Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bobbi
“I’m working on my magnum opus.”
I roll Noah’s response around in my head as I knead the dough early in the morning with Victor. It was more or less immediate when I asked him what he did with his free time while I was at the bakery.
“I always wanted to write a novel, and now I have the time,” he said. “You can be the first to read it, before it’s published.”
“Sure, love to.” Will he miss photography? Maybe not, since he hasn’t hung any cheetah shots in his house. But then I don’t have trays of bread and pastries in my house, so—
“Hey, Bobbi? You okay?”
I jerk my head up and see confused concern on Victor’s face. “Yeah. Why?”
“You seem really distracted. Keep muttering under your breath.” He clears his throat. “I asked if you’re gonna need me this weekend—twice.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Sorry. I was just thinking about some stuff. Um… Yes. I’m going to need some help with that cake Saturday morning.” Victor told me he finally managed to get a date with the UCLA blonde. He hasn’t said when, and I don’t want to take up his weekend unless it’s absolutely necessary, but I can’t handle transporting a ten-tier cake by myself.
Besides, thinking about this Saturday only stirs up the unsettled feeling in my gut. Noah asked me to be his plus-one to a luncheon party, and I told him I couldn’t since I had to work. The cake is going to be unbelievable, with cascading roses, lilies and orchids, along with forget-me-nots molded with modeling chocolate and gum paste. It’s for an I’ve-Been-with-the-Love-of-My-Life-for-Two-Months celebration and is completely over the top, but Rachel Griffin, the former model turned influencer who hired me, thinks it’s critical to celebrate every milestone of her new relationship. I don’t have the heart to tell her the jailbait she’s with is probably more in love with her money than her. She’s old enough to be his mom, but she’s also a client who doesn’t want to listen to anything that doesn’t confirm her own notions about life. And if you’re in business in SoCal, you need to play ball when dealing with the rich and fatuous.
But that also means I might miss out on some of the things going on in Noah’s life. “No worries. I can go alone,” he said with an easy smile.
“Seriously? You okay without a date?”
“I’m not taking some random piece of arm candy just so I can have a ‘date.’” The light way he said it made me feel worse, like I’m not doing my part somehow.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? Your career is important.”
“But so are your trips to take photos and social obligations. Maybe we should talk about those things and work them out.”
He shrugged. “Pfft. Nothing comes close to you. Now listen. No more frowning.” He stroked the lines between my eyebrows, moving his index finger back and forth like an eraser.
I smiled, then laughed. But we do need to sit down and have a serious conversation about how we’re going to weave our lives together, even though he’s dismissing the idea. He shouldn’t have to wake up one morning five years from now and ask himself, “What the hell have I been doing all this time?”
* * *
Rachel’s party is at Ted Lasker’s multi-million-dollar mansion. He’s letting her host it at his place because she gave him a son—Griffin, whose keen intelligence and academic accomplishments make his father proud—and he’s fond of her.
But beyond that, he obviously just likes to party. The man is legendary for having fathered Noah and his six brothers in four months, and he’s never married any of the mothers. Yuna’s husband Declan was cast in a Ted Lasker film last year, and she said the director has probably produced more children. “There was this Chinese emperor who had thirty-eight sons and forty-two daughters. Eighty kids! I mean, this was before effective birth control, but he died when he was like fifty-two with something like twenty wives. Ted is already older than that and now we have Viagra. And I bet you he’s screwed more than twenty women. Men should totally do a paternity test with the woman they want to marry, just to make sure they aren’t fathered by the same guy.”
Ivy choked and I made a face, but ten mudslides between us made us all laugh away an image that had nothing to do with us.
Except… It definitely does have something to do with me! If I marry Noah, Ted will be my father-in-law. Although I never got the feeling that Noah and his brothers were close to their parents, the possibility of being related to somebody that famous is a bit…weird.
With Victor tagging along behind me, I’m rolling up the winding driveway, through lush green scenery, when another thought hits: the disastrous date with Joey. Eww. Is he also going to be part of my life if I marry Noah?
Okay, don’t think about that. Noah’s painting didn’t include Joey, and we don’t need to have anything to do with him. Ever. Better just to focus on the future Noah and I would like to create for ourselves.
God, I hope I don’t run into him and another ridiculous attempt to get me to have a grandbaby for Ted. If two of his sons don’t want Ted near their children, it’s probably him, not them. Or maybe it’s Joey doing a terrible job of representing Ted’s desire to be closer to his grandchildren. The guy couldn’t even represent himself without using a million filters first.
Victor and I pull the cake out from the truck with extra care. It took forever to make, even with Victor’s assistance, but looks amazing. Three of the tiers are invisible, with crystal support columns, flowers and figurines that represent the most memorable dates Rachel and her boyfriend had. My chest puffs with pride. It’s some of the best work I’ve ever done. I already took a shot of it for Bobbi’s Sweet Things’s social media profiles. I plan to take more once it’s in place at the actual party.
The main caterers come out in starched black and white uniforms and stop dead when they see the cake. “Wow…”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Victor says with a grin.
“Totally.” One of the women nods and takes charge. “Okay, let’s move this and set it up by the main tables next to the pool.”
They carefully push the cake cart through the mansion, and I follow, praying that nothing happens before it’s put into place. Soaring Topiaries of topless women line the giant pool on three sides, giving it a semblance of privacy. Heart-shaped balloons in bright pink and red sway in the air, and a DJ is playing upbeat love songs. Guests, many recognizable from commercials and movies, dance and laugh in bathing suits. The catering team sets up the cake by a fountain where rosé champagne fizzes.
“This is perfect,” the woman says.
“Agreed. Mind if I take a quick photo?” I say, pulling out my phone.
They move aside, and I snap a few shots, making sure to capture the cascading flowers and sparkling columns. I also get a few close-ups of the flowers and faux pearls so people can see the details of the decoration.
I shove the phone into my back pocket with thanks to the crew who set up the cake. I tell Victor he can go, and he immediately heads out. Good luck, buddy.
The catering manager signs off on the delivery sheet, and I sigh with satisfaction over a job well done. The stunning cake, towering over the buffet table, was worth the hours of delicate work that left my hands aching.
“Nice cake. So. You’re the reason Noah won’t leave L.A.”
I look to the left. A tall woman with short dark hair and a pasty-pale face is studying me. Her skin looks fantastically white against the black bikini that’s on her lean body. She wears a friendly and curious face, but her tone doesn’t hide a mild rebuke, although I’m not sure if her displeasure is directed at me or Noah. Or both of us.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I ask in a neutral tone.
“Nora Blane. I’m Noah’s mother.” She extends a hand, and I shake it on autopilot. This is Noah’s mother? Despite her wiry frame, she’s shockingly strong. It feels almost as if she’s trying to break my hand. I match the tight grip, and a flash of respect glints in her eyes.
“I’m Bobbi. But I guess you know that. I thought you were in Dubai.”
“Yes, but since my son refuses to talk to me over the phone, I had no choice but to come talk to him in person.”
Whatever she wanted Noah to take care of must be really important to make that trip. He said he wouldn’t spend an entire week away from me, and again I feel uneasy because Noah is neglecting his life to prove himself to me.
He’s definitely going to wake up at some point and realize he doesn’t have a life. Midlife crises happen when people don’t feel comfortable with the life they’re leading anymore, and that’s often because they went along with whatever everyone else around them wanted.
“On the other hand, perhaps speaking with you would expedite things.” Nora wears an expectant smile and seems certain I’ll side with her.
This isn’t what I bargained for when I agreed to deliver the cake. As much as I want to be friendly and get along with Noah’s mom, it wouldn’t be right to commit Noah to a task when I know nothing about it. I’m just about to tell her as much when her eyes shift to focus behind me and her expression sours.
“Mother? What are you doing here?”
Noah?
Once I told him I had to work, we didn’t discuss further details. It never occurred to me that he’d be at this party. If I’d known, I would’ve brought a change of clothes, so I could join him after the cake was delivered.
Noah breathes hard as he rakes his fingers through his hair. He glares at his mother like she’s his number one enemy, a rather odd reaction since I thought he’d be okay with seeing his parents at parties, even if they weren’t particularly close. He pulls me close and kisses me but keeps his eyes on her.
“Since calls and texts weren’t accomplishing anything, I decided to show up in person,” she says smoothly. “I miss you, too.”
Noah shifts, positioning himself like a shield against his mother. “Surely you didn’t leave your toilet clogged all this time.”
I cover my mouth with a hand to contain a sound somewhere between laugh and incredulity. She flew all the way out here over a clogged toilet? Or does “clogged toilet” mean something else?
“Sadly toilets get clogged all the time if they aren’t taken care of by experts. Which is where you come in.” Nora’s tone is flat and serious.
“No, I don’t. Not at the moment, anyway.”
“You know your duties.”
Filial duties shouldn’t include having him fly from Los Angeles to Dubai just to thrust a plunger into her toilet, no matter how good he is at the task. Does she often make unreasonable demands? Is that why she isn’t part of the vision painting he created?
“I’m not leaving Bobbi’s side to unclog your toilet, no matter how inconvenient it is for you. Get someone else. There are plenty of plumbers.”
“Oh for God’s sake, don’t fight over something as inconsequential as plumbing,” Ted Lasker booms as he comes closer.
Finally, a voice of sanity.
He’s in surprisingly good shape for a man his age with lean muscle and a visible six pack. The black trunks hang loosely around him, and he’s holding a glass of champagne.
Nora’s face scrunches with disappointment and annoyance. Noah merely sighs.
“I know the best plumbers in the city. I’ll have Joey get on it.” Ted snaps his fingers.
And my last disastrous date pops up from behind Ted with a tablet. I try not to make a face.
“Which mansion requires attention?” he asks Nora.
“Noah is the only one who can unclog it,” she says in a friendly tone.
Joey’s eyes shift in Noah’s direction with something akin to wariness. Then they widen when he notices me. “You!”
I do my best to not cringe. Talking about that date would be humiliating.
“I thought you didn’t want him! That’s why I had to get Rammi!” Joey looks at Noah like a scared bunny, then returns to me. “You got me into so much trouble!”
Noah starts to take a step forward, but I put a hand on his forearm. I got this. “Don’t blame me for your issues. I would’ve never agreed to meet you if you hadn’t lied.”
Joey turns red. “If you’d just communicated better, I could’ve avoided the trauma of…that visit.”
“What’s traumatic is your existence,” Noah says.
“What’s going on here?” Ted asks, while Noah glares at Joey.
“She’s the one I told you about a few months ago as a perfect fit for either Noah or Huxley. You know, the chick who wanted to have children. Guess she settled on Noah.” Joey looks absurdly satisfied with himself. “I, you know, said some nice things about him to help speed up her decision.”
Like you have any influence on me.I step forward. “Look, I knew Noah long before I met you. You had nothing to do with us being together.”
Joey huffs. “Denying me the credit I’m due won’t change the facts of the matter.”
“It’s all good, Joey.” Ted talks to his assistant like he’s a chihuahua that needs a bit of coddling, then suddenly turns and hugs me. “Welcome to the family, Barbie! So how many babies are we talking here? And how soon?”
I squeak. He’s squeezing too hard, and it’s awkward as hell since his hand is way way too low, not even an inch above my ass.
“No!” Noah’s panicked shout cuts through the small crowd. He rushes up and rips his father’s arms off me. “Bobbi, remember the vision painting?”
“Yes.” Is that the right thing to say here? This whole situation is so bizarre.
He points at his parents and Joey. “They aren’t part of it. Because they’re weird.”
“Ow. That hurts,” Nora says in a monotone.
“Your babies will get ponies,” Ted goes on, like no one else has said anything. The man has tunnel vision and apparently tunnel hearing. “Not even my own kids got ’em.” He gives me a you-know-what-I-mean wink.
I just stare at him. If Noah and I had babies, our kids would enjoy more material comfort than others. He is a billionaire after all. But there would still be very definite limits on what they could have—getting everything you want all the time can’t be healthy.
Nora puts on a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Lovely idea, Ted. But where are they going to keep the ponies?”
“Here.” He rolls his arms vaguely in an I-don’t-know-what-the-problem-is gesture. “I can build a stable. Joey, look into it.”
Joey taps his tablet. “Right away, sir.”
“Of course. And riding through a colonnade of penis canons would be fabulous for a child’s psychological well-being and emotional development. I can’t wait to see how Noah and Bobbi’s offspring turn out,” Nora says sweetly.
Whatcanons?
Ted lets out a booming laugh. “Hey, having fun is important! Look how well Noah turned out.”
A muscle in Noah’s jaw ticks. Regardless of the amount of fun he may have had frolicking among…penis canons, it looks like he wants to murder his father.
“Let’s take this somewhere else.” Noah hooks one arm under his father’s shoulder and the other around his mother’s waist and drags them away. Joey follows, tapping his tablet.
Noah looks back and mouths, Wait for me, we have to talk.
No kidding. Except my brain doesn’t know exactly what we should be talking about. I’m barely wrapping my mind around the fact that Ted Lasker is even weirder than I expected and Nora isn’t capable of hiring a plumber in Dubai.
Despite Noah saying that his folks aren’t part of the painting, will they be willing to stay out of our lives? And how about our kids? Should they be deprived of their grandparents?
Too much to think about right now.I head toward the buffet for something to drink, and just as I get there Reggie, the person I’d least like to see, stops right in front of me.
Her judgmental gaze sweeps me up and down, and a sneer twists her bright red lips. “Jesus, Bobbi, you look like the hired help.”
Although many of the guests are in bikinis, she’s in a flowing sundress and high heels. Not because she wants to look fashionable. My money’s on her not having a toned enough belly that she deems worthy of displaying in front of the movers and shakers of Hollywood. She’s exhaustingly critical of both her own appearance and that of others, and can’t stand it when she doesn’t measure up in some area. I don’t know how she—or anyone—can live her entire life comparing herself to others, from her body to clothes to what she puts in her mouth.
Floyd stops right behind her. He’s in red, white and blue trunks with the U.S. Air Force emblem on them. Aviator shades cover his eyes, and he’s nodding in time with the music. He probably thinks his outfit and those sunglasses make him look like Tom Cruise in Top Gun.
I’m way too dazed and emotionally drained from meeting Noah’s parents and Joey to deal with Reggie or Floyd, so I start to go around the cockroach couple. Better to find some quiet place to settle my thoughts until Noah returns.
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” she says.
“And I’m avoiding you. How did you get in anyway?” She isn’t important or famous enough to rub shoulders with Ted Lasker.
“I know people, unlike you. Rachel’s boyfriend is a good friend of mine.”
Translation: She slept with him in the last two years. If it had been longer than that, she would’ve labeled him “an old friend.”
She plants her palm on my chest as her gaze zeroes in on the cake. “Did you make that?”
“Yup.” I say, while debating whether to just push her hand off my chest or break it. The former would be the professional way to go, although the latter would be much more satisfying. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”
Her face turns red, probably since she’s dying to tell me it’s fugly as hell but can’t. Calculations race behind her feverish eyes. “Not bad,” she finally says. “So when are you sending the designs for my engagement cake?”
“Never. I already told you I’m not baking anything for you.”
“You can’t talk to my fiancée like that!” Floyd says, trying to look aggressive.
“Don’t you have a gluten allergy? Aren’t you feeling faint? Maybe experiencing a little shortness of breath?” My eyes slide to the cake and the huge pile of pastries. I’m not sure how many of these super skinny Hollywood people are planning to indulge, but Rachel spared no expense to make sure her party had everything, including a giant flakey pastry baked in the shape of swans with their beaks touching.
“Look, I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself and get some good publicity,” Reggie says.
“More like a chance to be a sucker. I know you, Reggie. You’re going to say shit about my cake anyway because this isn’t about my redemption but about you being too cheap. You never liked me because you could never get TJ to like you and you blamed me. But you know what? The real reason he never liked you is your awful personality and selfishness. You don’t have the guts to go up to him and ask him why he doesn’t like you. The only thing you can do is come after me because you’re a coward and you think you’re better than me because your tits are bigger. But guess what? I’m not jealous of your tits or your Instagram followers or that car lube commercial you did ten years ago. I don’t even think about you—ever—until you show up to bother me. Like roaches aren’t on people’s minds until they crawl out from under a Dumpster. And in case you still can’t figure out my answer to your demand: I’m not baking you a fucking engagement cake, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Reggie and Floyd turn bright red. A matching couple.
Over their heads, I spot Noah striding toward us. I start walking to him.
Floyd is the first to recover. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
His anger seems to embolden Reggie. She grabs my arm. “Where do you think you’re going after talking to me like that?”
She shoves me with surprising force. My heel catches on the something on the ground, and I trip.
Damn it, the cake!
I twist, trying to avoid knocking over the buffet. Everything happens in slow motion. Noah rushes forward. I try not to flail my arms. My hip bumps against the table where the cake is set, and it trembles like a building in an earthquake. The crystal columns in the naked tiers shake dangerously. My skin prickles as horror shivers up my spine.
Reggie’s eyes glint with viciousness, and she kicks one of the table legs. Some of the gum-paste rose petals fall from the upper tiers, landing on the smooth surface of the buttercream tiers below. One of the crystal columns tilts to the side and all five of the layers above sway. I raise a hand, like a super hero with telekinetic powers, to stop my gorgeous creation from tipping over.
But it happens anyway. The cake slumps, then topples, crumbling and falling over me. Cool buttercream smears my face, neck, chest and shoulders. Fire burns across my forearm, but I ignore the pain as I stare at the ruins of my masterpiece in absolute shock.
“What the fuck!” Noah’s sharp cry pulls my attention back to the present. “Are you okay?” He holds my arm, raising it.
“My cake…”
“Who cares about the cake?”
I look down and see blood trickling from a long, jagged cut on my forearm. On the ground is a cake cutting knife. The catering people must’ve put it by the cake after we set it up.
“We need to get you to the hospital,” Noah says.
“But the cake—”
“Fuck the cake.” His eyes burn with barely banked rage. I swallow. I’ve never seen him this furious. Actually, I didn’t realize he was capable. “Forget the cake, Bobbi. Let me handle this for you. Please.”