Page 68 of The Spare (The King Dynasty #2)

"A bakery that's hiring for a new baker."

I blink rapidly. "But I don't have a degree, or any formal training- "

"Doesn't matter, sweetheart," Dad interrupts. "Take some advise from your old man. If you want something out of life, you go grab it by the bullhorns. Dominate it."

Mason grunts and laughs, throwing me an amused look.

"Okay," I say. "Well, then let's go."

Dad's brow arches.

"What?" I tease. "Afraid of fucking up your girlish figure?" I laugh, shaking my head when Mason throws me a 'what the fuck' look. "I'll tell you later," I say quietly.

"Nah, I could go for a brownie actually." He stands up, throwing his napkin down on his plate. "Let's go. It's a little under an hour away."

"Hey, uh, is there any possible way we can leave some of the security behind?" I ask hopefully. "I doubt I can get a job with a bunch of men flanking me."

Mason and Dad trade a look. "Surely we can ask them to stay outside?" Mason asks, collecting our dishes and taking them to the sink to soak.

"Yeah. I doubt anyone will try to kill you at a bakery," I say wryly, rolling my eyes.

Dad gets an amused look on his face and then grins. "Let me talk to my man, Mario. See what I can manage."

He turns on his heels and then walks out of the kitchen, leaving Mason and me alone. I join him at the sink, meaning to rinse while he fills the sink with hot sudsy water.

"I miss you," he says quietly, not taking his eyes off the saucer he's washing.

My eyes well up with tears, those three words making my already heightened emotional state even more distressed. Because I've needed him desperately, but he hasn't forced me into anything. Giving me time and space .

The bubbles trail up his arm, and the water steams between us as we work together.

Our arms brush, and guilt swamps me at how I've been denying him sexual intimacy because I've been hurt.

He's left his family and moved us all the way to the other side of the States so we could make a new life for ourselves, and I repay him by shutting him out.

Chewing my lip, I tilt my head up to look at him. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

His eyes meet mine, the sadness in them melting to desire. "I'm sorry, too, butterfly."

Standing up on my tiptoes, I press my lips to his, moaning as he deepens it slightly.

The dish he was washing splashes at he drops it in the sink, and he turns to me, putting his hands on either side of my face and pulling me into him.

Soap gets on me, but I don't mind, craning my neck back and parting my lips more for him, stroking my tongue along his.

His cock swells between us, pressing tight into my belly. "Make love to me?"

Dad comes back into the room, clearing his throat, making us pull away reluctantly.

"Tonight," Mason whispers against my lips.

We both turn to face him, and I'm blushing so hard I feel faint, forgetting just how badly Mason's kisses affected me. My heart thumps heavily in my chest, and my breasts swell against my bra, my need making itself known.

Dad's lips tip in a grin as he looks between us, arching a brow. "Can we go?" he drawls slowly. "Or do y'all need to go take a nap or something?"

I gasp, slapping my hand to my mouth and turning back to the sink, hurriedly washing the other dishes .

"We're fine," Mason chuckles, tucking me under his arm when I rinse my hands and shut the water off. I take the towel he gives me and dry my hands with it, throwing it to the counter when I'm done.

"So, an hour away you said?" I squeak, clearing my throat and turning to head to the mudroom for my shoes.

"Yup. Almost, anyways." Dad laughs, and ten minutes later, we're in an armored SUV, driving down the coast headed to what I hope is going to be a new beginning for me.

My hope is thoroughly crushed as I stand outside, flanked on either side by Dad and Mason looking up at the bakery in front of us, my mouth gaping.

It's not just a bakery. It's a bakery/factory that takes up damn near a quarter of the block.

Its storefront is beautifully decorated with white paint and pink shutters.

The pink neon sign Deadly Sweet is in a beautiful cursive, featuring a cartoon cupcake.

Swirls and various sweets are written in white and pink on the store window, and several iron tables and chairs with umbrellas are lined outside on the patio, which is filled to the brim with customers and servers bringing out elaborate desserts.

It's so girlie it's comical, but despite how sweet it looks, it's a massive business.

Beyond the storefront, you can see a white building attached. It has its own production factory.

I'm instantly intimidated .

"I can't apply for a job here," I hiss to my dad. "Look at this place!" I moan, putting a hand to my forehead. "And we drove all the way here too."

Dad puts a hand to my back, looking down at me. "Since you've been with me you've made a desert every night. And not only are they good, they are comparable to everything I've eaten in here. I wouldn't have brought you otherwise."

I look into his eyes, feeling some of my unease melt away as he looks at me with so much kindness it's hard to believe he's an underboss to the most powerful Don in California, and I can see why my mom fell in love with him all those years ago.

I huff out a breath, steeling my resolve, and squaring my shoulders. "Okay, here goes nothing."

Walking inside is like something out of a movie.

I can't believe the difference in stepping off the sidewalk and into the store.

I'm immediately hit by smells of all kinds, and the place is enormous.

The space is big enough for at least thirty circular white tables, with pink chairs and all of them are packed full.

My eyes roam, seeing an entire wall to the left is nothing but frosted glass freezer doors with cakes, pies, custards, and different flavors of ice creams. At the register are at least three clerks who man the store next to a glass display of cookies, muffins, donuts, biscuits, pastries, brownies, and puddings.

There are three lines of people almost to the back where we stand.

The opposite wall is a stretch of wall to wall glass panels with what looks to be party rooms beyond, and I see a group of girls dressed up, posing in front of an impressive selfie wall made of flowers and greenery taking pictures.

Jesus .

Glazed white round tables break up the customer tables throughout the space and decorated with what I would assume you'd find in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Candy of all shapes and sizes dominate these tables, reaching high almost to the ceiling. Each table is a different color scheme.

There's even a little melted chocolate fountain bar.

I shiver. "It's cold in here," I say nervously, catching the eye of a woman walking towards us who was delivering a pair of comically tall sundaes piled high with whipped cream to a table.

She looks to be about thirty, and so pretty she could be a barbie doll.

She reminds me of the African American version of Karissa she's so perfectly put together.

My eyes fall to the chunky bangle on her wrist, and her ears decorated with beautiful earrings.

She's in front of us in no time at all, giving me and Mason a curious once over before putting her attention back to my dad.

"Maximus!" she trills, smiling brightly as she steps forward and wraps her arms warmly around him.

Mason and I stay silent, just watching as they greet each other.

She steps back and gets a teasing scowl on her face and hits him in the arm, surprising me.

"I haven't seen you in a month, you asshole.

Where have you been? I thought you'd gotten yourself in trouble and I was going to have to come rescue you! " she says in a sharp tone.

Though it's obvious she's teasing, I frown. Wondering if Dad's a player.

"Ah, Charayl," he drawls, getting an amused smile on his face. "Do you really think you would have found me?"

Her eyes narrow. "I'm quite confident."

He chucks her under her chin, making her nose scrunch. "Just as sweet as ever," Dad says playfully. He steps back, turning and gesturing an arm towards us. "I want you to meet my family. This is my daughter, Melody, and her new husband, Mason."

Charayl's brows go up, and she side-eyes Dad before stepping forward and holding out her hand to Mason and me.

"H-Hello," I say shyly, shaking her hand and then tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "I was sort of here for an application…"

She turns her face from me dismissively, looking at Dad.

"You didn't tell me you had a daughter, Maximus," she says in an accusatory tone.

"You've been coming to me for almost eight years now.

What else are you hiding from me?" Her eyes dart around quickly.

"And where's your people that you usually roll with? "

She's perceptive, and tough. Damn.

Dad laughs and crosses his arms. "I just wanted to have a bit of privacy with my family today. Is that alright with you, my dear?"

She rolls her eyes before putting them to me and looks me up and down. Though she looks as sweet as her shop, goosebumps erupt along my skin at how intimidating she is.

"Melody, go behind the counter, snag a brownie, and eat it.

When you're done, go to the back and bake me a creme bruleé.

" she says in a no-nonsense voice, her eyes turning sharp.

My brows rise, and I toss a look to Dad, who's reached for a menu off a table, only to have it snatched up by Charayl who tsks at him and scrunches her nose.

"Are you kidding me, Max? Don't be so fucking insulting. I know what you order."

I huff a little laugh, unsure. Tightening my lips when she shoots me another sharp look and just stares. Her eyes are eerie, making my toes curl. "Did you hear me?" she asks, blinking.

I jerk, shoving my purse to Mason who's pulled out a chair next to Dad and made himself comfortable .

Winding through the customers, I head to the front of the store, and slip behind the counter.

The clerks spare me exactly one glance as I walk to the little sink and wash my hands before grabbing a little piece of wax paper, reaching in and grabbing a brownie.

I step to the side, and watch as the customers flood in, filling each of the three registers at least ten people deep.

The first bite I take almost floors me it's so luscious, and I know right then and there why she had me do this. If I can't deliver at this level, then there's no point in even trying. Despite the sweetness in my mouth, I feel sick. I've only made creme bruleé one time, and that was a year ago.

Fuck.

"Okay, I can do this." I whisper, swallowing the last bite and heading through the steel door that leads to the massive kitchen, finding an apron and pulling my hair back.

Not one of the at least twenty women moving around the bakery kitchen blinks at my presence, and I grab a huge mixing bowl and make myself at home.

Two hours later I got the job with a sixty thousand dollar a year salary.

Wow.