Just One Taste...(12)

By the time she heard footsteps echoing on the floor overhead, it was  after ten. She sipped a mocha latte and waited for her roommate to  appear.

Which Mia did a couple of minutes later, wearing a bright yellow halter  top and snug, blue-jean capris. Her hair was tousled. Her eyes were  sleepy.

And Colin Leavy shuffled along behind her.

"Well, I'll be damned," Vanessa muttered.

Mia actually blushed.

Vanessa cleared her throat. It wasn't uncommon for Mia to have overnight guests. But Colin?

He was ridiculously devoted to her, so Mia was naturally suspicious.  Then again, after her mother's four failed marriages, Mia was suspicious  of everyone.                       
       
           



       

"Sweet roll, anyone?" Vanessa asked, nodding at the batch she'd just taken out of the oven.

Colin's uneasy glance slid to Mia. "Love one. And do I smell coffee?"

"Regular?" Vanessa walked toward the swinging door that led to the front of the shop. "I can also make espresso and lattes."

Colin groaned as if he was in desperate need of caffeine.

Maybe there were a lot of sleepless people last night.

"Espresso, please," he said. "Two shots."

"I'll help," Mia said, scooting after Vanessa.

In the bakery, Mia didn't help. She leaned against the glass-fronted  display case and banged her head on the top. "What have I done?"

"Had a great time?" Vanessa asked with her eyebrows raised.

"I had a fabulous time," Mia moaned.

"That makes two of us," Vanessa said as she packed espresso grounds. "Or is it four?"

Mia lifted her head. "You, too?" She raced over to the espresso machine.  "No kidding? Oh, God. With all my drama last night I nearly forgot  about you and the luscious lawyer. When did you get home?"

"Four."

"Jeez. Was it great? Of course it was great if you stayed till four. Oh,  wow. Both of us, the same night. Great sex, unlikely partners. What are  the odds?"

"Pretty long."

Mia's smile was mischievous. "Speaking of long … care to spill … details?"

The bell above the door chimed, and Mia turned to greet the customer-a  man and his daughter, clamoring for a half-dozen sweet rolls.

Vanessa smiled as she watched her partner charm them. Mia-with her great  sense of style-had designed the bakery in bright shades of blue, yellow  and green, giving the shop a sense of cheer and prosperity. A glass  case ran across the room, showcasing the baked goods. The rolls, cakes  and scones Vanessa had made earlier. Doughnuts dipped in chocolate and  sprinkles. Blueberry and banana-nut muffins. Five varieties of  cheesecake. Fruit parfaits and pies. Mocha tortes. Brownies. Truffles.  Southern specialties like divinity and pralines.

The mural that dominated one wall of the bakery had been expertly  painted by a local artist Mia had dated and featured piping hot loaves  of bread sliding out of the oven, chocolate cakes and glistening fruit  tarts so perfect in detail you could almost smell them. In front of the  mural sat a table with a display for the catering business-menus, sample  gift bags and a drawing for a free-for-twenty party that they gave away  each July and December.

When the customers left, Mia grinned at Vanessa. "So the long details?"

"I didn't pull out a ruler." She paused as the espresso spurted into the  cup. "Still, everything was … healthy. And he has magical hands."

"I never imagined Colin was so inventive. We did it all over the place-the floor, the bed, the counter."

"The shop counter?" Vanessa asked, glancing around.

"Hey, I used the antibacterial wipes afterward."

Mia giggled, and Vanessa joined her. They hugged liked giddy drunks.  Lack of sleep and great sex undoubtedly contributed to their buoyant  moods.

Mia dabbed tears from her eyes as Vanessa started steaming the milk.  "I'm punchy. But I did talk to Peter's manager, who scored you two  tickets to his client's performance in a couple of weeks."

Peter was an old friend who'd single-handedly started a resurgence of  Rat Pack – era music with a tribute band. The tickets were traded like  gold. "You're a gem."

"I'm exhausted, and we've still got to start on that food prep for Rex Johnson's party."

"Mmm. Well, you'll be pleased to hear I felt a bit energetic this morning and already started on it."

"Excellent. I've still got to do the party bags."

The party bags-something that used to be found only at kids' birthday parties-had become an adult party staple.

As with everything, blame it on Hollywood. From the Oscar presenters to  CD launch parties, guests in the entertainment industry were treated to  portable DVD players, sunglasses, luxury cosmetics and spa trips. Since  most people-especially well-off people-wanted to feel like stars in  their own lives, the trend had trickled down to the nonfamous crowd.                       
       
           



       

The addition of bags was a great source of additional income to Dessert  First, since Mia was a whiz at putting together luscious,  expensive-looking goodies, many times filled with items donated by local  businesses for targeted advertising.

For tonight's soiree, Mia had gotten massage and facial coupons,  skin-care samples, custom CDs of the music their client planned to play  during the party, scented candles, cookies from the bakery, colorful  candies in the shape of syringes and stethoscopes, plus some pens,  magnets and prescription pads printed with the pharmaceutical logos.

"What are you going to do about Colin?" Vanessa asked, veering off work  for the personal stuff that had so dominated her thoughts the last few  hours.

Mia shrugged. "Go with it. For the moment, anyway. What about you?"

"I have no idea." Her friend's boldness was inspiring, though.  "Partywise, I'll help with the bags. We'll finish the prep, then take  turns stuffing the bakery and napping."

Mia toasted her with her foamy latte. "Partners."

"Forever."



"I CAN'T LET YOU DO THIS."

Joseph Douglas folded his hands on his desk and studied the woman across from him.

Millicent Switzer's normally clear, laughing blue eyes were clouded and  bloodshot. Her platinum hair had lost some of its lovely sheen.

He'd loved her once. Some part of him always would, he supposed. She  might have been his wife, the mother of his children, if he'd followed  his heart instead of his head.

But, of course, he hadn't. He'd dated and proposed to Elise instead.

She'll be so perfect to lead the foundation, his mother had insisted. Her family is like ours, his father had added.

Millicent, on the other hand, had been interested in a career of her  own-fashion design-not running the Douglas Foundation. Her family wasn't  like his-that is, they didn't have money. Old money, anyway.

He'd bowed to his parents' pressure, and she'd eventually married  Gilbert Switzer, who'd had plenty of old money and who'd eventually  convinced Millicent to give up her career. She'd made a wonderful  volunteer director of the Burton Wing of the fine arts museum.

He didn't appreciate the irony.

Still, he didn't regret his decision all those years ago. He'd  eventually grown to love Elise, made himself a respected home of his own  and carried on the Douglas tradition of law and philanthropy.

"You're a good friend," Millie went on. "I appreciate you thinking of  me." She shook her head, her limp fall of hair brushing the tops of her  shoulders. "But you can't."

Joseph smiled slightly. "It's done."

"You'll be disbarred, arrested."

"No, I won't."

"I'll be fine. I can go back to work. I never should have given up my design dreams anyway."

"You're getting the money, Millie. I won't hear another argument about it."

"What if-" She bit her lip. "What if she says something?"

"It won't matter. She won't be believed. She's a stripper for God's sake."

Less than two weeks ago, Millie's respected neurosurgeon husband had  dropped dead in the bed of a stripper in Daytona Beach. Though the  family had managed to keep most of the humiliating details out of the  papers, rumors were still flying, laughter still gurgled beneath the  surface of condolences.

Also unfortunately for Millie and her three sons, a month before his  death, Gilbert had changed his will, cutting his wife out of his  thirty-million-dollar estate and including Candy, the pink-haired  stripper. The lunatic had even made Candy executor of his sons' trust  funds.

When Gilbert had come to his office to record this ridiculous document,  Joseph had laughed in his face. He'd refused to file the will with the  state, assuring Gilbert that he'd quickly change his mind.

But Gilbert had insisted on the change, and he'd threatened to go to  another attorney. So Joseph had done something he never had-at least to a  client. He'd lied.