The Vampire's Pastry Chef (ONC 2022)

6 - Second Rule: Don't Dance With Your Boss

"I know," the butler conceded, "but we were looking to have you be present during the event to help serve."

Serve? She didn't serve. "Oh? Sure, sure," Autumn replied automatically. "But I didn't bring anything respectable." Think of the storefront, she told herself while inwardly cringing. Her people skills were okay, but she wasn't used to chatting with strangers for long periods of time. Especially rich strangers.

"Not to worry, we'll have a few selections brought over." He paused. "We do appreciate your adaptability, Ms Milford."

She had to chuckle at that. "I've been adapting to life for a long time, Mr Feldman." Getting pregnant and thrown out of her house at seventeen, moving in with her maternal grandparents, losing both of them within a year. It was adapt or fall—and Autumn wasn't going to fall.

"Indeed. So, are you busy right now? Shall we go up to the house?"

Autumn shrugged. "Why not. Jordyn! I'm going up to the main house with Mr Feldman!"

"Yeah, whatever!" the kid called back.

Autumn turned back to the butler. "She's just upset because she found out I tricked her into eating a cake pop with blood in it."

"It's an acquired taste," Mr Feldman allowed. "Shall we?"

"After you."

They trekked up to the house, which already had signs of preparation for the event. Several white vans were parked out in the courtyard; the front doors were open with workers passing in and out, carrying everything from rolls of carpet to tables to lighting fixtures.

Most of the furniture had been removed from the foyer, replaced by slim couches in brown leather and elegant, high-backed chairs that were pushed up against the walls leaving the floor bare. At the back of the room was a set of open double doors.

The area beyond the doors was obviously being set up as a ballroom. Autumn noticed a pair of workers in overalls at the far end laying down long, cream-colored boards for a dance floor. Dozens of tables rested against the walls, folded and stacked. Near the dance floor, an "X" was laid out in red tape.

"Looks good," she told the butler.

He nodded. "The kitchen is through here," Mr Feldman explained, indicating a door near the "X". "We'll keep all your extra trays right inside."

"Do you have tiered trays?" Autumn asked, staring at the length of the "X". If this was any indication of how long the table was going to be, it might not be enough. "Because I think I might have planned for too much."

"I'll check, but I believe we will have enough for everything."

" ... looks fine."

Autumn turned and saw Mr Westbrook enter with the same woman who'd escorted her to his office and a slim, dark-haired man around her age. Mr Westbrook wore dark blue slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Her heart gave an involuntary thump and she coughed into her fist to cover the faux pas.

Somehow, over the din of construction, Mr Westbrook heard her. He turned and smiled, an expression that caused butterflies to take flight in her belly as if she were a naïve teenager and not the single mother of one.

The dark-haired man suddenly pivoted and spotted Autumn. "Her—her," he cried, jabbing a finger in Autumn's direction.

"Me?" she asked, pointing at herself. What the hell is he talking about?

"Yes, you!" the man called out, marching quickly over to Autumn. "Sir. I can evaluate your skill with this young lady here."

"Evaluate his what?" Autumn exclaimed, drawing back.