Chapter 22 Under False Pretences
Twenty-Two. Under false pretences
Tamara
Today is a big day, for so many reasons.
One, I’m finally going to meet Julia Christopher and weasel my way into designing her new bakery.
When I came up with this harebrained scheme, I didn’t think it would actually work.
After my walkthrough at the outhouse with Joshi, I returned to the office prepared to receive more bad news.
But Pallavi was practically giddy—a spot opened up in Frosting’s very busy schedule for a cake tasting and it was mine if I wanted it.
My assistant, being the intelligent person she is, didn’t ask before she confirmed.
I promised to buy her lunch for the rest of the year for making it happen.
Two, the reason my heart is racing fast enough that I might have a panic attack. Patrick Joseph.
After almost two weeks of silence and avoiding each other, last night was definitely a big shock for both of us.
It was in the way his eyes widened as I came charging out and the surprise written on his face when I rambled about my plan.
Well, the gist of my plan. There’s no guarantee it’s going to work.
But I digress. After he agreed to go with me today, I barely got any sleep.
I relived those few minutes at the front door over and over again, waking up with my body humming for more.
Patrick’s beauty and physical prowess has never been a surprise to me.
Clothed or not, the man is built like a tree and looks really good too.
With the way his basketball shorts hung low on his hips, putting every inch of him on display, it was pretty impossible to get the words out.
Beads of sweat clung to his warm brown skin, sliding over each muscle and sinew, guiding my eyes in all the right directions.
He’s been shirtless in the flat before, but last night?
I got a better look at the tattoos on his torso—flowers on his left shoulder and bicep, monstera leaves on the other side, words on his clavicle, musical notes and cassettes and so much more.
I’ll need another day to really catalogue every inch of his inked skin.
As well as the two small medallions attached to the thin silver chain around his neck.
If I hadn’t shut down his continued attempts to flirt and ask me out, we’d already be familiar with each other’s bodies.
I’d know every piece of art gracing his skin and if he’s still ticklish along his thigh.
While I’m sorry for depriving us of all these explorations, I’m very aware of why I made the decision.
Self-preservation has never been my strong suit.
I drop everything when certain clients call, I push myself to the point of almost breaking apart.
In my personal life, I did that for Kabir all the time.
He would say jump and I wouldn’t even ask ‘how high?’, I would leap until he told me to stop.
This was the one time I had some control over the situation.
Where I held all the cards and I wasn’t going to sacrifice my happiness to make someone else comfortable.
Except, I haven’t been happy or comfortable.
I miss Patrick. I miss our banter and silly conversation.
I miss his flirting, his long list of nicknames and terms of endearments.
I even miss the smell of him clinging to my skin.
My clothes horse doesn’t have a single one of his T-shirts, except for the one I was wearing last night, and the scent of his coffee doesn’t linger in the flat anymore.
I finally told Dr. Sunita about my behaviour and while she didn’t give me hell, I did see disappointment flash through her eyes.
I’m disappointed in myself. We talked about how to move forward, what I need to do and why it’s so important Patrick and I are on the same page.
Our history is one thing, the baby is another.
If we’re committed to coparenting, the least we can do is do it together starting now.
He’s taken care of me and I’ve been an asshole.
So I extended an olive branch. While mending the bridges I set fire to.
I’m not sure what’ll happen today, but taking this step is important for us to move forward. Together.
“Okay, so walk me through what’s happening today,” Patrick says as we walk from the parking garage to the bakery.
When he walked out in his all black ensemble, I almost threw myself at him.
Between his clothes and his well-groomed beard, it took everything not to say something inappropriate.
If that wasn’t enough he’s done this thing with his hair where a portion is pulled back in a knot, while the rest falls to his shoulders.
“Ms. Julia Christopher is the owner and she thinks we’re here for a cake consultation.”
“But we’re not, right?”
I nod, hand pressed to my stomach. “I’ve been trying to set up an appointment with her for days and it’s been impossible. So I figured this might be a good way to get her attention. I know it’s deceptive and I’m technically lying to her, but if it gets me the job that would be so amazing.”
He smiles and opens the door for me. We step inside and the air-conditioning soothes my hot skin instantly.
“All right. What else do I need to know?”
“This is the only place she has in Chennai right now and it’s exclusively a wedding cake boutique. Opening a full bakery in the city would be really cool for all of us, and additionally awesome for me to design it.”
“The ultimate notch in your career, right?”
My heart soars. Of course he remembers what I said last night. Clearing my throat, I say, “Plus we get to eat some really good cake.”
He laughs and squeezes my side. “Let’s get you this notch.”
“I know things have been really bad, but thank you for doing this with me, Trick.”
Patrick nods, a gentle bob of his head, and before he can reply, Julia Christopher appears and my breath catches at the sight of her.
She’s far more beautiful in person than I expected.
Her dark hair is lush and falls in stylish waves, her face has a hint of makeup and her eyes sparkle.
Even though she’s very open about her use of botox, she doesn’t look fake and I love that.
Like me, she’s a plus size woman and carries herself like a fucking queen.
Her dress must cost more than anything I own, but she wears it like it was made for her.
Knowing Julia Christopher, it probably is.
“Hi! You must be Tamara and Patrick. Welcome to Frosting.”
“Thanks for having us, Ms. Christopher,” Patrick says and her eyes widen.
“Oh my goodness, you’re Patrick Joseph. Congratulations on your win!”
He smiles and tips his head forward slightly then turns to me. I must look as starstruck as I feel, because his expression is one of concern. “Lo, you with me?”
I nod and we follow Ms. Christopher through the bakery where she gestures to a four seater table. There’s a tray of beverages in the centre and once we’re seated, she smiles and I might have a crush.
“I’m so excited to help you find the perfect wedding cake. You said there were no allergies or special requirements, but I’d like for us to go over a few more things together before we do the tasting. How does that sound?”
“Sounds great.”
As Ms. Christopher asks me a series of questions I’m pretty sure Pallavi and I filled out yesterday, Patrick slides a cup of tea in front of me.
Even though I’m here under false pretences, I answer everything—theme (vintage and classic), colours (creams and pastels), venue (backyard of the family home), number of guests (two hundred maximum), tiers (two), additional dessert (cupcakes, if possible).
“Do you have any special requests, Mr. Joseph?”
I understand her being fascinated by my baby daddy, because he’s distracting on any given day. But when he’s one of the few medal winners for India, he’s an even bigger draw.
“Whatever my girl wants is fine with me.”
Ms. Christopher laughs, a soft tinkly sound. “You two are beautiful together.”
“Thank you,” I say, finally finding my voice.
She smiles and stands as a young man joins us at the table. “Tariq will take you through the process and assist with anything you need. I’ll be back when you’re done.”
Without waiting for us to say anything, she leaves and our attention shifts to Tariq. “Welcome to Frosting. Is this your first cake tasting?”
“Yes.” Patrick seems to be doing all the talking for us today.
He smiles and steps aside as two other servers bring over trays laden with cake and small bowls of frosting. My mouth waters as I stare at the display.
“These are all of our standard base flavours and the small bowls have buttercream and filling, if that’s something you want to include. Feel to mix and match. Please write down the combinations you like the best.”
I swipe my finger through a bowl of buttercream as I go through the printed list. Before I can taste it, Patrick’s mouth wraps around the digit and sucks it clean.
My pussy throbs and I stare at him as he picks up a piece of cake and spreads another buttercream flavour over it.
Like he didn’t just suck frosting off my finger.
I’m still in shock when he says, “When are you going to come clean?”
“What … what do you mean?”
“With Ms. Christopher. How are you going to tell her why you’re really here?”
Oh, right. My brain was already thinking of ways to apologise to him for our mess, but that was not what I was expecting him to say. Shaking my head, I shove a piece of cake into my mouth to give me the time to settle my racing heart.
“I’d…uh…probably give her my real name.”
He frowns. “As opposed to?”
“I made the appointment for Tamara and Patrick J. It was the only way I could get this.”
“So she thinks we’re really getting married.”