Sugar Sweet Sin

Cakes and Confessions

Jack catches my arm as I'm rising out of my chair.

"Stop. Breathe," he orders. "I haven't asked Evan anything yet."

"Oh." I sink back down in my seat. Jack's been thinking about popping the question to his partner for a while now, and ever since he's told me, I've spent my free time dreaming up designs for their cake. Wedding cakes are my favorite—I live for sugar paste roses, for royal icing, for cornelli lace—and the thought of making one for my best friend is even more appealing.

But apparently I've gotten ahead of myself. Or maybe all of those naked man-chest cakes have made me crazy.

"You still get to make a cake, though," Jack says. "And if you play your cards right, you might get to make a bigger, more important cake very soon."

I lean forward, intrigued. "Okay, spill it."

"You actually have my predecessor to thank for this."

I frown. "Who?"

"Cory Westers. You know—Brockman's former assistant?"

Jack recently wrangled his way into the coveted position of personal assistant to Matthias Brockman, one of the higher-ups at Fairlake Films. For someone like Jack, who's spent his entire life dreaming of working in Hollywood, it's the opportunity of a lifetime. A few years ago, it would have been exactly the sort of job I thought I wanted, too—but a lot has changed since then.

"I don't understand," I say. "Where does the cake come in?"

"Well, Cory dropped the ball on a lot of shit there at the end, including some details for several upcoming events. I spent most of the day dealing with the mess." He grins at me. "But that's not the important part. The important part is that I convinced Brockman we should do something extra special for the party on Thursday. And that includes getting an awesome themed cake for the occasion."

"A cake?"

"For three hundred people. The more elaborate, the better."

I shove more fries into my mouth as I let that sink in. "This Thursday?"

"Now, I know it's not a lot of notice," Jack says, "but I think—"

"Are you kidding? You're fucking amazing!" I leap up and practically throw myself at him. Who cares if I only have three days? Who needs sleep when I have an opportunity like this? If I can make a name for my bakery among the bigwigs in Hollywood... "What kind of party is it?"

"Only the after-party for the biggest premiere of the year."

My blood goes cold and I abruptly release him. "Wait—what?"

"And I haven't even told you the best part," Jack continues, apparently too excited to notice my reaction. "Remember how I said this might snag you an even bigger cake? Well, it just so happens that the two stars of this movie recently announced their engagement. So if your cake this Thursday is a hit, then maybe—"

"Wait, which movie is it?" I demand, unable to process anything else. Please, don't let it be what I think it is.

Jack's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "God, Ash. What—"

"Which movie?"

I know he can't possibly understand why I'm suddenly so upset, but before this conversation goes any further, I need to know. I have to be certain there's absolutely no chance of seeing him. The man I've spent the last three years trying to forget.

Three long, sexless years.

Jack is looking at me like I've suddenly gone crazy. And maybe I have. But I have a very bad feeling in my gut.