. I’d never really pushed her for details
on her exact lack of sexual experience, so for all I knew, she’d done
this before. It was more fun to think she hadn’t, so that was what I
went with, and if it was her first time getting eaten out, I wanted it to
be an experience she’d never forget.
I started with the back side of my tongue against the top of her
clit, and I ran it down the length of her slit with what I knew was
agonizing slowness. From the way she shivered, I'd sent chills
across her body. I cupped her ass and pulled her closer to me,
burying my tongue in her entrance as I did. She gasped. I could tell
she was trying to keep from moaning, which was only going to make
it more satisfying when she reached the point where she couldn't
hold it in any longer.
I used every move in the book on her, and then I used the moves
they didn't put in books. I ran the flat of my tongue against her,
kissed every inch of her, and swirled my tongue inside her while I
worked her clit with my fingers. I used my breath to blast her with a
cool gush of air before melting it away with hot, heavy kisses. I read
her body language as well as I could every step of the way, mentally
cataloging her favorites and which ones curled her toes. In the end, I
brought her to her first climax with three fingers buried in her tight
hole while I flicked at her clit with my tongue. She clenched around
me as she came, and she let out the most wonderfully authentic
moans I'd ever heard.
I kissed her neck while she writhed, but kept my fingers inside
her to enjoy the way her walls clenched around me as the tremors of
her orgasm faded from her body.
“Do you want me to… you know, return the favor?” she asked
when she had finally stopped squirming and gasping for breath.
“Bad news. I don’t have a pussy, so that’s going to be difficult.”
She smiled a slow, lazy smile that was unbelievably sexy. “You’re
obnoxious.”
“If you think I’m obnoxious now, wait until I force you to
compliment me before I give you what you really want.”
She tilted her head, looking at me with something between a
glare and mirth. “Wait… You’re serious?”
“You said it yourself. I am obnoxious.” I slid my fingers out of her
entrance and rested my hand against her, just to remind her how
badly she wanted to be fucked by now.
“Okay, fine. You’re—I don’t know. You’re gorgeous.”
I shook my head. “Boring. Try harder.”
Now the look she gave me was one hundred percent a glare
without the side of mirth, but she scrunched up her forehead and
studied the sky. “Well, you make me feel good. Like you never
expect me to be anything but me.” She shook her head and laughed
at herself. “That sounded stupid when I said it out loud.”
“I didn’t think so. It’s actually one of the reasons I like you.”
“I actually can’t picture you doing anything but being yourself. I
don’t know if I’ve ever met someone as unapologetic about who they
are.”
“You’d be surprised,” I said. My cock throbbed with anticipation,
but it was a testament to how I felt about Hailey, because I was in no
rush. I liked talking to her. I liked learning about her, unpacking her.
Oddly enough, I even liked when she wanted to learn about me.
My finger twitched against her clit, and she let out a soft little
moan as she writhed beneath me. Suddenly, patience wasn’t at the
top of my list of virtues. Lust and gluttony came to mind, and if those
weren’t virtues, I didn’t want to be virtuous anymore.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think I’ll ever be.”
I made a show of casually shrugging and reaching for my shirt.
“Damn. I was hoping to get luck—”
She grabbed me by the arm and tugged me back down. “You
really are obnoxious, you know that, right?”
“I’ve been told.”
“I’m ready,” she whispered. “I want this.”
“Good. Because I’m like a vampire, I can’t come inside until you
invite me. And now, you’re screwed.”
She burst out a surprised laugh, which I smothered when I bent
to kiss her neck and my shoulders muffled her laughter. Her fingers
dug into my back. I reached for the condom and managed to open it
and slip it on with one hand, which was mildly impressive given how
dark it was.
It might have been cruel, but I wanted to tease her with my cock
a little before I gave it to her, so I let it rest against her while I kissed
her and gently rocked my hips. Each movement slid my hardened
length against her, lubricating us both and driving me wild in the
process. I could feel her heat and arousal practically begging for me.
I loved the way her hands felt so small against my back as she
tugged at me, urging me against her. She pushed herself up against
me, using her hands on my back for leverage, and I couldn’t take
any more delay. I gripped the base of my cock and guided it down to
her entrance.
“You’re so damn tight,” I said through clenched teeth.
“A tunnel would feel tight if you tried to shove a…” she bit her lip
and clenched her eyes shut as another inch of my cock slid into her.
“A train the size of your cock into it,” she finished.
I paused, waited, and then laughed. “What?”
I could see her blushing even in the moonlight. “Shut up. My
brain isn’t working full speed right now.”
I grinned, and couldn’t help thinking how much I liked her. “This
might sting a little,” I warned.
“Okay,” she said, eyes still closed.
 I pushed more of myself into her, constantly amazed that it was
possible for her pussy to be so tight. I could feel her pulse through
her walls as it pounded against me, and her heart was racing. After
another inch, I felt a slight resistance that gave way without much
effort. Hailey’s breath caught for a second, but a moan wiped the
temporary discomfort from her face a moment later.
I started working myself into her at a rhythm then, and I knew I
wasn’t going to be the thirty-minute-man with Hailey. Not tonight.
She felt too damn good, and I’d been waiting for this too long.
“Oh God. Why did I wait so long to do this?” she gasped.
I bent my neck to kiss her nipples, because they looked so
irresistible standing at attention for me and shaking slightly with
every movement of my body. She leaned her head back, eyes
closed, and moaned. “Is it always this good?”
“Only with me,” I said. “With other guys, it’s horrible. So you
should never try.”
She laughed, but the laughter slipped into another moan. “Oh my
God,” she breathed.
I bit down on my lip. Normally, condoms took most of the fun out
of sex, like trying to enjoy a steak with a condom on your tongue. But
I was either so over the edge with desire that it didn’t matter, or
Hailey had a magical, condom-nullifying pussy, because it felt like
my cock had discovered a temporary gateway to heaven, like a team
of goddamn angels was inside there working miracles.
I pushed inside her and then paused, trying to catch my breath.
“Just need a little pause, or I’m going to cum too soon.”
“No,” she said, hooking her legs around my waist and fucking me
with her hips. “I want it now.”
I raised my eyebrows and thought I knew what it felt like to be in
love at that moment.
I enjoyed the sexiness of her desperation for a few moments
before my own took over and I was pounding into her, eyes
squeezed shut and teeth clenched.
She cried out and her legs squeezed tighter around me. I felt her
already-tight pussy clench around me and start pulsing with her
heartbeat. Her orgasm knocked down the last of my resistance, and I
let my own come exploding through me. I bit down a groan as what
felt like the never-ending orgasm.
By the time I finally rolled off her, I felt drained. "I feel like there's
a bad pun about seamen and semen here, but I'm too tired to find it."
“So bad puns are part of the foreplay and the post play?”
“I’ve never heard of post play…”
“Sure you have. It’s what every guy does when he discovers porn
for the first time.”
“Wha—Oh. Wow. I think I may have accidentally injected some of
my DNA into you just now. I think I understand how much of a
struggle it is to put up with me after that.”
“Good,” she smirked. “Now, seriously, how are we going to get off
this boat and get back home in our underwear?”
“The same way we would in our clothes. Just sneakier.”
She sighed. “Don’t you have some kind of personal helicopter
you can call in? Or maybe you know someone on the coast guard
who can at least bring us some blankets?”
“Even if I did, that would mean I don’t get to watch you scamper
around in your underwear for the next half hour. So no.”
“Half of New York is going to get to see it too. Don’t you get
jealous?”
I frowned. “Fine. You’ll wait in the boat while I go commandeer a
blanket.”
“Steal one?”
“Commandeer. It’s a military term for—”
“Stealing.”
“You and your labels.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I like labels. Maybe I like knowing where I
stand with a guy, too, especially after giving him my virginity. Maybe
a certain label would actually be really comforting right about now.”
“Hailey,” I said very seriously as I nakedly took to one knee—
which was difficult on the rubber boat. I scooped up her panties and
held them out like they were a ring. “Will you be my girlfriend?”
She took the panties and slid them on, smiling. “God help me.
Yes, I will.”
B RUCE KNOCKED ON THE DOOR OF MY OFFICE AND THEN LEANED IN THE
doorway. “I heard you stole a lifeboat from the yacht party last night.
Again.”
“I heard you like to fondle bananas against their will.”
He sighed. “I also heard you stole the boat with a girl.”
“Maybe I did.”
“You’re glowing like a pregnant woman. Did she knock you up?”
I laughed. “Look at you busting jokes. And no. A gentleman
doesn’t talk about his sexual exploits. Being that I’m not a
gentleman, I will tell you that we used protection, she was amazing,
and I’m counting down the hours until I can have her again.”
“Well, well, well. My little brother is smitten. Natasha will be
excited.”
“She’s the laziest matchmaker in the world, by the way, if she’s
trying to take credit for this.”
“She’s not. I think she just knows if you get your attention set on
something, you won’t be around to annoy us as much.”
“You know little Caitlyn would be heartbroken if her favorite uncle
wasn’t around all the time.”
“You’re her only uncle, and I think she’d live. Oh, yeah, mom and
dad were spotted in the lobby. I think they’re coming to see you.”
“Already? Shit. They were just here a couple days ago.”
Bruce shrugged. “Give a beggar money and he’s going to keep
wanting more. I’ve told you a million times.”
“And I’ve told you that you’re a stick-up-his-ass perfectionist a
million times, but look at that, you haven’t changed.”
“Congrats on the girl,” he said, ignoring my jab. “Seriously. It’s
good to see you looking happy. And I think settling down would be
good for you.”
“Who said anything about settling down?”
“That stupid grin on your face did.”
I crumpled up a piece of paper I’d been doodling on and threw it
at him, but he left before it hit him.
“Settling down,” I muttered to myself. To be completely honest, it
wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility. I had to see what kind of
toothbrush management skills the woman had before I could
seriously consider “settling down.” I mean, shit, what if she was one
of those people who flicked little bits of toothpaste all over the mirror
when she brushed? I was no Bruce, but I had some standards of
cleanliness.
Worse, she could be one of those women who has a never-
ending bag of hairbands and clips that gradually take up every nook,
crevice, and cranny in the apartment, until they eventually form
massive rolling tumbleweeds made of shedded hair. She might even
get onto me for leaving the toilet seat up, but I mean, come on,
maybe I don’t want to have to lift the seat up just as much as she
doesn’t want to have to put it down.
It was a futile mental effort to try to convince myself I wasn’t
falling for her. She could be one of those hover-pissers who, for
sanitary reasons, hovers her ass a foot over the toilet and sprays
everything in a sickening mist of pee. She could burp after every
meal and clip her toenails at the table. It honestly wouldn’t matter. I
was addicted, and at this point, she’d have to stab me in the eye or
something to get rid of me.
My parents let themselves in without knocking. “We tried to find
you last night,” my dad said accusingly.
“Yeah, I was at a thing.”
“Well, this won’t take long. We found out you’ve been seeing a
girl who owns a… bakery. We thought it would be a good idea to
look into her background a little, and guess what we found?” My dad
slid an envelope across my desk as he grunted down into his chair.
My mom stayed standing behind him.
I opened the envelope and flipped through a few papers quickly
at first, but then slowed down when I saw the name on them. “Wait,
what is this?” I asked.
“It’s proof that your little girlfriend is playing you. That,” he said,
pointing to a paper in my left hand. “Is an offer from Sleiman
construction group to buy your baker girl’s store for two million
dollars. Somebody wants to turn the block into a high-rise apartment,
and they’re buying everybody out. Your little girlfriend’s landlord told
us that he left her a voicemail telling her she had to get out, unless
she was going to magically cough up two-million.”
“How long has she known?” I asked, still feeling dazed.
 “She has known she’s behind on rent for months. He left her a
voicemail yesterday afternoon about the buyout. She went and
applied for a loan but was rejected on the spot.”
I thought about how she had pushed away the idea of a date at
first, but then had seemed so eager to go along with the idea by the
time she showed up to my apartment. Based on what my parents
were showing me, the only thing that had changed by then was her
realization that she needed two million dollars to save her shop.
I leaned back in my chair. “Fuck.”
My mom gave me a sympathetic pursing of her lips. “William, it’s
not easy being in your position. You’re good looking. Wealthy.
Successful. You’re always going to have to keep your guard up for
girls like this. It’s not fun, but it’s the truth.”
I may have blown it off with Bruce every time he brought it up, but
the truth was it did hurt when Zoey Parker had tricked me into
thinking she was interested in me, and not just my money. It had
stung every time I’d gotten close with a woman only to realize she
was using me. Hell, it was probably why I had slowly become more
and more transient when it came to women. I’d only give them as
much of myself as I needed, so if they turned out to be gold-diggers,
I wouldn’t look like an idiot.
I got up from my desk suddenly, pushing the chair back.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to talk to her.”
11
 HAILEY

R yan was stretching dough in the back while I worked on

cleaning up after the lunch rush. It had been a thrill. I couldn’t
remember the last time, yesterday excluded, when we’d had so
much business. We’d turned nearly a thousand dollars of pure profit
yesterday, and even without quite as insane of a rush today, I would
be surprised if we weren’t at least going to make Seven hundred. At
this rate, I could catch up on all my back-due rent for my apartment
and the shop in a matter of months.
So when I recognized my landlord yanking open the front door, I
didn’t have quite the same rush of panic I normally would. I had a
plan. I had good news.
I took a deep breath and smiled. “Mr. Smith, I wasn’t expecting to
—”
“I left four voicemails,” he said dryly. He was in his forties,
overweight up top but with chicken legs on the bottom, and his
eyebrows looked like they might come to life, snack on a few leaves,
and turn into butterflies at any moment.
“Yes. Yes, you did. I got a little behind on the whole voicemail
situation, but I was going to listen to them really soon.”
He shook his head. “They are buying up the block, Hailey. I’m
being offered two million dollars just for this property, so I’m selling it.
And guess what, I’m feeling generous, given the circumstances, so
I’m not even going to drag you into court over all the money you still
owe me for rent. Merry Christmas.”
 My stomach lurched. “You can’t actually do that, can you?”
“What? Sell my own property? Of course I can. You’re just renting
it from me month to month, and I’ll happily take the payday over the
four thousand a month you never manage to pay me anyway.”
“But I’ll be able to pay really soon. I got this great deal with
Galleon for advertising and we actually turned a great profit
yesterday. I can even show you the numbers.” I saw the look on his
face and felt my heart sink. He had never been cruel to me, but he
was a businessman. It was written all over his face. No good
businessman in his right mind would pass up the deal he was being
offered, and I knew it. “Please?” I tried.
“Sorry, Hailey. But it’s happening. You have a week.”
I couldn’t do anything but watch as he left. Just like that, my
dream was slipping through my fingers, and I didn’t see any way to
fix it in sight. Without the shop, I’d lose my apartment. Without my
apartment, I’d lose New York City, and without the city, I wondered
how I’d manage to hold on to William.
Ryan found me with my head in my hands. “Did they cancel
Brooklyn 99 again?”
“No. They canceled The Bubbly Baker.”
“Uh?”
“Somebody’s buying out the landlord. Unless you know a way to
come up with two million dollars to convince him not to sell, we’re
screwed.”
Ryan tilted his head to the side. “Gee. I wonder where we could
find somebody with more money than God. They’d have to like you,
so that’s tough. But hmmm, it’s like a name is on the tip of my
tongue.”
“Not happening. This isn’t my dream because I want to be rich
and famous. It’s my dream because I want to prove to myself what I
can do with hard work. It wouldn’t mean anything to me if somebody
else bought it for me.”
“William’s little advertising bargain didn’t count?”
I gave him a dirty look. “I didn’t think the advertising would work
that well, okay? I thought he’d put out a radio commercial and get us
like ten more customers a week or something.”
 Ryan grinned. “I’m just fucking with you. I know what you mean,
and I get it. Well shit, does this mean I don’t have to bake cookies
until my piss smells like cookie dough for the contest in Sheffield this
week?”
“No,” I said, even though I was making the decision as I spoke.
“The Bubbly Baker might not be here for long, but it doesn’t mean we
need to pass up the exposure of the contest.”
“Gotta ask the obvious question. If the shop isn’t going to be ours
anymore, what exactly are we exposing?”
“The food we make? I don’t know, Ryan. But it feels right, so I’m
going to be there with my freaking t-shirt on, and I’m going to be
baking cookies. I’ll sell them out of the kitchen in my Grammy’s
retirement home if I have to.”
“Rock on,” he said. “I’m in.”
“You are?”
“Yep.”
We both turned when the door opened again. This time, it was
William, and he looked more pissed than I’d ever seen. He stormed
up to the front counter. The look he gave Ryan must have clearly
said he needed to talk to me alone, because Ryan practically jogged
to the back.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Remember how I said I was figuring you out, piece by piece?
Well, I think I just figured out the best part. You desperately need
money, and you were just stringing me along until the right time
came to get it out of me. Here, what was it you needed to save your
shop? Two million? Take two and a half, just to cover taxes and shit.”
“William, what the hell is going on?”
He ignored me as he slapped a check down on the counter and
furiously scribbled in all the information. He pushed it toward me
when he was done. I saw the pain in his face, and I knew he
believed every word of what he was saying.
“Do you even care about hearing what I have to say?” I asked.
My own voice was laced with anger. I thought he knew me better
than to believe I’d really been using him, but apparently I had been
wrong.
 “No thanks. I’ve heard it before. For once, I’m going to walk away
before I end up looking like the ass.”
“Too late,” I said, hating how thick with emotion my voice was.
He slammed the door behind him.
Ryan walked slowly out from the back with a cautious look on his
face. “Sooo… I’ve got some ice cream at my place.”
“How many gallons?” I asked.

O NCE I HAD A FEW POUNDS OF ICE CREAM SWIRLING AROUND IN MY

stomach, I headed home. Ryan had been good at listening to me
rant about William and how hurt I was that he’d think so little of me.
Some guys thought women wanted solutions when we were upset,
but Ryan understood that wasn’t the point. I just needed to vent. I
wanted someone to know why I was hurting. If he’d try to offer up
some simple solution, it would’ve felt like he was waving away my
worries as something fixable and simple.
I had a text from an unknown number when I checked my phone
outside Ryan’s apartment.
555-3021 (4:47 P.M.): Hey. This is Natasha, Bruce’s wife. We
heard about what happened. Can you meet at the coffee place on
5th? Our treat.”
I blew out a breath while I thought it over. Part of me was done
talking. I was to the romantic comedy in bed while I wore pajamas
and pounded down more sweets phase. The other part of me
stupidly hoped there was some way to salvage all of this. I eventually
texted that I could be there in half an hour.
Natasha and Bruce were waiting for me at a table by the window
with somber expressions. They already had a cup of coffee waiting
for me.
“Hey.” Natasha was watching me with concerned eyes, like I was
a wounded animal.
"This feels like an intervention," I said as I sat. My eyes felt puffy,
because I had admittedly cried a little bit already. Okay, maybe I
cried a lot, but I'd always been one to cry easily. As much as I
wanted to not care about any of this, because caring felt like it was
letting William win somehow, I couldn't help it. My mind kept going
back to how if I'd just waited one more day, I wouldn't have thrown
away my virginity with somebody who was about to toss me aside
without even listening to what I had to say about the situation. Then
I'd get even more upset, because despite the way things turned out,
I couldn't think of that night in the lifeboat with anything but butterflies
in my stomach. It was pure magic, no matter how it ended up, and
no amount of willpower seemed to be able to change that.
“It’s not,” Bruce said. “But I wanted to figure out what happened,
to see if you needed help. William isn’t talking about what happened,
but he broke half of his office when he got back to work, so we
figured the worst.”
“He thinks I was after his money because, well, I do need money,
really badly. Once he saw how much I needed and the timing of our
meeting and our dates, he just went off. He assumed I was some
kind of scheming gold digger, and he didn’t even wait to let me
convince him otherwise.”
“Asshole…” Natasha said.
“We know William is an asshole,” Bruce agreed. “Stupid, too.”
“And he’s a douchebag,” Natasha added.
Bruce’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Kind of the same thing,
Nat. But yes. A douchebag, too.”
“Except he’s not. Not really,” I said. “He’s abrasive, but there is a
nice guy once you looked past the surface. That’s why this doesn’t
make any sense to me. It’s like he became a different person.”
“Well, William would never admit it, but he and I have both been
burned multiple times by gold diggers. It does take a toll. I almost
didn’t give Natasha a chance because I thought she was after my
money, too.”
“What happened?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I realized I had to trust my instincts eventually. I
couldn’t just shut the world out because I’d been screwed in the
past.”
I sighed. “Mind teaching your brother that lesson?”
“You’d still give him another chance after this?” Natasha asked.
I thought about that. I knew I was about to say something that
wasn’t really true, but I wasn’t ready to forgive him out loud yet, not
even a little bit. “No. I guess not. I actually would rather throw a pie in
his face right now.”
Bruce laughed. “Do it.”
“I wish.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “I’ll let security know you’re coming. They’ll
let you straight into his office.”

I LOOKED DOWN AT THE CHERRY PIE IN MY HAND , FEELING MORE THAN A

little crazy. I was riding the elevator up to William’s floor about an
hour after meeting with Bruce and Natasha, and I could hardly
believe I was actually going through with this. It felt right, though.
Screw him for everything. For making me trust him. For making me
think he was different. For taking my virginity and then turning on me
the very next day.
I marched straight past his secretary, who was watching me with
an amused smile that reminded me of the kind of evil grin an Aubrey
Plaza character might show. I gave her a nod, and she nodded back.
I guessed Bruce or Natasha had told her the plan, and from her
reaction, I’d won her respect with it.
I opened William’s door and found him sitting behind his desk
with red knuckles and a cloudy expression. He looked pissed and
sad at the same time. I didn’t let that slow me down, even though a
very big part of me instantly wanted to reach out to him and comfort
him—
I wasn't about to give in to that weakness. He should be upset.
With himself. Because he was being an unforgivable ass.
He looked up at me and raised his eyebrows.
"You wanted my fucking cherry so bad? Here it is, dickweed!" I
shouted, then I threw the pie as hard as I could. For some reason, I
expected it to magically keep sailing pie-side-first toward him through
the air, but instead it flipped end over end. There was a metallic
clang as the pan collided with his face. He tipped back in his chair
like it was slow motion while the pie flipped once more to land in his
lap. The last thing I saw before I left was his feet flying up in the air
as his chair toppled backward.
 I closed the door behind me and gave his secretary a look of
mixed horror and satisfaction.
“How did it feel?” she asked through clenched teeth. The look in
her eyes was so hungry it was almost scary.
“Um, like I might have just accidentally murdered a man with a
pie?”
“Fuck yeah,” she whispered. “Fuck yeah.”
I gave her a wide berth as I fast-walked back to the elevator and
hurried out of the building as quickly as I could. Once I got outside, I
heard the sound of police sirens. I broke into a sprint, heading for the
nearest alley before realizing the cop was driving right past me—
of course he was. I cleared my throat, smoothed out my shirt, and
tried not to make eye contact with anyone.
I might have just killed a man. William is dead. Cause of death:
cherry to the face.
12
 WILLIAM

I stared at the ceiling while my face throbbed like I’d been hit by a
truck. Jesus. Hailey had missed her calling as a quarterback. I
don’t know if I’d ever seen anything move as fast as that pie had
moved through the air. It was still warm where it had smeared all
over my lap.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been laying there right where I’d fallen,
but I didn’t feel like getting up. I knew that much. I probably deserved
this.
Hailey was a risk I didn’t want to take, though. There had been
too many clues pointing to gold digger, and they’d all surfaced at
once, which had made it feel like she was hiding it all along. And she
hadn’t complained about the check I gave her earlier, which was the
final nail in the coffin. She could play innocent all she wanted, but I
knew she’d probably already deposited it and started making plans
for what she’d do with her haul. Normally, I wouldn’t have given a
woman a dime if I found out she was using me, but I liked Hailey,
gold digger or not. The thought of helping her out at least made me
happy, even if I couldn’t trust her feelings for me.
The door opened quietly, but I couldn’t see who it was from
where I was lying.
“You’re alive, right?” It was Hailey’s voice.
“Hailey,” I groaned.
“I’m leaving,” she said, suddenly firm. “I just needed to know I
didn’t kill you. Even though you probably would’ve deserved it.”
 The door slammed.
I almost grinned. It had taken her so long to come to check on me
that she must've made it all the way outside before coming back to
check on me. I finally sighed and moved the pie off my stomach. I
stood up, feeling a little banged up, but nothing was more than
bruised. When I went to brush the pie off my stomach but saw a
piece of paper stuck in the cherry filling. I pulled it out carefully and
then shook off as much of the food as I could.
It was a check. My check.
Fuck.
Realization hit me harder than a pie pan to the face. I’d always
been a dumbass, but I had topped even my own level of dumbassery
with this one. Anger and shame mixed in my stomach like hot
poison. Anger towards my parents, who must have wanted things to
play out exactly as they had. Shame for acting out before I even
stopped to ask myself if the Hailey I knew would ever use me for my
money.
13
 HAILEY

“D id you say hasta la vista, baby?” Grammy asked as she was

still cackling so hard I could barely understand her.
I gave her a sideways grin. “No. I thought of like ten cooler things
I could’ve said as soon as I threw it.”
She laughed even harder. “Good for you, baby. Good for you.”
“I wish it felt good. It feels more like I’m forcing myself to hate him
for it even though I just want to forgive him and try to fix it. Like I
know I’m supposed to be pissed, but it’s not coming naturally.”
“Let me give you some advice, baby.” She started dealing cards
to the group of glassy-eyed seniors who were sitting around the
poker table with her. I sat to her side in a fold-up lawn chair in the
middle of the game room of her retirement home. “If he deserves to
be forgiven, he’ll make you forgive him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Listen close now, because the closer I get to being dead, the
more important what I have to say becomes. And honey, they don’t
get a whole lot older than I am, so that makes everything I say pure
gold.”
I grinned. “I get it, Grammy. I’m listening, even though you’re too
stubborn to die so your point is invalid.”
She gave me a sly look. “That is part of the reason I surround
myself with the living dead. If death comes knocking, I’ll be able to
point him to a whole bunch of folks who will go with less of a fight
than me.”
 “Hey!” the man across from her croaked.
“Oh shut up, Leonard. You know I’m not talking about you.”
His lips quivered as he shakily looked down at his hand of cards,
nodding to himself.
She tilted her head to me and mouthed, “Definitely talking about
him.”
“You were about to give me your golden advice?”
“Yes, yes. The sweetest thing in the world is when a strong man
gets on his knees for you, because one of two things are going to
happen, and let me tell you how you know which it’s going to be. If
your pants are off, then he’s going down on you, and that’s wonderful
for obvious reasons. If your pants are on, he’s about to grovel and
beg for forgiveness. And that, my dear, is how women give a big
middle finger to anyone who thinks men rule the world. There’s
nothing more satisfying on this green earth than holding that kind of
power in the palm of your hands. So when a man has screwed up
and he owes you some delicious groveling, you wait. If he deserves
to be forgiven, he’ll come with flowers and apologies for days. Then
you just bask it in as long as you want.”
“What am I supposed to do after that?”
“You make him prove he’s sorry until you feel like he’s paid
enough for being a dumbass. Pretty simple, really.”
I shook my head, smiling. “And what if he doesn’t show up to
grovel?”
“Then he wasn’t worth your time in the first place. You take your
bruises and you move on with your life. You’re still young, gorgeous,
and talented. Being young is about screwing up until you get it right.
Simple, simple, simple.”
“Thanks, Grammy. For once, that was actually pretty practical
advice.”
“Oh, and did I mention there’s no better time to make demands?
Want a new car, license to sleep around a bit, jewelry? Now is the
time to ask.”
“And there it is,” I laughed. “The part where you push it past
practical to crazy.”
She winked. "Wouldn't want to disappoint." She laid down her
hand of cards and laughed. "Leonard, you are a dumbass, and now
you're a dumbass with ten fewer dollars to your name. Pay up, you
old coot."
I pushed my chair back and stood. I thought taking a walk outside
might be nice to clear my head. When I turned, I saw William
standing at the back of the room with a bag of popcorn in his hand.
I gave him an incredulous look.
“Sorry,” he said. “Somebody just left it sitting out, and there was a
microwave right there. It was begging to be taken. Besides, it looked
like you were busy, so I just thought—
” he trailed off, then slowly raised his hand to his mouth and took
a bite of popcorn.
My Grammy turned around at the sound of his voice and raised
her eyebrow. “Son, you had better get on your knees and start
apologizing soon, or I’m going to beat you over the head with
Leonard’s walker.
“Hey!” Leonard groused.
“Shut up,” she growled at him without taking her eyes off William.
William set his bag of popcorn to the side and got on his knees,
spreading his hands out. I felt a pang of guilt when I saw that his
nose was a little purple and one of his eyes was slightly swollen. "I'm
sorry I didn't have the decency to die when you threw a fifty-pound
cherry pie at my face."
“Was it really that heavy?” Grammy asked.
“Grammy,” I said through my teeth. “You can either be a silent
spectator, or I’m going to have William crawl outside to finish his
apology.
"I never agreed to crawl."
“You be quiet too,” I snapped. I jabbed my finger in his direction.
“You only get to talk right now if you’re apologizing.”
Grammy made a lip-zipping gesture, and William waited patiently.
To his credit, he actually looked like he was taking this half-seriously,
which was twice as seriously as he took everything else. Maybe he
meant it.
“Go on,” I said.
“You have great feet, too. I never noticed until I was down here.
But they’re really nicely put together, and I’m not a foot guy. So that’s
saying something.”
 “William…” I warned.
The smile slipped from his face, and for once, he looked dead
serious. “Hailey, I am sorry. I was an ass, and not the good kind that
is built from years of squats with perfect form and a well-balanced
diet. I was the kind of ass nobody wants to see.”
I waited, arms crossed. The truth was I already wanted to forgive
him. It was weak of me, but I liked him. I liked the way he made me
feel. I liked how he always inserted humor into everything. I even
liked that he was making the apology into a little bit of a joke instead
of a big dramatic cryfest for me. But, I was guiltily enjoying watching
him grovel, and he did deserve to have to demean himself, at least a
little bit.
“I was an idiot.”
“We can agree on that,” I said. “Do I want to know how you found
me?”
“A man has his secrets.”
I uncrossed my arms and recrossed them, the same way guys in
movies always reload loaded guns for emphasis. It worked.
“If you have to know,” he said. “I got your sister’s number out of
the phonebook--yes, they still exist in the dark corners of the world. I
called her, made some threats, then offered up some bribes, and got
her to tell me where you’d go if somebody pissed you off.”
“I’m impressed Candace actually figured it out.”
"Well, don't give her too much credit. The first place she told me
was the ice cream aisle at the grocery store near your apartment.
They still had a full stock of Rocky Road, so I ruled that one out.
You're grinning. Is that a good sign?"
"No," Grammy interrupted. "She does not forgive you after that
sorry excuse for an apology, is she?”
I cleared my throat. “Of course not.”
William glared at my grandma. "You know, Hailey said you are
always learning new slang words. Ever hear the phrase ‘cock
block?'"
“Yeah, I think I read that one in Mark Manson’s bestselling book
last year.”
William and I both gave her a confused look.
 She pointed to Leonard, who looked up from his cards and gave
her an equally confused face.
She groaned in frustration. “I told you, Leonard, you old skid
mark. When I say that line, you tell people the title of the book.”
"Well, I forgot the damn title."
“It’s The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. Okay? And now the
punchline is ruined, thanks to Leonard.”
“Anyway,” William stood and dusted off his knees. “Maybe this
would be better for us to finish in private.”
“Not too private,” Granny warned. “You don’t let him in your pants
again until he earns it, Hailey. You hear me?”
I pretended I didn’t as I followed William outside. It was a nice
day, and there were plenty of trees to shield us from the late
afternoon sun. Grammy’s retirement home was out in the New York
countryside, which was way prettier than most people realized.
“Do you want me to get back on my knees?” he asked. “Because
I will.”
I shook my head. “No. William, I’m going to be honest here. It
was a real wake up call when you accused me of all that. I don’t
think it’s going to just go away because you say you’re sorry.”
“I’m not expecting it to. That fuck up is on me, but hey, what
better way to start a relationship? We can only go up from here,
right?”
“Well, no, technically it could get worse. You could keep me
prisoner in your basement and start saying ‘it puts the lotion on its
skin.’”
“I wouldn’t do that. I’d say, ‘hey, here’s some lotion. Can you put it
on your skin so your skin suit is more supple when I wear it?’”
I laughed. It was so obnoxiously hard to stay mad at him. “Can
you go back to being a bastard so I can stay mad at you? Please?”
“Only if it leads to angry makeup sex.”
“It won’t.”
“Then no. I’m going to keep trying to make you forgive me, even
if it takes days.”
“That’s all it’s worth?” I asked with raised eyebrows. “Days?”
“Days. Plural. I could be talking about thousands of them, which
is what I’d be willing to spend making it up to you.”
 I chewed on the corner of my lip and sighed. “I’ll forgive you if you
can convince me I’m not a total pushover for it.”
“Oh. Easy. Do you have any idea what kind of effect I have on
you?” he stepped closer and tucked some stray hairs behind my ear.
“Who could blame you for forgiving me?”
"That move is not fair," I said. "The hair behind the ear trick is like
written into women's DNA as a heart-melter."
“I know,” he said in a playfully seductive voice. “It’s almost as
effective as whispering sweet nothings in a woman’s ear. Just like
this.” He leaned in close. “Sweet nothings,” he whispered.
Despite the ridiculousness of it, just the brush of air against my
ear made a chill run across my skin. “That was so lazy.”
“Okay,” he said, leaning back in and whispering. “How do you
plan on getting me into bed?”
"Well," I said, watching as my hands moved up seemingly on
their own to touch his chest. "Right now, the plan is pretty simple. I
let you keep thinking you need to show me your moves, even though
I already decided to forgive you as soon as I saw you with that stupid
bag of popcorn. I figure you'll eventually get to the moves that
involve fewer clothes. Besides, how am I supposed to stay mad at
you when you got my cherry to the face so hard it left you with a
black eye?"
He leaned back a little, eyes twinkling. “Great question. If
someone had told me this was all going to lead to you pounding me
into submission with your cherry--to my face--well, I would’ve signed
up even faster. And yes, I have a move or two that require less
clothing. There’s the scorpion, for starters.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Maybe not, but this apology isn’t official until you experience it.”
“I’ll settle for a kiss.”
“Twist my arm, why don’t you,” he said, leaning in and kissing
me.
He always smelled so good, and the first thing I noticed after the
tender touch of his lips on mine was how familiar his scent had
already become. I felt like I was where I belonged when I was so
close to him. I could forget about losing my bakery, whether Nathan
was done showing up in my life, or what Zoey might try next. None of
it seemed important, because William was right there beside me.
Corny? Yes. But I’d never been the corny type, and I loved that he
brought it out of me.
We kissed with the sun on our necks and the rustle of trees
above us. I tried not to think about the fact that it would be totally
within my Granny’s character to have wheeled half the retirement
home to the windows beside us to watch this whole thing play out.
That was an image I was happy to push from my mind.
14
 WILLIAM

H ailey and I decided to stay in the countryside of New York for

the day, and then the next day, and then the day after that.
Hailey kept mentioning some contest she had to get to for the bakery
in two days, so I promised I’d help arrange travel to get her and
whatever equipment she needed there on time. I’d rented us a little
cabin outside the small town where Hailey’s terrifying Grammy lived.
It was a nice change of pace out here, and I hadn’t realized how
much I needed the breath of fresh air.
We were walking by a lazy little stream while birds chirped and
dappled bits of sunlight filtered through the trees. It was so cliche it
was almost sickening, but I could see Hailey was enjoying it, and
that was good enough for me.
“Look at us, having a normal date like normal people,” I said.
Hailey’s fingers were woven between mine like we were a couple
of middle schoolers. “Speak for yourself. I am a normal person.
You’re the crazy one.”
“Psh. I only have one clinical disorder. Don’t you at least need to
have a couple to count as crazy? Besides, when was the last time
you saw me steal anything?”
“Um, let me see if I can do this chronologically from the time you
showed up at the retirement home. The bag of popcorn, the remote
from the hotel that first night, my panties, the last bagel from that
poor old man at the continental breakfast—”
 “He didn’t have any teeth! What was he going to do with it, gnaw
on it until it dissolved?”
“Maybe he had dentures back at his table. You don’t know.”
I grinned. “To tell the truth, I only saw he didn’t have teeth after I
took it.”
“See! You’re a remorseless animal.”
“Now that’s just not true. An animal could never hope to reach my
level of subtlety. No chance.”
“Your idea of subtle is being so unbelievably blatant about it that
nobody thinks you could actually be serious.”
I shrugged. “Every man has his talents.”
She smiled, and damn did she look good—smiling, frowning, or
scowling. She wore a t-shirt we’d grabbed from a truck stop and
athletic shorts, mainly because neither of us had packed to come out
here and stay, and the nearest legitimate clothing shops were too far
away to bother. I’d refused to let her buy anything but the shirt that
said, “These titties are taken by a sexy trucker.” My own was a dump
truck with “Dropping Loads” printed above it. I’d found both shirts
much more amusing than she did, but she indulged me and went
along with it.
T-shirt or dress, she looked good, and it was a constant battle for
me not to take her to the ground or the wall and have my way with
her.
She licked her lips. “You have a few talents, maybe. But most of
them are restricted to what you can do when the lights are off.”
“Wait, the sex was only good in the dark? Should we start putting
a paper bag over my head?”
“Sometimes you’re exhausting. You know that?”
“I’ve been told. But I’m just getting started.” I took her by the wrist
and led her to a tree, where I gently pinned her. We were relatively
isolated out here. Our cabin was a half mile or so behind us, there
were forested hills to our left and a valley split by the stream to our
right. I highly doubted anybody from the small town would come
wandering this way, but I guess it was possible that a hunter could
mistake us for two animals in heat. Oh well. Life was about risks.
I lifted her shirt and bent to kiss her stomach while holding her
wrists together over her head.
 “Hey!” she laughed. “I thought I said your talents were best when
the lights were off. There’s a pretty big light on right now.”
“Exactly. I’ve got to prove you wrong. You asked for this.”
She wiggled her eyebrows down at me. “Barbarian.”
I growled. “A barbarian would undress you with his teeth. I’m
more civilized than that.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be,” she said. Her voice had grown heavier
already, and my cock sprang to attention like a soldier on speed. The
troops had been on high alert ever since I took Hailey’s cherry in the
lifeboat, and if she so much as gave me a sideways look, I was
sporting a hard-on that would put a middle school boy in the girl’s
locker room to shame.
“I love you when you’re dirty.”
We both froze a little. Whoops. Accidental “love” bomb. Definitely
a party foul.
“And what about when I’m not?”
I swallowed hard. I had a long history of not taking much
seriously, but it was hard to think of Hailey like that. She was serious.
She was real, and I wanted to avoid fucking up with her more than I
thought I’d ever wanted anything. “You might say I love you then,
too.”
A slow smile spread across her lip, then she bit at the corner of
her bottom lip. “Maybe I feel the same way about you.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“I… I love you, too.”
I didn’t expect the rush of warmth that fluttered through my chest.
Frankly, I felt like a little bit of a pussy for it, but I was about to
engage in the most manly act of manliness known to man—eating
pussy, so I didn’t dwell on it. It was a little odd that the cure for being
a pussy was to eat it, but wiser men than me had established the
rules of manhood, and I wasn’t about to question them. In all
honesty, my manhood didn’t seem important right now. I just felt
happy.
I stood up and lifted Hailey by her waist like I was doing a
shoulder press.
She laughed, gripping my hands and leaning forward so I almost
lost balance and fell backward. Instead, I sort of crumpled at the legs
and she came toppling down on me. "Is this where you make some
bad joke about falling head over heels for me?"
“No,” I said. “It’s where I get another taste of that cherry pie, even
if I have to undress you with my teeth.”
“You already took my cherry, remember?”
“My memory is hazy. Maybe we’d better reenact it to refresh
me?”
I flipped her over to her back and smiled down at her.
“Or maybe I should do that thing you liked again?”
“Oh. Oh.” I half-way threw myself off her, flopped on my back,
and started tugging at my pants.
She laughed. “Mr. Eager, aren’t we?” Hailey got to her hands and
knees, crawling toward me. “What was it you said again?” she
lowered her voice in a horrible impression of me. “A good blowjob is
all about the teeth.” She chomped her teeth at me as she came
closer.
I laughed, crawling backward a little. "Actually, no. Pretty sure
that wasn't what I said."
She licked her lips and crawled closer. I leaned back on my
elbows, making sure I had a front-row view of her going to work.
She’d given me her first ever blowjob last night, and it was
admittedly going to be a work-in-progress, but I was going to enjoy
the hell out of watching her learn.
She wrapped her lips around the head of my cock. My whole
body twitched in response. Her lips were warm and wet, and I could
feel the tip of her tongue poised against me. “You sure you don’t
want some teeth?” she asked, holding my cock and talking into it like
it was a microphone.
I laughed. "I've never been surer of anything in my life."
She brought her face down to the base of my cock and licked all
the way to the tip with the flat of her tongue, then kissed me there,
smiling. “I feel like these moves you taught me should have names.
We could call that the highrise.”
I put a palm to my forehead. “Okay, if we’re naming moves, why
don’t you show me the she can’t talk anymore because there’s a dick
in her mouth.”
 She opened her mouth and rested her teeth on my cock, applying
gentle pressure. “Ooh be’hur be ‘ice ooh ‘eeh.”
I gave her a long, amused look, and then she moved her mouth
away from my cock and cleared her throat. “I said you’d better be
nice to me. Regret is just one chomp away.”
“Great thought to go into this blowjob with. You know what,
maybe we should just pack it in. Head home and skip to the old
married couple part of our evening. We might be able to catch some
reruns if we hurry.”
Determination sparked behind her eyes and a sexy little smirk
played across her lips. Then she set to work. There was no hint of
teeth as she bobbed her head up and down my length, gripping me
in her hand and swirling her hot, wet little tongue around me.
“Let me see your eyes,” I said.
She looked up at me with my cock still in her mouth. Those big
eyes and those full lips wrapped around me were too perfect. “Fuck,”
I groaned. “Did you reconsider the whole not cumming in your mouth
thing?”
“No,” she mumbled against me.
I laid my head back and smiled. She’d said it was demeaning if I
came in her mouth. Hah. She could tell that to the poor souls of all
my sperm who were going to be wasted out in the grass here.
Millions dead. It was genocide, practically. But I wasn’t about to push
my luck. It was oddly hard to feel too upset when Hailey’s tongue
and lips were all over my cock, surprisingly enough.
She started to get the rhythm of her hand just right and I pressed
my head back into the grass, squeezing my eyes shut. Goddamn, I
wanted to cum in her mouth. There was nothing in the world that
could make me want something more than being told no.
“You sure?” I asked. My voice came out a little hoarse, but I knew
she heard me, even though she didn’t answer right away.
She pulled back, gripping my cock and lowering her lips to it like
she was speaking into the mic again. “No further questions. Thank
you,” she said in a formal tone, and then dove back down to work.
Dammit.
My body was practically on fire from the inside out, and I knew I
wasn’t going to last much longer. She was a fast learner, apparently.
 I closed my eyes again and let her knock the sense out of me,
one stroke at a time. My brain went fuzzy and it felt like I might start
levitating off the ground at any moment if it started to feel much
better.
“Okay,” I said. “Fuck, I’m going to cum,”
But she didn’t pull her lips off me, instead, she just locked eyes
with me and made me fall in love all over again. Soulmate. I knew it.
The woman was my fucking soulmate.
She increased her pace, and my whole body tightened before I
came. She paused while my orgasm raced through me, lips locked
tight around my length and eyes slightly wide with shock, horror, or
awe—I wasn’t sure which, but I was going to bet on awe.
Then she sat up and rocked back to sit on her heels. I watched,
waiting to see if she was going to spit it out or swallow. And waited.
“You either spit it out or sw—” I started, but she leaned over and
spit into the grass before I could finish, then wiped her mouth with
the back of her hand.
I grinned. “Or swallow.”
“Oh,” she said, then looked at the back of her hand. She raised
an eyebrow, brought her hand to her mouth again, and licked it
clean.
“I love you,” I said.
“You’d better. Since the first time I heard about blowjobs, I always
said I’d never let a guy do that in my mouth.”
“I’m honored, but you have to say it too, or I’m going to get
insecure.”
“I love you too, and you’re cute when you’re desperate.”
“Correct. And now it’s your turn to be rewarded.” She only had
time to raise her eyebrows before I pushed her down into the grass
and got to work.
15
 HAILEY

I walked into the bakery a little before five in the morning. I took a
sour look at the sign I had posted on the door a few days earlier:
Unexpected circumstances: The Bubbly Baker is going to be
closed until further notice. Don’t miss us at the Sheffield Fair, though!
I ran my hand across the countertop as I came in, letting my mind
wander over all the dreams I’d had for this place. It should have felt
like a funeral, but a spark of hope still flickered inside me. Maybe it
was just hormones from all the time I’d spent with William—it was
hard to feel much of anything except amazing after being with him,
after all. His way of brushing off the world was contagious, and the
more time I spent with him, the more I felt able to just roll with
whatever punches were thrown my way.
We had hardly spent a minute apart for three days, so the night
apart from him and the half hour I’d been awake this morning already
felt like too long away. I could even feel a little of his magic wearing
off as dread about my life and my problems crept back into my brain.
I could have a “who cares” attitude all I wanted, but the reality
was I had bills and not enough money to pay them. William had
offered to help me, and he had tried to make it less pathetic by joking
that he’d pay me ten thousand dollars every time I slept with him.
Leave it to William to think joking about paying me like a prostitute
would soften the truth enough to let me take his charity. I’d laughed,
but I knew this was a problem I needed to figure out for myself.
 I already felt way more fortunate than most, because deep down,
I knew William would never let me go homeless. No matter what
happened between us, he was a good guy, and he’d stubbornly find
some way to keep me at least from becoming destitute.
Letting him bail me out would be giving up. Even if I was able to
rebuild my business with his help, it wouldn’t be mine, not in the way
I wanted, at least. So instead of my tried and true cookie recipe that
I’d spent two years perfecting, I was going to take a page from
William’s playbook and risk something crazy. Baking had always
been about perfection to me, but maybe my baking was missing a
little bit of spontaneity. A little fun.
When I got to the back, I stood, looking at the ingredients I had
on hand. I'd already told Ryan he didn't have to come into work
anymore, but he had offered to help me prep for the contest for no
pay. I wanted to be generous and offer to pay him anyway, but I
knew every dollar I spent was adding to my debt at this point, so I
had to settle for making a promise to myself that I'd find a way to pay
him back when I could.
He showed up about two hours later, bleary-eyed and yawning.
“Morning, lovebird,” he said.
“I have an idea…”
He looked at me, noticing the chocolate I had smeared on my
face and the melted marshmallow stuck to my shirt. He frowned in
confusion. “What, like you’re going to try a rounded scoop of sugar
instead of a level one?”
“No. Not the normal kind of experimenting. I tried something
totally new.”
“Okay…” He followed me to the back. “Damn. Since when do you
make such a mess when you work?” Ryan kicked at some dough I’d
accidentally dropped on the floor and hadn’t had time to pick up.
“It’s the creative process, Ryan,” I said. I almost cringed when I
realized how much I was acting like William. The man was like a
virus, but the best kind.
“I think I get it,” he said, nodding. “We trash the place because
screw that Smith guy, right? Want me to put some holes in the wall?”
“No. I’m serious. Just a couple more seconds and…” I grabbed a
mit, pulled open the oven, and brought out two baking sheets.
“These are the s’mores cookies. Not groundbreaking exactly, but I
had the idea to do it like this, see?” I held up the cookie and broke it
in half. The top was a thick, puffy cloud of melted marshmallow.
There was a chewy crust of cookie surrounding an inner layer of
melted Hershey’s chocolate that stretched out in glorious ribbons of
gooey glory as I pulled the cookie apart.
“Looks good,” said Ryan.
“And then I tried these,” I said, showing him my other idea.
“They look… kind of normal?” he said, picking one up and biting
into it. “Is that cherry filling?”
“Yes, but wait. They’re not done.” I picked one up and rolled it in
crushed almonds, then stuck a kebab stick in it.
Ryan watched me a little warily, like he thought I might’ve lost my
mind.
I went over to the deep frier and stuck the cookie inside the oil. I
turned to grin at Ryan.
“Deep fried cookies. Paula Deen would love you. Maybe we can
melt some butter over it when it’s done.”
“Not butter,” I said.
When I pulled the cookie out, I set it down on the baking sheet,
grabbed a can of whipped cream, and topped it. For the final touch, I
dropped a chocolate-covered cherry on top.
“Tada!” I said. “Try it.”
He picked it up, then took a bite. I watched as he chewed and his
eyebrows slowly raised. “Wow. This is fucking good.”

T HE S HEFFIELD F AIR WAS HELD IN A WIDE , GRASSY FIELD IN THE N EW

York countryside. Candace, Ryan, and William had all come. The fair
itself was about what you would expect: games designed to take
your money, rides set up by people with questionable backgrounds,
experience, and motivation to keep you alive, and the smell of funnel
cake. Being only an hour from New York City meant it was always
packed with people.
William and I walked together just behind Ryan and Candace,
who were having an argument about some movie. Ryan thought it
was a masterpiece and Candace claimed she fell asleep ten minutes
in. The contest didn’t start until the evening, so once we finished
bringing all the supplies needed to bake our cookies—the contest
provided ovens, so we just brought the dough and refrigerated it on
site—we had a few hours to enjoy ourselves.
William wrapped his arm around my shoulder and held me as we
walked. I smiled up at him. “You know, you didn’t have to come.”
“No, but I wanted to. And have you ever tried to stop me from
doing something I want?”
“Once or twice.”
“How’d that go for you?”
“Not too well,” I admitted. My mind went straight to the blowjob I’d
given him by the stream, and my cheeks flushed. It was amazing
how quickly my brain could adjust from a life without sex, to one
where I was already craving it multiple times a day, if time allowed. I
thought I was probably supposed to feel dirty for enjoying it so much,
but I couldn’t find a reason to feel bad for it. Love was a word people
threw around without much thought. I’d believed I was in love with
Harry Styles from One Direction when I was in middle school, and I’d
thought I might love Ryan Gosling after seeing Drive as a young
adult, but I never thought much about it.
Being with William made me realize something: love wasn't black
and white. You didn't magically fall into a head-over-heels love that
rivaled what old married couples had. I thought I understood it now.
You could like somebody, and it might as well have been a seed
taking root in the soil. Until you see it start to grow, you’ll never know
how much potential is there. You could mistake “like” for “love” in the
early stages, only to realize the seed was growing into something
you didn’t expect.
Love though? It was a different kind of seed, and I was as sure
as I could be that I’d already felt the difference with William. The
thing between us wasn’t small. It wasn’t ordinary. It held a spark of
life that I knew was endless. I knew as much as we put in, it would
give back, and the feelings between us would grow and evolve for as
long as we lived. I thought maybe that was why some marriages
failed, because people had never felt the difference. They looked at
the little, scrawny plant “like” had grown, or maybe even the small
tree, and they figured that was it. Maybe in a few years, I’d look back
on my revelation and think I was an idiot to feel like I had figured it
out, but I would’ve bet my life that I had gotten to the bottom of it. I
loved him. I loved William Chamberson and all his stupid jokes, his
kleptomania, and his faults.
"You scheming about world domination down there?" he asked.
"Not exactly," I said.
"I can't remember the last time I thought as hard as it looked like
you were just thinking. Maybe when I was trying to figure out if the
"s" or the "c" is silent in scent. Or maybe the time I tried to figure out
how you throw out a garbage can."
I laughed. "I was just thinking about girly stuff. Don't worry about
it."
"Ah, the period? I'll mark my calendar. But I should warn you, a
real man doesn't let a little blood stop him. And you've got yourself a
real man."
I pretended to gag. "Not ‘the period'. Hey," I said, stopping to look
up at him. "If I have to live outside the city for a little while, will you
still be able to see me?"
"If you have to live at the center of the earth or on a space
station, I'll make time to see you."
"I'm being serious."
"Me too. I've always wanted to know what happens if you spit out
the window in space. I've also wondered if you just start floating
when you get to the center of the Earth."
I squinted at him. "If you open a window in space… You die.
That's what happens. And at the center of the Earth, you would…
well, you would—"
"See? You don't know." He crossed his arms like he'd won some
kind of victory. "We'll put it on the bucket list."
"Which one? Opening a window and being sucked into our icy
deaths in the vacuum of space, or floating around in the center of the
Earth, which I'm pretty sure is full of molten rock that would fry us
alive."
"Both. We'll put them at the end of the list, since you want to be
Mrs. Pessimistic."
"Hailey," said a man from behind us.
 I cringed when I recognized it. I turned to see Nathan, who
looked out of breath and a little disheveled. "I saw the note at your
bakery. About coming here. I'm so sorry you're closing."
"Nathan…"
"Oh, I have a great idea," William said. He grabbed me by the
small of my back and bent down to kiss me long and passionately.
It took my breath away. I'd never been one for the whole P.D.A.
thing, but given the circumstances, I wasn't about to complain. When
he finally pulled back, I saw Nathan, still standing there with balled
fists.
"What, are we going to fight now?" William asked. "Because I
should warn you, nobody makes me bleed my own blood."
"Predator quote," I whispered. "Nice." It was a testament to how
much I'd already changed since meeting William. I felt completely
calm. I knew William well enough to know he was actually going to
do what he could to avoid fighting Nathan. That wasn't his style. He
could probably talk a rabid bear out of trying to attack him. Part of
me was almost glad Nathan had come here, because for once in my
life, I felt ready to find the right words to end this once and for all.
"Nathan," I said. "I let you be my emotional baggage for years
now. I got hung up on the time we spent together and how it felt like
a waste or a betrayal with the way things turned out. I let it scare me
away from taking chances and trying new things. You were like an
anchor around my ankle, and I let you be. And, well, I think I'm the
same to you. You feel like I owe you something because we spent so
much time dating, or like there's some final page in the book
between us that's still unwritten."
"Not a blank page by the way," William added. "Look at the
bottom and you'll see, ‘William was here.' Also, if you look even
closer, below that you'll see, ‘William fucked the girl you're stalking.
Multiple times. And it was great. And she really liked it. And we're
going to get busy tonight, too.'"
"Not helping," I muttered to William.
"Sorry," he said from the corner of his mouth. "Just trying to give
you some backup."
I squeezed his hand. "I can do this one on my own." I looked
back to Nathan. "Admit it. This isn't about love or anything like that.
Your obsession with me is just pride. It's not worth wasting any more
of your time over."
Nathan's eyebrows were drawn together as he watched me. I
thought he was going to do what he always did and profess his love
or say I didn't understand, but he lowered his eyes and nodded.
"Maybe you're right. Shit." He ran both of his hands through his hair
and blew out a long, slow breath.
William stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder. "It's all
good. I'm sure there's a girl out there for you."
Nathan shrugged off William's hand. "You're a prick, but fuck.
Fine. I hate my new job here and I hate this city, anyway. Have a
good life, Hailey."
"You too," I said.
"Hope we don't see ya." William unwrapped a peppermint and
popped it in his mouth. "What?" he said to me.
I shook my head, grinning. "You really are a prick."
"Yeah, yeah. But admit it, you love my prick."
"Maybe just a little."
He shouldered me lightly, smirking. "You love it so much more
than a little."
"Stop it," I laughed, pushing him. I lowered my voice. "It's a very
nice… prick. And that's all you're going to get me to admit."
"I'll take it. And so will you. Up the ass, eventually."
I slapped his arm. "You're horrible."
"Then you have horrible taste, because you love me, too."
"I'm starting to question my decision making."
He laughed. "Question it all you want, but you're stuck with me."
"I don't remember signing any kind of contract."
"I'm hurt, Hailey. I got down on one knee with your panties in my
hand. We made a sacred bond."
"I almost forgot. Till laundry day do we part."
"Exactly. And guess what, I'm rich, so there's no such thing as
laundry day for me."
"I mean, technically—"
"Shh," he whispered, putting a finger to my lips and grinning.
"Just go with it."
T HE CONTEST WAS NERVE - WRACKING . F OOD N ETWORK ALWAYS CAME TO
the fair to film it. Rumor was, one of the producers sons helped
organize the fair, but once word got out a few years ago that they
were filming here, the contest became more and more competitive.
There wasn't much actual baking to be done, aside from pulling the
dough and scooping it onto trays, but my stomach was in knots all
the same.
I had a little trouble finding someone with a deep fryer I could
use, but eventually William managed to either befriend or intimidate--
he wouldn't tell me which it really was--a guy who ran a nearby
funnel cake stand. The oil wasn't the exact blend I wanted, but it
would do.
The cameras didn't come anywhere near me until the final half
hour of the contest when we'd all set our cookies out and were
waiting for the judges to try them. William was sitting in the crowd,
and he'd give me two thumbs up whenever I made eye contact with
him. He looked more nervous than me, and my heart melted for him
a little more every time I saw it.
I scanned the competition, which was made up of twenty bakers
who had passed the initial first round, where judges all tasted a bit of
our cookies informally. Now the two judges were walking
dramatically down the row of tables lined with cookies while the
cameras and lights followed them.
My heart was pounding, and I quietly cursed Ryan for saying I
should stand here by myself. He wasn't planning on staying in the
culinary world, and he thought it would look better if I was by myself.
He was probably right, but I still wished I had some backup, aside
from William's over-eager thumbs.
The judges finally reached my table and tried both my s'mores
and cherry filled cookies. They nodded appreciatively, and made a
few marks on their clipboard, but said nothing to me. I swallowed
hard once they passed, breathing out a sigh of relief. It wasn't as bad
as I'd feared, but I did wish I had some idea of whether they actually
liked the cookies.
Once the judges were done, they went to their table to go over
their notes and talk in front of the cameras. One of the cameramen
came down the line and asked everybody what they thought their
chances were. When it was my turn, I felt like I blinked too much in
front of the bright light behind the camera, but I stuttered out
something resembling a coherent response and smiled when they
moved on to the next contestant.
The judges came back out in dramatic fashion, tailed by cameras
and lights while what looked like the majority of the people attending
the fair crowded around to watch.
One of the judges, a woman with beady little eyes and a large
nose, stepped forward. She paused for dramatic effect, scanning her
eyes over all of us. "First place goes to…"

"F UCKING SCAM ," GROWLED W ILLIAM . "F IRST PLACE TO SOME BORING ASS
brownie cookie?"
"It's okay," I laughed.
Ryan was scowling. "He's right. That was bullshit."
Candace nodded. "He can't win first place if he's dead, can he?
William, you're kind of like a criminal, right? Can you murder him?"
"I steal things. Murder isn't really my jam."
"Steal his heart… straight out of his chest," Candace suggested
with a frighteningly straight face.
"Oookay. Maybe a bit far," Ryan said. "You still got a thousand
dollars. That's not bad for some cookies."
"It's a start," I agreed.
William and Ryan were carrying bags full of now-empty
tupperwares as we left the fair. Before we could make it more than a
few yards from the contest grounds, a man with glasses and a
receding hairline jogged to catch up with us. He was wearing a dress
shirt and slacks.
"Hailey, right?"
"Yes?" I said.
"I'm Chuck Patterson. I'm a producer with Food Network. I tried
your cookies and thought you definitely should've won."
"I like him," whispered William.
I shushed him without taking my eyes from Chuck. "Thank you."
"I help with casting for a show called Bake Off. There are ten
contestants and everyone is shooting for a ten-thousand-dollar grand
prize. We normally take auditions through an online competition
months in advance, but one of our contestants ended up with
measles a few days ago, and we're set to start filming next week."
"Who the fuck still gets measles?" asked William.
I tried to subtly kick at his leg to shut him up. "Are you offering me
a spot on the show?" I asked.
"I am. You get compensated for your time, too. Living
arrangements are provided. The show runs over three months, but
we're filming the whole contest in two weeks. Can you do it?"
"Is she allowed visitors?" asked William.
"Of course, she can--"
"I'll do it. Thank you!"
16
 EPILOGUE

One Month Later

I NEARLY RUINED THINGS WITH H AILEY BECAUSE I THOUGHT SHE WANTED

my money, and now I was practically pulling out my hair because
she wouldn't let me give her some of my damn cash. I thought Bruce
was stubborn, but now I knew the true meaning. Hailey had the
bakery taken from her a few weeks back, and then she lost her
apartment a week after that while she was away filming for Bake Off.
She wouldn't even let me rent her a one bedroom for a couple
months, or set her up in a hotel. Once filming was over, she still
insisted on leaving my place when we would hang out. She'd drive
two hours to crash with Grammy McCrazy an hour away at the old
folks home.
Stubborn didn't even begin to describe it.
She had won the first-place prize on the show. She took the final
round with a hybrid of her cherry-filled cookies topped with the
Bubble Balls she used to make for the bakery. Even though she was
ten grand richer, she insisted on putting the money toward starting
her own bakery outside the city, so her nights were still full of bingo
night and shuffleboard at the retirement home for the time being.
She was working full-time as a baker's assistant in someone else's
shop downtown to save as much as she could. I let her have Gremlin
for a week, then I’d take Gremlin back to my place. The puppy was a
hit at the retirement home, so I grudgingly let the shared custody
ridiculousness keep playing out.
I met Bruce and Natasha in the parking lot of the notorious
Grammy's retirement home.
"You ready?" I asked Bruce.
"How ready do I need to be for bingo night at the retirement
home?"
"Depends how ready you usually like to be before getting your
ass kicked."
Natasha stifled a laugh.
"Think we can stuff our parents in here? Maybe this Grammy
character could whip them into shape."
I gave a noncommittal grunt. I always felt a little uncomfortable
when Bruce wanted to bash on our parents. I knew they had a
different relationship, and it was even more uncomfortable because
I'd seen a more realistic glimpse of who they were after they tried to
lead me to break up with Hailey. I hadn't taken their appointments or
returned their calls since, because deep down, I think I knew I was
going to have to accept the truth about them. They'd only shown
favor to me over Bruce because they thought I'd be an easier
payday for them. I was the pushover, in their eyes.
Figuring out women had been using me for my money was a hit
to my pride in the past, but realizing I'd been voluntarily blinding
myself to my manipulative parents was going to be on an entirely
different level. Later. It wasn't urgent, and I could put it off as long as
I damn well pleased.
Inside, we found a rowdy bunch of seniors all jonesing for their
shot at the grand prize of bingo night. The winner got to pick what
was on TV on the big screen out in the living area with the best
couch all weekend. Since I'd had to make more appearances here
than I liked to admit, I knew all too well how vicious these men and
women got over being TV captain for the weekend. If me or Hailey
won, we got to pick the winner, which basically meant Grammy had
three horses in the race—an issue none of the other seniors had the
balls to raise with her.
Grammy was sitting with Hailey near the back, and she waved us
over when she saw us.
Bruce and Natasha followed a little hesitantly. The group of us
was drawing stares, but Bruce and I always drew stares in public.
Put us together with Hailey and Natasha, and you'd need sunglasses
to look at us directly, or maybe one of those little cardboard boxes
with the holes in it that you have to use to look at the eclipse without
burning your retinas.
I stole a quick kiss from Hailey as we sat down and then
squeezed her ass. The woman behind us gasped, so I turned and
gave her a wink. She looked shocked for a moment, and then she
reeled her head back, summoned up the spirit of her younger self,
and waggled her eyebrows at me.
I turned quickly around, sat, and stared straight ahead like a
shell-shocked soldier. If anyone tried to tell me that the human sex
drive diminished with age, I'd tell them to spend a few days a week
hanging out in a retirement home. "You know," I said, leaning into
Hailey's ear and whispering. "If it weren't for menopause, I'm pretty
sure these places would be a hotbed for accidental pregnancies and
steamy love triangles. Yeah, I said it. Old people having sex. Deal
with it."
She gave me a disgusted look. "Sometimes I wonder what goes
on in your head."
"What's there to wonder? It's exactly what comes out of my
mouth."
She shook her head, smiling. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Who is this handsome young man?" Grammy was looking up at
Bruce. She had her shock-white hair in a puffy little q-tip style today.
Her eyes were bright and blue as ever, and she still looked like if you
gave her a cross look, she'd uppercut you in the jaw without a
second thought. The woman was terrifying, but kind of cute, in an old
lady sort of way.
"I'm Bruce Chamberson. This is my wife, Natasha."
Grammy took them both in with hard eyes, then nodded and
smiled. "I like you better than your brother, Bruce. He's a real
dickhole."
"What the fuck?" I asked.
"You stole my slippers. I know it was you!" She said, jabbing her
finger at me.
I held up my palms. "Woah, woah, there. Just because I've stolen
a few things in my past, it doesn't mean you get to go around
blaming me when dementia starts to set in."
"That's it," she said, popping up to her feet. "Today is the day I
cut a bitch."
I burst out laughing. "Have you been watching Cops or
something?"
"Would you two get along for once?" Hailey asked in a bored
voice.
"If you tell the old coot to stop profiling me every damn day,
maybe," I said sourly.
"If your delinquent boyfriend steals from me one more time, I'm
going to choke him out with all that money of his."
"You don't have the upper body strength!"
"Seriously?" Bruce was standing beside me, looking down at the
two of us like we were absolutely insane.
Hailey cleared her throat while Grammy shot me a fierce glare.
"The two of them don't get along too great. But if you get a little
alcohol in the two of them, they turn into old drinking buddies."
"Bold-faced lie," Grammy grumbled.
"How did you get them to let you stay here?" Natasha asked as
she and Bruce sat down to my right. The seating was a jumbled
mixture of fold-up lawn chairs, recliners, and flimsy plastic chairs.
"I think they were too scared to tell Grammy no," Hailey said. "I'm
sure if I stay too long they'll eventually give me a hard time about it,
but for now, it's working. I sleep on the couch in her room."
"And she snores like a whale," Grammy added.
Hailey's cheeks turned red. "I've just been dealing with some
sinus blockage these past few days, actually."
"Hah. Putting that criminal's johnson in your mouth doesn't count
as sinus blockage, sweetie."
Natasha was mid-sip with her cup of water and half choked. She
gurgled up some of the water, rocked back in her chair, and started
tipping backward. Bruce calmly stuck his hand out, caught the chair,
and set her upright like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I roared with laughter, reaching to high five Grammy. She was a
crazy, but she could be funny when she was on a roll, I'd give her
that.
A young woman got up on stage and saved Hailey the
embarrassingly long silence that was bound to follow a burn like that.
She started the game of bingo for the night as some other
employees of the nursing home handed out the game boards.
"Excuse me," I said to Hailey, and I got up to push my way to the
front of the stage.
The young woman gave me a confused tilt of her head.
"Just gonna need to—yep, just let me—give me the fucking
thing!" I growled as she finally let me wrestle the mic from her hand.
The last of my sentence boomed into the microphone and silenced
the crowd. "I'll give it back, calm down. I just had a message for my
lady."
Hailey was already burying her face in her hands, but she spread
her fingers just enough to peek out at me.
"We first met when I bought your cherry and deflowered you. We
almost broke apart when you threw a cherry pie so hard at my head
it nearly killed me. And now I want to end this the way it started. With
a cherry." I pulled a cherry from my pocket and lobbed it toward her.
When I rehearsed this in my head, the Hailey I imagined had some
semblance of athleticism and hand-eye coordination. Real-life Hailey
apparently had neither.
The cherry bonked straight into her forehead and fell to the floor.
Her head whipped back in surprise and she clapped her hands to
her forehead.
"Oh. Shit," I muttered into the mic before dropping it and jogging
down to where she sat.
The crowd was muttering as I got to her and found the cherry on
the floor. I grabbed the recliner of an old man who was asleep in
front of her and shoved it forward so I had room to kneel in front of
her. I held the cherry up to her on one knee. "Will you eat my
cherry?"
"What?" she asked.
 "Bite it," I said.
She looked worried, like she thought maybe I'd lost my mind. "It
was on the floor!"
"Just a nibble, but do it slowly so you don't break your teeth."
She took the cherry from me and slowly sank her teeth into it,
stopping when she felt it. She pulled it back, dug her fingers around
a little, and then extracted the engagement ring I had buried in the
cherry—with a little bit of edible glue and a knife, it had made for a
cleaner job than I expected.
She chewed her lip. "I'd love to."
"Eat my cherry," I prompted. "Sorry, I just kind of imagined how
this was going to go. That's what you're supposed to say."
"I'd love to eat your cherry."
"Hell yeah!" I took the ring and slid it on her finger, then gave her
a kiss.
"That was the dumbest thing I've ever seen," Bruce said.
"Oh stop," Natasha said. "It was sweet."
"At least he has money." Grammy had somehow managed to get
her hands on the mangled cherry and was eating it.
"Grammy!" Hailey looked outraged, but her smile kind of killed
the effect.
She shrugged. "It's true. I'd marry Quasimoto if he was loaded
enough."
"I'm not saying yes because he's wealthy."
"Shit," I said. "So it's a no?"
She laughed. "It's a yes."
"Oh, good, because I paid Earl to record this on my phone, and I
don't want a record of my ass getting rejected. Earl! Did you get all
that?"
"Huh?" Earl looked like he had just been startled awake from a
good nap.
"Useless," I muttered.
"Enough with the bullshit!" Grammy groaned. "Miami Vice is
coming on this Friday, and if I have to watch Family Feud one more
goddamn time, I'm going to murder somebody."
"You're on your own tonight, Grammy," I said. "I've never had sex
with a fiancé before."
 Bruce made a disgusted noise. "What about us?"
"Here." I fished something out of my pocket and handed it to him.
It was a nice, big banana. "See? I was thinking about you."
I picked Hailey up from her chair before she had time to get up on
her own.
"I can walk, you know," she giggled.
"Yeah, but now I can say I stole you, and I get to use the corny
pun I planned on the way over."
She visibly braced herself.
"You're the best cherry I ever stole."

I STOOD IN THE MIDDLE OF MY TROPHY ROOM AND ADMIRED THE

centerpiece of my collection: the preserved banana I'd stolen from
Bruce. I still hadn't told Hailey about my little collection, and maybe I
never would. Every man had to have his secrets, after all. My Hailey
collection now consisted of some wilted flowers, the pie pan that had
a dent roughly in the shape of my head, a few pairs of panties, and
some hairpins. I'd also started a Grammy collection right next to it,
which held two pairs of slippers, hair rollers, a pair of toenail clippers,
and an Ace I'd stolen right out of her hand during a game of poker.
Today was my birthday, and Hailey had been flaking out on plans
all day, so I decided to come by the office and drop off the pair of
toenail clippers I'd stolen from Grammy last night--she accused me
of being a cheat, so she had it coming.
I opened the secret door back to my office and froze.
Hailey, Candace, Bruce, Natasha, and Ryan were all standing in
my office holding presents. Ballons were set up along with streamers
and confetti.
"Surprise!" shouted Natasha. Her face fell as she looked around
the big balloon that had been blocking her vision. "What the…"
"This isn't what it looks like," I said.
They all stared past me with slightly glazed-over looks on their
faces. One by one, they slowly walked in.
Bruce stopped in front of the banana, eyebrows drawn. "I knew
it…" he said.
 "Seriously?" asked Natasha. "You have a freaking trophy room
for all this stuff?"
"How?" asked Bruce. "That's what I want to know. How did you
get this under my nose? We were here every week during
construction."
"I always made sure you got the wrong map when we toured the
construction site. I had this marked as a joint office with a secretary
sweet. Surprised you never noticed the swap."
He shook his head.
"Is this somebody's wig?" asked Ryan, who was tentatively
prodding a hair-piece pinned to the wall.
"Damn right it is."
"Wow. Cool," he said.
"Hey, why don't I have a section in here?" asked Natasha, who
sounded a little offended.
"Bruce is a little protective, so I've always considered you a no-
steal zone. Sorry."
She considered that. "Fair enough. I'll take it."
"Your own brother isn't a no-steal zone?" asked Bruce. "Are those
my fucking socks?"
"So," I said quickly, moving to Hailey's side. "What do you think?"
She was staring wide-eyed at her little section of my collection. "I
think I am marrying a psychopath. But I kind of like it?"
I squeezed her ass. "I knew I liked you." I hoisted her up by the
waist and set her on a ledge in front of her collection. "Ladies and
gentleman," I said, drawing everyone's attention. "The crown jewel of
my collection."
Hailey rolled her eyes, but bit her lip. "You're corny."
"And you're marrying me." I moved between her legs and tilted
my head up for a kiss.
"For now," she said, kissing me.
"Tell me you don't love me, tough guy."
She grinned.
"See? Can't do it. You love me so hard."
"Stop," she laughed. "Everybody is watching."
"Good. Everybody, watch my fiance process her undying love for
me."
 They all looked on with mild amusement.
"I love William, even though he clearly has problems."
"Come on. Say it the nice way."
"I love you," she said softly. She leaned her forehead down to
touch mine.
"I love you too. Now I just need to figure out how to stick you up
here. I think nails would hurt too bad. Maybe handcuffs?"
 PLEASE DON’T FORGET TO LEAVE A REVIEW!

Thank you so much for reading! Whether you loved the book or not,
it would mean the world to me if you left an honest review on
Amazon. I read every single review and take them all to heart, even
on older books, so it’s not just a great way to give me your feedback
and help me improve, it’s also one of the best ways to support me
and help me find new readers.
If Her Cherry and/or His Banana are the first books you’ve read
by me, most of my other work generally has less humor. I still slide
moments in here and there, but these books have been a much-
needed mental break for me where I can write about something
that’s not as heavy while I get over some of the frustrating things I’ve
been dealing with in the real world.
Hope you loved it!
xx
Penelope
 WANT BRUCE AND NATASHA’S STORY?

If you found this book before Bruce’s story, no worries! I tried my

best to write them to be read in any order. You can find it here:

My new boss likes rules, but there's one nobody dares to

break...
No touching his banana.
Seriously. The guy is like a potassium addict.
Of course, I touched it.
If you want to get technical, I actually put it in my mouth.
 I chewed it up, too... I even swallowed.
I know. Bad, bad, girl.
Then I saw him, and believe it or not, choking on a guy's
banana does not make the best first impression.

I should backtrack a little here. Before I ever touched a billionaire’s

banana, I got my first real assignment as a business reporter. This
wasn’t the same old bottom-of-the-barrel assignment I always got. I
wasn’t going to interview a garbage man about his favorite routes or
write a piece on how picking up dog poop from people’s yards is the
next big thing.

Nope. None of the above, thank you very much.

This was my big break. My chance to prove I wasn’t a bumbling,

clumsy, accident-prone walking disaster. I was infiltrating Galleon
Enterprises to follow up on suspicions of corruption.

Cue the James Bond music.

I could do this. All I had to do was land the position as an intern and
nail my interview with Bruce Chamberson.

Forget the fact that he looked like somebody carved him out of liquid
female desire, then sprinkled on some "makes men question their
sexuality" for good measure. I needed to make this work. No
accidents. No disasters. No clumsiness. All I needed to do was hold
it together for less than an hour.

Fast forward to the conference room before the interview, and that's
where you would find me with a banana in my hand. A banana that
literally had his name on it in big, black sharpie. It was a few seconds
later when he walked in and caught me yellow-handed. A few
seconds after that was when he hired me.
Yeah. I know. It didn't seem like a good sign to me, either.

Get His Banana (Click Here!)

Don’t know where to start? I hope this helps! You can also check the
next page for a more detailed guide on which of my books might be
best for you. Otherwise, click this image to go straight to my catalog
on Amazon and start browsing.

Continue for a more detailed reading Guide ——>

I have written more or less in three distinct styles since I started two
years ago. This is a more detailed breakdown of how to find which of
my books might suit your interest the most:

Laugh out loud funny:

His Banana: It’s not so funny that it leaves sexy and steamy by
the wayside, but there are several moments that should have you
laughing out loud.
Her Cherry (coming this August): Maybe even a little funnier
than His Banana, at least as far as I can tell. I’m in the middle of
writing this one right now, but I’m so excited to see what everyone
thinks. I think it’s going to be such a fun book!

Lighter Humor:
I won’t go into every book here, because no one would read all
that, but these books don’t focus as much on silly situations. There’s
more emphasis on the drama of the relationship and all the usual
things you’ve come to know and love in a romance. However, I
generally think it’s safe to say that you’ll find comic relief in a few
situations, as well as with many of the side characters in these
books.
Single Dad Next Door: Mechanic gets a new neighbor, and it
just so happens he needs a wife if he wants to keep his
grandfather’s shop. The only problem is he hates his new neighbor.
This is the book I’d recommend starting with to get a taste for my
lighter romantic comedies. It has one of my all-time favorite scenes
that I still smile to think about. It was also the first romantic comedy I
wrote, and if you’re like me, it’s fun to read through an author’s
catalog chronologically so you can watch them grow.

Mafia:
I’ve done two styles of Mafia books in my career. The first series
(the Citrione Crime Family) is violent, punchy, sexy, and pretty in-
your-face. The men are alpha and there’s kidnapping, gunfights, and
all kinds of drama. If you enjoy a side of action with your romance,
my debut novel, “His” is the best place to start.
If you like the mafia to be more in the background than the
foreground of the story, and you don’t enjoy all the violence and
physical action, “Baby for the Beast” and “Baby for the Brute” are the
two books for you. These spend more time focusing on the
development of the relationship, but the mafia aspect still weaves
itself into the story, just not in a violent sense.

BDSM:
Just like mafia, I’ve done a couple styles of BDSM books. One
universal in my BDSM books was my goal of writing BDSM for
people (like me) who are kind of put off by all the extreme elements
of the kink. Everything is consensual, the Dom’s are responsible
(with the exception of forgetting a condom here and there for story
purposes *wink*) and all the tools and toys used are light and cause
no serious harm.
My most popular book across all categories by far was Knocked
Up by the Dom. It’s the book that ended up on the USA Today
Bestseller list. If you like all the background plot to be out of the way
and you want a spotlight shining right on the relationship, this is the
book for you. It also comes out of the gate very very steamy and
doesn’t let up. The three “Knocked Up” books are probably the most
smutty books in my catalog.

My BDSM books outside the Knocked Up series have a much lighter

tone. The Dom’s Virgin is a good place to start if you like romantic
comedy and BDSM. If you feel like reading something completely
different than anything you’ve likely read in romance, you can also
check out Punished by the Prince (kind of a
fantasy/BDSM/royalty/romance mashup with action and world-
building).
Enemies to Lovers:
This is a category that, like the laugh out loud books, I plan to
add more to this year. If you don’t want the dislike between the hero
and heroine to be mostly superficial, give these books a try. They
tend to be longer than my usual books and you may have to give the
hero a chance before you warm up to them, but if I do my job, you’ll
end up loving them in the end!
Savage: Currently, this is my only published enemies to lovers
book, but I’m confident it’s one you’ll enjoy. I also wrote a book called
Hate at First Sight, but it won’t be live on Amazon until around
September or October. Keep an eye out for it though, I think it’s a
truly powerful book and maybe the best I’ve ever written. I can’t wait
to share it with everyone!
 ALSO BY PENELOPE BLOOM

My Most Recent Books

His Banana (top 8 Best Seller and 3 weeks on the Amazon
most sold list!)
Baby for the Beast (#60 Best Seller)
Baby for the Brute (We don’t have to talk about rank on
this one, do we?)
Savage (#20 Best Seller)
The Dom’s Bride (#40 Best Seller)

(Babies for the Doms)

Knocked Up and Punished (top 21 Best Seller)
Knocked Up by the Master (top 12 Best Seller)
Knocked Up by the Dom (USA Today Bestselling Novel and #8
ranked Bestseller)

(The Citrione Crime Family)

His (Book 1)
Mine (Book 2)
Dark (Book 3)
Punished (top 40 Best Seller)
Single Dad Next Door (top 12 Best Seller)
The Dom’s Virgin (top 22 Best Seller)
Punished by the Prince (top 28 Best Seller)
Single Dad’s Virgin (top 10 Best Seller)
Single Dad’s Hostage (top 40 Best Seller)
The Bodyguard
Miss Matchmaker
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