Chapter 28 Cinderella Me #2
“We decided no on Botox, yes on teeth-bleaching later this week, and Ariane used sugar instead of laser,” Kate replied as she tossed a new scarf onto a pile to be put away in my closet.
I frowned until I realized they were discussing my body hair. Or, to be more accurate, the lack thereof. The truth was, Ariane had ruthlessly taken everything I had but for a small landing strip, but I wasn’t expecting Ruth, of all people, to inquire about those parts of me.
Ruth nodded. “Excellent. She’ll be ready for anything, then.”
I reddened. Was this something Brendan asked her to schedule regularly?
Make sure his partners were properly waxed for him?
Obviously, she couldn’t know that Brendan wasn’t going to be enjoying the fruits of this particular labor, but it still felt a little strange to think that this might be a result of his preferences, not Kate’s.
Or mine. After all, I had told them what I wanted too.
“Don’t be embarrassed. His siblings are vicious, if you haven’t noticed,” Ruth informed me. “They’ll look for any imperfection, and the last thing you want is to be a joke at the pool.”
“What—what pool?”
“At their estate in Newport, where the engagement party is being held. You don’t have to go in, of course, but it will be an option. Like I said, you’ll be prepared.”
Oh, thank God. She wasn’t actually managing my vagina for her boss’s sexual pleasure. Ruth was just a girl’s girl and had the decency to think ahead for a pool party.
“Bikinis!” Kate slapped her forehead. “I completely forgot swimwear.” She made another note. “I’ll send some over tomorrow, but we’ll need to try things on properly. In some ways, swimwear is the hardest thing to fit.”
“What time do you think you’ll be able to come next?” Ruth was already whipping out her tablet. “She’s got etiquette lessons in the morning—”
“Etiquette?” I repeated.
“Table manners, mostly, but also greetings for certain people, things like that. After, Mr. Black insisted she meet with a financial counselor, followed by some time with me to”—Ruth looked up quickly, catching herself—“go over some personal matters.”
By “personal,” I could only guess it was something that the stylist wasn’t in the know about.
I still wasn’t sure if Ruth was in on our scheme, but the look in her eye told me she was there to inform me about more details about Brendan himself.
Details I would be expected to know as his fiancée—fake or otherwise.
“Eight work?” Kate was saying. “I have clients after ten. And then I need to get back to New York. My little sister just got engaged.”
The two of them conferred a bit more before Kate had to leave, so I decided to excuse myself to check on my bread in the kitchen.
There I found Rosie prepping dinner.
“What’s on the menu tonight?” I asked as I went to check the proofing boxes.
She looked up from where she was mixing a pastry dough on the counter and smiled. “Beef Wellington. Mr. Black’s favorite. You probably already knew.”
I didn’t, but she didn’t need to know that. Just like all of these people, except maybe Ruth, didn’t need to know that I had more in common with them as employees than they realized.
“I hear you’re a baker. Care to lend a hand?” Rosie nodded toward the bread loaves. “Or work side by side, if you like. Could be you’ve a thing to teach me.”
“I just fiddle around.” I went to remove one of the large vats of dough from the proofing box. “Bread, mostly. Those are for a coffee shop near my apartment.”
“Looks like more than fiddling to me,” she said as I emptied the vat across from her onto the marble worktop. “Sourdough’s not an easy thing to master.”
“My mother taught me. Do you know where the—” I stopped as she handed me a pastry cutter, and then I smiled. “Thanks.”
“Made a few loaves myself.” Rosie rolled out the pastry onto her side of the counter. Her forearms flexed with muscle as she worked. “Your baking skills will come in handy today. Ever made a Beef Welly?”
“I haven’t,” I admitted as I grabbed a handful of flour and shook it on the counter so I could start separating the dough for the bench rests. “But I know what it is. A beef tenderloin baked in a pastry, right?”
“That’s it.” Rosie nodded toward the tenderloin sitting in a bowl near one of the sinks.
“Bit more involved, as it takes a few hours to make the pastry, of course, and then has to be cooked just right. Too little, and you’ve got a soggy bottom.
Too much, and the meat’s like leather. It’s important to know if you’re serving your future husband.
He’s very particular about his Beef Welly. ”
“Can’t have a soggy bottom, according to Prue and Paul.”
Rosie grinned. “I take it you’re a Bake-Off fan too?”
I grinned right back. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
We continued to work together in the kitchen, and for the first time in days, I started to relax. Going shopping and getting primped was all fine and well, but I hadn’t really felt like myself until I was right here, up to my elbows in bread dough, baking for others.
An hour later, I had all forty-five boules and batards set for a second, overnight rise in their bannetons, and Rosie had the Beef Wellington stuffed and ready for the oven. We were just starting to clean up our respective messes when my fake fiancé walked in.
He had removed his suit jacket, but he still wore the matching gray trousers, along with a white button-down rolled up at the sleeves and an unbound tie hanging around his neck. A few buttons on his shirt had been opened, and I could just see a hint of dark chest hair.
In other words, he was my newest fantasy come to life.
His eyes met mine, and he stopped short, staring at me sweeping flour from the counter. I looked down at my clothes, only to find that once again, I was covered in the stuff. I really needed an apron.
By the time I looked back up, Brendan had already reached me.
His hands found my waist, he lifted me to the countertop, and then he delivered the kiss I’d been fantasizing about all day, whether I had wanted to or not.
Tongue and lips collided, our hands found each other’s hair, and my legs wound themselves around his waist.
Just as quickly as it started, the kiss ended, leaving me breathless.
Brendan’s eyes were frantic, and his breath was short. But he didn’t step out of my grasp. “Hi,” he whispered as his forehead met mine.
“H-hello,” I managed. “Rough day?”
His eyes closed and opened. “It’s better now.”
“Aren’t you loves.”
His hands dropped at the sound of Rosie’s voice. He spun to where she was scrubbing out the pan used for the mushrooms.
“Welcome home, Mr. Black,” she called out like we hadn’t just been making out in front of her like lovesick teenagers.
For her, I reminded myself with some distaste.
Brendan opened his mouth, but not before his eyes met mine again. “I think you can call me Brendan, Rosie. You’ve known me most of my life.”
Rosie paused, clearly surprised, then glanced between us with something of a knowing look. “Of course, sir. Happy to…Brendan.”
She went back to cleaning, chattering on about dinner plans and how helpful I’d been, if only to keep her company.
I barely heard a word because Brendan was staring at me again.
“What is it?” I looked down at my clothes, which had transferred some flour onto his now. “I need to change, I know. Or at least find myself an apron. All this flour, and on these nice clothes too. It’s just—”
“Perfect,” he interrupted softly. His eyes had turned the darkest shade of an aurora but were touched with something warmer. “You’re perfect just like this. Except…”
“Except what?” I knew I should have worn my old clothes to bake.
He turned. “Rosie, can you hand me a wet cloth, please?”
She brought him a damp rag, which he then held up to my face.
“Can I?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure what he was offering to do. Clean off flour?
Or not.
To my surprise, Brendan proceeded to clean off every speck of makeup from my face. When he was finished, he set the rag aside and smiled.
“There. The makeup was pretty, angel. But don’t put that shit on your face unless we’re out. When we’re at home, all I want to see is you.”
“Oh. Um, okay.”
I didn’t know what else to say. But I couldn’t look away either.
What game was he playing? Was this for Rosie’s benefit too, these deep, dark looks of something I could only name as longing?
Something I was sure was embarrassingly present in my own expression?
It’s a business arrangement, I reminded myself for the thousandth time.
It’s all an act for anyone who might see us together, and that included his employees.
The words echoed in my head as a hint of a smile played over those full lips, like he was searching for the right words to express himself. He’d just opened his mouth when the sound of the elevator bell broke through the apartment.
“Brendan! Where are you?”
Immediately, Brendan’s expression broke into a scowl. “Fuck.”