Delectable Desire (2 page)

“Carter.”

Carter stopped and turned at the sound of his father’s voice.

“What’s up?” Carter asked.

Devon Drayson did not look as if he was in the mood for exchanging idle chitchat. “Why are you just getting here?” he asked.

“Had a long night,” Carter answered with a grin. “Believe me, it was worth walking in an hour late.”

“An hour and a half,” his father corrected him. “Carter, when are you going to start taking your work seriously?”

His spine straightened in protest. “I do take my work seriously. Do you know how many people come to Lillian’s specifically requesting that I design their cakes? My work brings in more business than anyone else around here.”

“I’m not discounting your talent, just your work ethic. You should have been here to open the bakery early this morning, not strolling in hours late as if you don’t have a care in the world.”

This from the king of the carefree lifestyle. His father had perfected bachelorhood, never even coming close to marrying. Yet he had the nerve to talk about how Carter lived his life?

“I know what it’s like to be young and single, but there comes a time when you have to think about the long-term, Carter.” His father took a step closer and lowered his voice. “You know that your grandparents will soon let go of the reins of this business. Now, do you want a piece of it?”

Carter was tempted to say no, but that would only cause him more grief. The truth was, he’d been questioning a lot lately whether he still wanted to be a part of the family business.

He had never felt as if he was as much a part of Lillian’s as his cousins were, and he placed much of the blame squarely on the shoulders of the man standing before him. After all, it was his father’s fault that Carter was the only illegitimate grandchild. As the only bastard of the bunch, Carter had always felt as if he had to work extra hard to prove that he belonged.

His grandparents had never made him feel like an outsider, but Carter knew they didn’t approve of his father’s perpetual bachelorhood. The fact that his father had never married Carter’s mother had been the subject of many disagreements over the years.

But that was his
father’s
issue. Carter had nothing to do with that. He was a part of the bakery’s legacy, too, dammit.

“I have as much stake in Lillian’s as the others do,” Carter said.

“Then start acting like it,” his father demanded. “You need to show everyone in this family that you are committed to this business.”

“Maybe the family needs to show that they’re committed to
me,
” he countered, letting the frustration he normally hid behind a carefree smile rise to the surface. “I didn’t have the advantage of growing up on the great Drayson Estate the way Belinda and Drake did. I wasn’t there every Sunday afternoon like Monica and Shari. Yet I put just as much time into Lillian’s as they do. No, I put in more. I bust my ass for this business. So, tell me, Dad, does the family value
my
input? Does everyone here realize just what
I
bring to the table?”

“Don’t get full of yourself, Carter. You may be a good baker, but there are others out there. Just because you have Drayson blood running through your veins doesn’t mean you get an automatic pass. You need to straighten up, or you’re going to find yourself cut out of this business.”

With that his father turned and went back into the sales office.

Carter stood in the hallway for several minutes, trying like hell to rein in his fury. He was damned tired of always having to defend himself. From his teenage days, when he’d worked as a delivery boy, to now, as one of the head bakers, he’d given Lillian’s one hundred percent of himself. But his best never seemed good enough for his family.

Carter thought about the phone call he’d received last week from a representative of Robinson Restaurants, one of the hottest restaurant conglomerates on the East Coast. The man Carter had spoken to had been extremely interested in Lillian’s, and specifically in what Carter had accomplished as the bakery’s premier artisan cake designer. When he’d asked if Carter would be interested in becoming the executive pastry chef for the Robinson Restaurants Group’s flagship New York location, he had been floored.

The offer had warranted some serious soul searching. He was torn between loyalty to his family’s business and the appeal of finally being somewhere where his work was appreciated. Discussions like the one he’d just had with his father did nothing but tip the scales in New York’s favor.

Despite what Devon believed, Carter knew there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with his work ethic. He put his heart and soul into Lillian’s, pulling sixty-hour workweeks, spending his time off at home working on his decorating technique. He loved this business, but he wasn’t sure the feeling was mutual.

Oh, he had no doubts his family loved him, but did they
value
him? Maybe it would take his leaving to show them just how much he was worth to Lillian’s.

* * *

The emergency meeting for which his grandmother had summoned the Drayson grandchildren turned out to be a slightly beefed-up version of their normal weekly status report, with the exception of a more in-depth discussion of Lillian’s involvement in
You Take the Cake,
a reality TV show their family had agreed to participate in. His aunt Daisy had flown to Los Angeles to meet with the show’s producers and sign the contract. Lillian’s was officially on board.

Unfortunately, so was Brown Sugar Bakery, owned and operated by onetime Lillian’s employee and ultimate backstabber Dina English. Dina was a four-letter word in more ways than one around this kitchen. Carter was personally looking forward to annihilating Brown Sugar Bakery on national television. He could only hope there would be tears involved.

After the meeting, his younger cousin Shari approached him. Like the rest of the Drayson clan, Shari had come up in the ranks at the bakery. She, too, specialized in cakes, along with Lillian’s ever-popular gourmet cupcakes.

“Have you finalized the details for the event at Lincoln Park Zoo?” Shari asked.

Carter nodded. “We’re providing four cakes in all. A Bengal tiger, a silverback gorilla, a giraffe and a Nicobar pigeon. One of my former classmates is loaning me a few of his students from the culinary school he just opened. We’re going to transport the tiger, gorilla and pigeon, but the giraffe will have to be constructed on-site.”

“Sounds as if you have everything under control.”

“I always have things under control,” Carter snapped, grimacing at the unwarranted bite in his tone. He blamed the earlier conversation with his dad for his irritability.

Shari eyed him curiously. “Maybe you should lay off the clubbing and get more sleep at night. You’d be in a better mood.”

Carter let her remark pass. It was no mystery to his cousins that he liked to have a good time, and he made no apologies. He was young, single and financially set for life thanks to his family’s business. And, according to popular opinion, he wasn’t hard on the eyes, either. Why the hell shouldn’t he get out there and enjoy himself?

He took a cursory tour around the kitchen, making sure everything was going according to schedule. They had several big orders to get out today, including a cake for an event being hosted by the mayor’s office. Lillian’s most important asset was its reputation, and Carter made it his business to make sure every dessert that left this kitchen lived up to his grandmother’s incredibly high standards.

Amber Mitchell, one of their assistant bakers who doubled as the receptionist, rounded the corner. “Carter, there’s a guy out front who needs to speak to someone about setting up an event tasting. Belinda and Drake are both busy with other customers. Can you talk to him?”

“Does this guy have a name?” he asked Amber, who’d turned her attention to a cake that was ready to be frosted.

She hunched her shoulders. “Probably. He’s in a three-piece suit and is wearing an awful toupee.”

“That helps,” he drawled.

Carter headed for the retail area. The hard work happened behind the scenes in the kitchen, but it was the storefront that truly awed the bakery’s customers. The opulent, yet tasteful, decor was just one of the things that made the name Lillian’s synonymous with class and sophistication.

Gilding burnished the rich mahogany woodwork, sparkling under the illumination of crystal chandeliers. The polished marble countertops that were inlaid with ribbons of copper and gold made a statement about Lillian’s long history of catering to Chicago’s elite.

Sunlight streamed in from the huge windows that faced North Michigan Avenue. Nestled inside the bay windows were displays of lavishly decorated cakes and delectable desserts. They had discovered over the years that showcasing the bakery’s products was, by far, the most effective way to entice patrons to step inside the store’s welcoming glass doors.

Carter spotted the gentleman in the three-piece suit. He was peering into the custom-made glass display case that ran the width of the store.

“Carter Drayson,” he greeted, holding out a hand. “How can I help you?”

The man returned the handshake. “Lowell Thompson. I’m a client of Bowen and Associates on the third floor. Howard Bowen recommended Lillian’s for an event my company is sponsoring next month.”

“Howard is a very good customer.”

“He tells me Lillian’s sells the best desserts around. I’m new to Chicago, so I’m still learning my way.”

“Well, let me give you the most delicious tour you’ll ever take in this city.”

Carter retrieved a small silver platter from behind the counter and picked out several sweets from the array of intricately decorated cupcakes, pies and Lillian’s famous petit fours.

As Lowell Thompson sampled a dark chocolate espresso cupcake, Carter explained that nearly every item could be made in miniature sizes, more suitable to cocktail parties and other catered events.

“You have an impressive operation going here,” the man commented.

“It’s been going for several decades, and it just keeps growing. These are our newest bestsellers.” Carter motioned to the shelves lined with Lillian’s latest hot item: ingredients for their most popular cookie and brownie flavors in prepackaged mixes that customers could bake at home. It had been his cousin Shari’s idea, and it was turning out to be a lucrative one. Even so, most of their customers claimed that no matter how hard they tried, the make-at-home desserts didn’t have that special Lillian’s touch.

“I’m running late for a meeting, but if you have some time later this afternoon, I’d like to return and discuss a few options.”

“Absolutely.” Carter retrieved a business card from his pocket. “Why don’t you log on to our website and look over our product offerings? If there’s something special you’re seeking, just let me know. We’ll work with you.”

Carter bade the man goodbye and turned back toward the kitchen, but he stopped short at the sight of a woman standing at the register talking to his cousin Drake. He’d never seen her in the bakery before. His gaze traveled over her soft yellow skirt and matching silk blouse, taking in every nuance. Even though the clothes were a bit stuffy for Carter’s taste, he had to admit that she wore them well. Damn well.

She was petite—couldn’t top more than five feet—with milky, caramel-colored skin and luxuriant light brown hair streaked with honey-colored highlights. She was what his grandmother would call a classic beauty.

And she came from money. No doubt about it.

Her clothes said it, but the bling in her ears and around her wrist practically screamed it.

After less than a minute of observing her, Carter had already sized her up. He could tell the kind of person she was simply by the way she held herself: regal, untouchable. Not his usual type of woman—the exact opposite, in fact. His usual type wore about eighty percent less clothing. But there was something about this one that made him want to ruffle her feathers.

Carter started for the counter, but halted as a mother who’d been picking out pastries with her young son cut him off. The little boy, who was holding a cupcake, walked smack into Ms. Prim and Proper, smearing icing all over the designer jacket she held draped over her arm.

Carter stood back and waited for the fireworks.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the mother exclaimed, grabbing the mushed cupcake from the boy’s hand.

Prim and Proper lifted the jacket to eye level, regarded the offending stain...and licked it.

Carter’s head jerked back.

“Mmm. That’s pretty good. I see why my jacket wanted a taste,” she said, smiling down at the little boy, who giggled in return. “But it looks as if you need a new cupcake.” She motioned for Drake to give the little boy another one.

Shock rooted Carter where he stood. That wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. Neither had he expected a simple smile to transform her from reserved to...approachable. Very approachable.

Carter sidled up to the counter where she’d redirected her attention to Drake and a cake brochure she’d apparently brought in from one of their competitors.

“You made the right choice,” Carter said, motioning to the brochure.

She turned to him. “Excuse me?”

“The cakes here at Lillian’s are a thousand times better than what you’ll get over there.” He extended his hand. “Carter Drayson, one of the head pastry chefs. And you are?”

She hesitated for the merest moment before accepting his outstretched hand. Carter’s initial suspicion was confirmed: she definitely came from money. No way had this smooth palm ever engaged in a millisecond of physical labor.

“Lorraine,” she replied.

“It’s my deepest pleasure to meet you, Lorraine.” He executed a short bow. “Welcome to Lillian’s.”

“You mind, Carter?” This from Drake. “I’m trying to help Lorraine with her order.”

“What’s the occasion?” Carter asked. “Birthday?”

“Wedding shower,” Drake answered.

Disappointment shot through him. Well, that was fun while it lasted.

“My sister’s wedding shower,” Lorraine interjected.

Carter’s radar immediately went on high alert. She had been pretty quick to clarify that bit of information, and wasn’t
that
interesting as hell?