Vanilla Beaned (3 page)

“Not funny.”

“Oh, come on,” he cajoled. “We're expanding our business with the blessing of hundreds and hundreds of Elvises. What could possibly go wrong?”

“What time are we meeting the woman?” Mel asked.

“The woman's name is Holly Hartzmark,” Tate said. “She's a very nice lady, who dreams of owning her own bakery, not that different from someone else I know.”

He gave her a pointed stare and Mel rolled her eyes, not where he could see her, however.

“We're meeting Holly, our lawyer Stuart, and the Realtor down in the lobby in an hour,” he said.

“Cool, I'm taking a shower,” Mel said. She felt grimy from the flight and the drive as if the dusty desert and traffic-clogged streets coated her skin and throat.

“Well, I want to explore,” Angie said. She was standing by the window of their room looking out at the city while scanning the hotel's brochure of amenities. “I heard they host a full luau every night. I want to go check it out.”

“I'm totally down with that plan,” Tate said. He grabbed the spare card key off the table and took Angie by the hand, and the two of them headed out the door without a backward glance.

Mel wondered if this was what their partnership had become now that two of the three were a couple. Would she always be left behind while her two friends went gallivanting?

“Stop it,” she said out loud. She shook her head. She was not going to start throwing herself pity parties just because her two besties were engaged and she was single, which seemed to be her status quo.

She knew she could have joined them while they were off seeing the sights, but she had chosen a hot shower instead. She glanced around the suite. It was very modern, very swank, all glass tables and chrome accents, and it was well appointed, offering a view of the Strip that took her breath away. She could even see the water fountain show at the Bellagio Hotel. She tried to find some happiness in this, but it was a struggle.

There was no question that she really wasn't eager to franchise the bakery, but she had agreed to meet the person who was interested so here she was. She knew she had two choices—she could either pout and whine about it, or she could try to enjoy the next few days.

Surely they weren't going to spend all of their time in meetings. She could hit the spa, take in a show, place some bets for Marty, and before she knew it, she'd be headed home. As for the franchise, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Tate was right. A woman, like Mel, wanted to own a
cupcake bakery. He said it was her lifelong dream. How could Mel begrudge anyone the happiness she had found running her own cupcake bakery?

She pictured the thirtysomething buyer, Holly Hartzmark, as a happy-go-lucky woman, who would smell faintly of gingersnaps. She would give good hugs, have a contagious laugh, and know how to whip up a cake from scratch out of minimal ingredients. Feeling better than she had in weeks, Mel headed for the showers.

When Mel was wrong, she was, oh, so wrong. As she stood in the lobby of the hotel, waiting for Tate and Angie to appear, Stuart Stinson, the franchise lawyer Tate had hired, arrived with the Realtor and a dark-haired exotic beauty that made Mel feel like hiding behind any one of the potted palm trees until they all went away.

The woman had thick dark brown hair that hung halfway down her back in luscious waves. Her face was sculpted with high jutting cheekbones, a square jaw, and a wide forehead adorned with perfectly arched eyebrows.

Her eyes were an electric blue that Mel could see all the way across the room. Long lashes, a thin nose, and pillow lips completed the knock-'em-to-their-knees beauty that was her face. And that was just her face. The silky turquoise wraparound dress she wore with beige stiletto pumps hugged her every curve while the fabric undulated with each step she took. Seriously, the woman was sex on
legs, and Mel had never felt more like a hausfrau in her entire life.

Suddenly her black capri pants and gray sleeveless cotton blouse made Mel feel like Mary Ann to this woman's Ginger, and she desperately wanted to go on a three-hour tour anywhere that would get her out of here and she was not even a boat person.

“Mel,” Stuart called out before she could make her getaway.

She gave him a small wave while frantically checking the lobby for any sign of Tate or Angie. They were nowhere to be seen. She tried to tamp down the surge of fury that swamped her. This was Tate's idea. He was the one who'd forced them into this franchise situation that he knew she wanted no part of, and now he was MIA and she was forced to meet the prospective buyer. She blew out a breath through her nose. If he showed up in the next five minutes, she might forgive him, but if he didn't, she was planning to give him a full-on smack-down topped with the silent treatment.

The group approached. Mel tried not to fidget with the buttons on her blouse. She had no idea what to say to a woman who was that stunning, except maybe that it wasn't fair, and instead of hogging all the good looks, Holly should consider passing them around. Yeah, that probably wouldn't go over well because Mel was quite sure a note of bitterness would creep into her voice, keeping the sentiment from being charming.

“Ms. Cooper,” Stuart said. “May I introduce your
franchise investor, Holly Hartzmark, and her Realtor, Scott Jensen?”

“How do you do?” Mel said.

“Very well and you?” Holly replied. Even her low voice was sexy.

Holly had a firm, warm handshake and she made direct eye contact, causing Mel to be the one to glance away first. The woman was too beautiful. Mel felt as if gazing upon her too long would render her stupid, as if Holly could put some freaky Greek goddess curse on her or something. It was a relief to turn to the Realtor. Scott gripped her hand a little too tightly and a little too long, and his eye contact ran like that, too.

Mel addressed the group. “I'm so sorry my business partners seem to be running late. I can't imagine what could have held them up.”

“It's Vegas,” Scott said. He was the quintessential thirty-thousand-dollar millionaire real estate guy with slicked-back hair, veneers on the teeth, Omega on the wrist, skinny-legged trousers, and pointy-toed leather shoes. If there was a cologne that reeked of cold hard cash, he'd be wearing it—heck, he'd probably bathe in it.

“Yeah, well, I'll just give them a quick call,” Mel said.

Stuart made an impatient sound. Gray-haired and sour-looking, Stuart was a stickler of an attorney, which was why Tate liked him. Stuart dotted every
i
and crossed every
t
, and he was never, ever late. Mel had a feeling Tate would be groveling to more than just her later.

Mel took her phone out of her purse and stepped away
from the others. What she had to say to Tate wasn't going to be polite. Tate answered on the third ring.

“Where the hell are you?” Mel growled.

Bells and chimes rang in the background, and Mel heard Angie squeal with delight.

“She did it. She hit!”

The sounds of cheering and laughing went on for a few seconds, and Mel felt her temper get hotter and hotter.

“Tate!” she hissed. She could feel the eyes of the group on her, and she walked farther away.

“I can't hear you,” he said. “It's too loud. Hang on.”

“Tate, you had better get your butts to the lobby right now,” she said. “We are all waiting for you in front of the check-in desk. Where are you?”

“Uh,” Tate stuttered.

“Do not tell me that you are in a different casino,” she said.

“I—”

“Don't.”

“But—”

“What do you not understand about
don't
?” she asked.

“I'm sorry, Mel,” he said. “Look we'll hop a cab and get back up the Strip in no time.”

“Define
no time
,” she said.

“Sorry, Mel, I couldn't understand you,” he said. “It sounds like you're talking through clenched teeth.”

Mel opened her jaw wide to stretch it out before she spoke again so that her words were very clear. “I am going to kill you. I'm going to drag your sorry carcass out into
the desert, pour honey all over you, and let the fire ants eat you.”

“You're angry,” he said.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Mel snapped.

“And you have every right to be,” he said. “We are so sorry. We just got carried away because . . . Vegas. Listen, go have drinks in the bar and we'll be there within the hour.”

Mel shoved her free hand into her short blond hair and pulled. The expression
ripping your hair out
suddenly made perfect sense to her.

“No, I'm not going to entertain your guests,” she said. “We are going to press on to the property they are considering for the franchise—you remember, the reason we came here. And we'll see if I think it's appropriate or not, which will determine whether we are franchising or not.
Capiche?
”

“Oh, no, you only use Italian when you're really, really mad,” he said. “We are on our way. I swear. We'll meet you at the property.”

“Don't bother.” Mel ended the call without saying good-bye.

She tugged on the front of her blouse, bolstering her courage. If she was left to handle this, well, wasn't it a pity if she found neither Holly nor the property they were going to look at suitable for a franchise? This might actually work out for the best. She smiled.

She knew without checking her reflection that it was a devious smile, the sort that was usually found on an animated evil queen in a Disney flick. She was okay with that.

“Tate sends his apologies,” Mel said as she rejoined the
group. “He and our other partner, Angie DeLaura, were unfortunately detained and won't be able to join us. If it's all right with you, I suggest we go ahead and look at the property.”

“Excellent,” Stuart said. He led the way to the doors. “It's walkable as it's just around the corner in a small shopping corridor.”

Mel followed him, leaving Holly and Scott to bring up the rear. That didn't last as Holly caught up with Mel outside.

“Tate isn't coming?” Holly asked. Her voice matched her looks exactly. It was low and soft and managed to suggest tangled bedsheets. It irritated Mel like the obnoxious bass beat being blasted out of a passing car.

“That's what I said,” Mel replied. Holly flinched and Mel cringed. She was not normally a mean person, but this woman looked like she knew as much about baking as Mel did about fixing cars, which was nil.

Just because she had a lot of money didn't mean she was capable of running a bakery. And if she was buying the right to use the Fairy Tale Cupcake brand, Mel was going to make damn sure she knew how to bake a frigging cupcake.

“Tell me, Holly, what's your culinary background?” Mel asked.

She glanced at Holly and saw her bite one of her plump lips. She looked unsure of herself and Mel took a certain satisfaction in that.
Looks aren't everything
, she thought to herself.

“You have studied at a cooking school, correct?” Mel asked.

“I, well, I don't have any formal training,” Holly said. She was fidgeting with a ring on her left hand as if she wasn't sure what to do with her hands.

“Oh, huh, I'm going to be honest. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I consider cooking an art and science,” Mel said. She knew she sounded snotty but this was business, her business. “A high school home economics class is not really enough preparation to open your own bakery, don't you agree?”

By the blush that darkened Holly's face, Mel knew she had guessed correctly. Holly had no baking experience beyond the minimum. Good grief, she probably wanted to open up a bakery because she thought cupcakes were cute.

Mel pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, to ward off an incoming headache, and trudged forward. Well, at least when she said no to the franchise, Tate couldn't fault her. Holly was no more prepared to own and run a bakery than Mel was to be the headlining act at the Blue Hawaiian.

Stuart and Scott paused in front of a small, vacant shop nestled in a narrow alley of shops right off the Strip. There were throngs of people walking up and down the small walkway, and Mel knew Tate would look at the foot traffic as a good sign. Whatever.