Six Rules: Book Two in the SIX Series

SIX RULES

Book Two in the SIX Series

By Randileigh Kennedy

Copyright - 2014 by Randileigh Kennedy

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to
historical events, people, or places are used fictitiously. Other names,
places, characters, and incidents are simply products of the author's
imagination, and any similarity to actual events, locales, or persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be
reproduced or used in any way whatsoever without written consent from the
author.

Chapter 1

          
“You are completely unlovable, Mallory,” Dillon said,
pacing back and forth across my apartment.

          
“Unlovable? Who says that to someone?” I responded
frantically. Surely I wasn’t
that
bad. “You know I can’t miss this party
today. That’s not fair.”

          
“Mallory, my grandma died. It’s her funeral. You don’t
think that’s a significant event? Your work is really more important to you?”
Dillon stopped pacing and stared directly at me.

          
“Dillon, you know I’ve only had my bakery open for a few
months. This is one of the biggest orders I’ve ever had. I really need this,” I
stated sincerely, hoping he would understand.

          
“Well, then I need to go,” he responded, grabbing his
wallet and car keys off the kitchen counter.

          
“Okay. Are you coming back tonight then? After the funeral
service?” I asked quietly.

          
“Mallory, you aren’t getting what I’m saying. I’m done.
You aren’t worth this.” Dillon briskly walked to the front door. Without even
the slightest pause he opened the door, walked through it, and closed it
immediately behind him. The sound of his footsteps walking down the metal
stairs was loud at first. Then, within seconds, the noise became obsolete.

          
I wanted to cry. Really, I wanted to. Surely a breakup of
this magnitude when you’re told you’re unlovable and unworthy, that deserved
some tears, right? But how on earth would I have time to cry about this when I
only had an hour to pack up all the pastries I made for the art gala tonight?

          
I quickly pinned my short brown hair out of my eyes and
stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My hazel eyes didn’t even look
misty after what had just happened. Maybe Dillon was right. Maybe I wasn’t
worth being in a relationship with after all.

          
I quickly threw on a loose pink cotton dress and hurried
out my front door. I ran down the metal stairs and inside the bakery, located
directly underneath my apartment. It sure was nice to live where I worked. Less
time to think about life on my short commute down the steps.

          
I opened up the back door to the bakery and instantly
smelled the glorious scent of all my hard work. The fresh smell of baked dough,
chocolate frosting, brown sugar… I felt in that moment as though I could even
smell the sprinkles; that is how overwhelmingly delicious the room smelled.

          
I quickly began loading bakery boxes onto the metal cart I
used to load up my bakery van. My best friend Addie, also conveniently my
business partner, left this morning for a vacation in Mexico with her boyfriend
Griffin. She wanted to postpone her trip because of this event, but I couldn’t
let her do it. She had never been on a real vacation before, especially not a
romantic one, so I had to let her go. I really wasn’t bothered by having to
handle all of the loading and set up alone. Of course, that was because as of
ten minutes ago I thought I had a sweet loving boyfriend of my own to help me
out.

          
I carefully stacked the bakery boxes one by one, mentally
taking inventory of them to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. I had cupcakes,
chocolate tortes, a couple of layered cakes, twelve dozen cookies, and even
some tiramisu, which was a new project for me. I carefully loaded all of the
boxes into my bakery van.

          
The event tonight was at a fancy art gallery downtown. It
was some kind of auction I think. I had to admit, I wasn’t big into the art
scene so I didn’t know much about it, but it seemed like a big deal. It was a
fully catered event, and somehow through my hard work and recent marketing
campaign I was contracted to provide all of the desserts. I had some other
large orders in the past several months ever since I started up my bakery. But
other than a few boring political gatherings, this event was by far my most
profitable.
 

          
Once the van was fully loaded, I took one last glance at
my order sheet to make sure I had everything. The art gallery was less than ten
minutes away from my bakery, but I didn’t want to make any return trips if I
could avoid it.

          
I drove downtown and eventually pulled into the small
alleyway behind the art gallery. I was surprised to see a large white catering
truck already parked in the delivery zone. Perhaps the delivery scheduled right
before mine was running behind.

          
I parked my van right behind the catering truck, annoyed
and surprised to see a bunch of white bakery boxes in the back of the open
truck. I quickly exited my vehicle, anxious to find out what was going on.

          
In that moment a handsome guy stepped out of the back
entrance of the art gallery, making his way to the back of the catering truck.
He had messy blonde hair and light blue eyes, and his skin was glowing with a
deep tan. He had on dark jeans and a light blue v-neck t-shirt, looking casual
but somehow polished at the same time.

          
“Excuse me, but I have a three-thirty delivery time. Are
you almost done?” I asked him eagerly. I didn’t want anyone from the gallery to
think I was late with my delivery just because someone else was blocking my
path.

          
“Ah, my apologies. I just have a few more boxes to take
in. So, you won the dessert bid I’m guessing?” he asked smugly.

          
“What are those bakery boxes you’re taking in? You’re from
Luca’s, right?” I asked, reading the sign from the side of his catering truck.
“Aren’t you only on main course detail?”

          
“Yeah, but I always like to provide a few extras. I’m
thinking about adding a line of desserts to our catering menu, so I thought I
would bring some by,” he said, reaching for some of the bakery boxes.

          
“Excuse me? Who does that? I’m in charge of desserts, so I
really don’t think it’s necessary for you to drop those off,” I said curtly,
not even bothering to hide my annoyance. “I would like to have a word with Mr.
Luca about this.”

          
“Sure, I’ve got a few minutes,” he replied, setting down
the white boxes. He turned to me and put his hands in his pockets.

          
“This is
your
business?” I asked, a little
surprised. He looked too young, probably in his early twenties, to have a
full-fledged catering business. Granted, I was only twenty-six, but still. I
thought I was one of those over-achiever types. “Your name is Luca?”

          
“Well, that’s my last name. My name is Greyson,” he said,
extending out a hand for me to shake.

          
“What’s with the blonde hair? How are you Italian?” I
pointed to the sign on his truck where it said ‘
Luca’s specializes in fine Italian cuisine.
’ “Shouldn’t you have a
dark slicked back mullet and freakish amounts of body hair coming out of the
collar of your shirt?” He laughed, then shrugged his shoulders at me. I wasn’t
amused by this guy’s casual aura.

          
“Well, first off, weird Italian stereotypes from you, but
I’ll let that slide. But to answer your question, my grandfather was Italian.
But he preferred blondes, as did my father, so I guess I lucked out on avoiding
the freakish amounts of body hair. Anyway, look, about the desserts. I just
thought…”

          
“I don’t think they’ll be necessary,” I said, cutting him
off. “I think it would be more professional of you to just leave them in the
truck, pull forward, and let me handle the desserts.” I didn’t mean to sound so
frustrated as I spoke, but I was already having a bad day after my afternoon
with Dillon. I certainly didn’t need another handsome guy trying to prevent me
from pulling off this event.

          
“Whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought
it would be a nice gesture. Maybe we can talk about this later when you’re not
so angry. How about dinner tonight,” he said with a smirk. He had a dimple in
his right cheek and his white teeth were perfectly straight.

          
“Are you really asking me out right now? Does this really
seem like the appropriate time to say that?” I stared at him intensely,
wondering why he got me this worked up in the first place. “Look, I’m having a
really bad day so far. Can you just move your truck?”

          
“What’s your name?”

          
“Mallory. I own Sweet Cheeks Bakery,” I said, still not
finding any amusement out of this conversation.

          
“So dinner then? Maybe afterwards we can sit around eating
all of these leftover desserts I have,” he said, gesturing to all of the bakery
boxes he still had sitting in the back of his van.

          
“No, I’m not interested. You seem like one of those
pompous jerks who thinks that any woman would say yes to your advances just
because you’re good looking and you can make cupcakes. Besides, I’m in a
relationship. Or I was, like an hour ago. Never mind. Look, will you just move
your truck? Please?”

          
Greyson smiled. “You think I’m good looking?”

          
I wanted so badly to smack the stupid smirk off of his
handsome face, but yet instead somehow a slight giggle emerged from my throat.
Great.
I’m feeding the zoo animals.

          
“Look, it doesn’t matter what I think. Can I please just
drop off my delivery?” I asked sincerely, hoping he was ready to just give in.

          
“It was nice to meet you, Mallory,” he replied, tipping
his head at me. “I’m sorry about the desserts.” He quickly closed the back of
his catering truck and brushed past me, climbing into the driver’s side of his
vehicle. I gave him a small half-wave, relieved he was finally moving out of my
way.

          
I pulled my van forward and parked it as close to the door
as possible. I was relieved when a couple teenage boys came out of the back
door of the gallery to help me unload. We pulled all of the bakery boxes out
and carried them inside.

          
“Mallory, I am so glad to see you! The guys have been
raving about your desserts since you brought in all those samples a couple
weeks ago,” Michelle gushed. She was the event coordinator for the gallery, a
very slender, pretty woman with long straight blonde hair and very full lips. I
had worked with her once before when I supplied desserts for a community event
in the downtown square.

          
“Well, I’m sure they’ll like these,” I said, walking over
to a table set up for me so I could put together my dessert display.

          
“You should have seen the catering guy that just came in
here, oh my goodness. He was as handsome as they come,” she said, looking a
little flush.

          
“Too bad I missed him,” I muttered, a little annoyed that
guys like Greyson got the reaction they did just because of their looks. Sure,
it made sense to me that women got that kind of attention. But for some reason
it irritated me when the tables were turned.

          
“Well, I’ll leave you to set up,” Michelle said politely.
“I have the ice sculpture guy coming in about an hour and I have a few other
things to set up before then. Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the
auction tonight?”

          
“No, but thanks for the offer. I’ll swing by just for a
bit just to check on things, probably around six if that’s okay. But I’ll be
brief. I’d rather people enjoy my desserts without me standing around fretting
about their comments, if that makes sense,” I replied, opening up the bakery
boxes to begin my display.

          
“Oh come on, you have the best desserts in town. You have
nothing to worry about. My boss already told me he wants to use you for a few
more events we have coming up this Fall. I’m going to make you stick around for
at least one of them,” Michelle said sincerely. She smiled and walked to the
front of the gallery, leaving me alone to finish my masterpiece.

          
About thirty minutes later, my dessert table was completely
set up. The tiramisu was all loaded up into a separate room in the back of the
gallery for the catering staff to distribute it during post-auction cocktails.
I was satisfied with my display, and even took a couple pictures of it to show
Addie as soon as she returned from Mexico.

          
I said goodbye to the gallery staff, wished them luck on
their event, and headed outside to my bakery van. Before climbing in the
driver’s side door, I noticed a piece of paper stuck underneath my windshield
wipers.
Damn, please don’t let this be a parking ticket.
I wasn’t parked
illegally in the alley, was I? I was pretty sure it was a designated loading
zone.