SEVEN
Reilly
Rejected. Again.
The hits keep on coming. Another business loan rejection email. I might make a collage out of them and put them on a vision board of ways that Reilly fails. And right in the middle will be the credit card bill I slowly chip away at each month.
Safe to say my ex was one of the biggest financial setbacks of my life.
I spent too much money trying to keep up with him and his friends.
The pressure I felt to wear the right clothes and be seen the right way.
Tim made it seem like he was helping me out and often reminded me how lucky I was to be out at the places I was at.
Yet I was always picking up my portion of the bill more than I could afford to.
I know, I know. I am an independent woman and I don’t need a man to pay my way.
But surely the disparity in our incomes meant it should have been his treat more often than not.
Especially when it was his idea. My credit card took a big hit, probably a bigger hit than my heart did in the end.
This is what happens when you get yourself too big for your boots. It was careless of me, but that feeling of inadequacy crept in and took root. I won’t allow it to happen again.
I’ve always made an hourly minimum wage, which is embarrassing enough for a thirty-four-year-old woman.
But needs must, and if I want to do what I love, I must sacrifice my pride.
It wasn’t a problem before, before I let someone judge me and I let myself take that to heart.
It set me back; I’m now stuck paying off debt and further away from my dreams.
Some days, that dream feels too out of reach, even though I try so hard to stay positive.
Today is one of those days. My car is flashing at me, Chip had his latest vaccinations, and Mum needs to be working less. She’s offered to help out when I start up Reilly’s Bakes, but I want to look after her. She should be heading towards retirement, not helping me start a new business.
It’s four p.m., and it’s been a hell of a day, despite all the appliances working and my cakes coming out perfectly.
Customers have been pushing me and I’ve struggled to hold on to the smile.
The doors are now closed and I’m slogging through the last of the cleaning up before closing up and going home.
As I’m hanging up my apron, the phone decides to start ringing. I’m tempted to ignore it, I’ve had my fill of demanding customers. Unfortunately, the customer service skills drilled into me from countless hospitality jobs won’t allow me to.
I answer with my best upbeat I swear I’ve not had it up to here voice. “Sunshine Cakes, how can I help?” I sound sickly sweet, my jaw aching from my fake smile plastered on all day.
“Reilly?”
A beat of silence. I know that voice. Silky smooth, deep and masculine. That voice spent a night commanding me, charming me, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from my body.
“Reilly? Are you there? It’s Elton.” The confirmation makes my stomach drop.
“I know who it is.” I give my best void-of-emotion voice, despite my heart beating right out of my chest.
“I hope you don’t mind me calling the bakery. I didn’t have your number,” he starts, softly, as if approaching a wounded animal. Which would be a close description to how I feel.
“For good reason. What do you want, Elton?” I snap back. My heckles are raised, protection mode activated.
He sighs, not out of frustration or anger. It is something else.
“Those cupcakes I bought last week. They were for my niece. She loves them and used to bake with her mum all the time but …” He pauses as he considers his next words. “Well, for reasons I’m not going to get into, she doesn’t anymore. And she wants to. So maybe, you could teach her?”
I pull the phone from my ear and stare at it, looking for answers I’m obviously not going to find there. My brain must be short-circuiting, because I can’t quite work out what he is saying to me.
“I would like to hire you to give my niece baking lessons,” he explains slower. Less words this time, easier to grasp.
“Your niece?” I ask, coming out of my shock but still not entirely sure of what is happening.
“Yes, my niece. Not my daughter. I don’t have kids. Or a wife.” He tacks on the last sentence quickly.
“No wife?” Heat creeps up my neck, my face burning. The pit in my stomach opens as I fall further in on myself.
“No, Reilly. I’m single. I wouldn’t have spent the night with you if I hadn’t been.” His tone is soft and gentle, almost understanding. I close my eyes, willing a few moments to process my thoughts. I called him a wanker. After running out on him. Judgemental much?
“I … I … I don’t. I’m … Oh god, Elton, I’m so sorry. I assumed. The phone call, and I …” I was at a loss for words. It wasn’t like me to judge so harshly. Though I guess it was like me to make a decision and run with it.
“It’s okay, Reilly. I would have preferred it if you’d asked.
I could have explained, and we could have spent the next morning together.
” His voice is soft, almost sad. Clearing his throat, he continues, “We should move on. Neive loved your cupcakes, and she is desperate for baking lessons. I just want to make her happy.” This man …
a man who not only buys cupcakes for his niece, but then bites his pride and calls the woman who ran out on him.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach, as I admire his maturity.
Then shame washes over me at my lack of any.
“Elton, that’s not a good idea. I am truly sorry. But this would be too awkward.” Running away again, but my self-worth doesn’t have enough space left to face him.
“I’ll pay you,” he rushes to say. “Whatever you want to charge. You’re working on opening your own place.
This can help you, Reilly.” I stare at the rejection email still open on my phone.
“Plus, you kind of owe me.” There’s a smile in his voice.
He doesn’t sound mad at me. Thank god. My own anger at myself is hard enough to bear.
I do owe him, and I could use the money.
I look around at the sad lonely bakery I slave away in. This could be the push I need to get my arse in gear.
“It would need to be in the evenings, after work. And I can’t cart my baking appliances around, so you’ll need to supply them.
” And I should stop being so demanding! “Erm, if that’s okay?
Probably best to get Neive kitted out anyway if she wants to take baking seriously.
” Am I trying to talk him out of it? Stop talking, Reilly, cart your baking stuff over there.
Let his niece muck around and not give two shits.
Just anything to see him again. Wait, what?
No, this is about the money. I need it to pay off my debts and follow my dreams. “I guess we should probably discuss pay?” Eurgh I feel sick even saying it.
This is a man I have slept with, and now what am I doing.
Jumping straight back into the frying pan.
“What do you normally charge?” Direct and to the point. This is business Elton.
I need a business Reilly persona, this is just business.
Yes he’s hot. Yes, he’s the best sex I’ve ever had.
Those things mean nothing if I run at the first sign of trouble.
I’ve got too much to work through right now without trying to manage a relationship with such an imbalance of power. Plus he probably hates me now anyway.
I’m so flustered by this situation, I’m still trying to calculate a decent rate. One that makes it worth my while but not so much that I’m taking advantage.
“What would be helpful for you, Reilly?” he asks, his tone softened.
“Ha, 10,000 would do it.” That’s right, Reilly, crack a joke. This is why no bank will loan me money.
“Deal.” He sounds serious and not at all surprised at my request. Wait, am I being punked?
“Elton, I’m joking. You’re not paying me ￡10,000 to give your niece a couple of baking lessons.”
He is either joking, insane, or has way too much money. Probably all three considering we are even having this conversation. I’m definitely pushing myself into insane territory.
“Okay, so let’s say ten sessions at ￡1,000 a session. You need the money. I have the money. Don’t argue with me on this, Reilly.”
“That’s madness. You can pay me ￡50 a lesson and provide all the equipment and ingredients,” I say, convinced it’s a fair price, although I probably should have googled the going rate.
“We can discuss this further next week. Does Tuesday night work for you? Neive has a tutor after school, which she hates, so ideally I’d like to keep her spirits up.
She needs this right now,” he says with a sadness in his voice I can’t place.
He keeps saying things to melt me. Calm down, Reilly, they all start out this way.
Sweet talk and attentive; give it time and he’ll be hating my dungarees and demanding more and more of my time.
“I’ll send a car for you at five?”
“I can drive. Send me your address.” I rattle off my number with a shaky breath. This isn’t a smart move, but my cake orders have been few and far between recently.
“Thanks so much, Reilly. Neive is going to be so excited. This might make me uncle of the year.” He chuckles. Aw, swoon.
No! No swoon. Green flags are so easily dyed red far too quickly.
Elton
I disconnect the call and turn around. Neive is practically standing on my toes.
“What did she say? Will she do it?” The excitement is making her eyes sparkle.
Her long jet-black hair sways as she bounces from toe to toe.
I will do anything for this girl. Even contact the first woman who has knocked me for six in a long time.
I didn’t hate the idea of contacting Reilly again.
I had thought about trying to prove my innocence to her and ask her out, but I kept replaying the look of distrust in her eyes. She was disgusted with me.
It’s been a long time since someone looked at me with such contempt, bringing back nasty feelings.
It wasn’t easy being the poor kid; I was often dirty, and it was obvious I went without.
Kids would make fun of me, and adults would keep a wide berth in case I tried to steal their bag.
I’d stolen once, just a bag of pasta. MJ was hungry, and our parents hadn’t been home in three days.
I felt bad about it, but no one else was going to feed us.
I nearly got caught but managed to run out of there.
I disappeared down the street, running away from the abuse.
We were known as the scummy kids in town. It still hurts.
I’ve grown past that part of my life. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone anymore. People do what I ask without question and no one doubts my character. Except, Reilly did. She overheard one side of a phone call and decided I was unworthy.
It pained me to even dial the number, but what Neive wants Neive gets, and she wants to learn to bake. The only acceptable teacher is the baker who apparently makes the best cupcakes she has ever tasted in her life. They were “the shit” according to Neive, and who could argue with that logic?
“You can have your baking lessons,” I inform her. Neive squeals at the news, and my heart beams. I love making her happy, she has been through so much and I would move the earth for her. My circle may be small but it is built for protection and Neive is right in the centre of it.
“Okay, this is good. Have we got everything she’ll need? What’s her name again? When is she coming? How many lessons can I have?” I cut her off from her excessive rambling, putting my hands on her shoulders. Even with every year she grows bigger, she’s still just a child who needs me.
“Neive, take a breath. I’ll sort all of it out.
Reilly will be here on Tuesday. And I’ve asked her to give you ten lessons.
” Neive jumps at me and squeezes her petit arms around me.
She thanks me and runs off, telling me she’s got to set up a new Insta to post all her baking wins.
I don’t love the idea of Neive posting so much online content, but it’s what they do these days and I don’t know how to manage it.
This new role is all a bit out of my comfort zone.
The front door intercom beeps as the main gate is opened.
Only a few people can access it without permission and everyone else is accounted for so I wait for Charles to let himself in.
He has to jump out of the way as Neive scurries past him.
“What’s got Squirt all excited?” Neive hates it when he calls her Squirt, so naturally, it stuck.
“I’m paying Reilly to give her baking lessons.” Her name slips out and I dart my eyes away, hoping he doesn’t recognise it. No such luck.
“Reilly? The Reilly from the bar who accused you of being married by storming out and calling you a wanker?” Why does he have to say it with such glee?
“Yes, that Reilly. And stop smiling at me like that.” He’s been telling me all week to go see her and explain.
“This is a business transaction, nothing more. She’s going to give Neive baking lessons, and then she’ll go on her way, and I’ll go mine.”
He’s laughing as he helps himself to a beer in the fridge and passes one to me. “Of course, mate. I one hundred per cent believe that you believe that’s how this is going to go down.”
I can’t lie. I like the idea of seeing Reilly again. Having her in my home, near me again. Will the spark still be there, or will it have been dulled by the accusations and mistrust.
I’ve replayed the night over and over, not just the horrible ending but every exhilarating moment before then.
The thought of her naked in my bed or on her knees in the shower sends blood to all the wrong places.
I need to keep my head on. I’ve made a promise to Neive: this is for her, not for me.
No matter how much I want it. And I want it.