Читать книгу Decadent Dreams - A.C. Arthur - Страница 12

Chapter 3

She’d changed to flat black shoes with thick rubber soles that would grip the floor so there would be no slipping and falling. Her jacket and top had also been changed to a short-sleeved black T-shirt with the word DIVA scrawled across her delectable breasts in white rhinestones.

Malik continued to watch as Belinda went directly to the third hook on the rack that held their coats and jackets or whatever else they decided to hang up on any given day. Her apron was always on this hook and nothing was on the two hooks surrounding it. Belinda had a thing about her apron touching street clothes so nobody hung their stuff near hers. She pulled the apron over her head, reaching behind her back to tie it in place. He smiled each time he saw her put that on, he couldn’t help it.

“What are you laughing at?” she asked, her brows immediately wrinkling with a frown.

“You,” he replied, moving from where he’d been standing across the room to the double Sub-Zero refrigerator.

“I wasn’t aware I looked that funny,” was her cool retort.

Malik almost laughed again but knew better. There was only so far you could push Belinda and he wasn’t trying to get on her bad side. It wasn’t quite noon yet so they had a lot of hours to work together in the kitchen.

Shari was traveling with a delivery of two cakes that replicated sculptures by an up-and-coming artist that were being shown at a gallery in Bridgeport. Drake had closed himself in his office, making more moves where the bakery was concerned, no doubt. He was definitely dedicated to the business. As were the rest of the Draysons. They were a close-knit family, the business holding them as strong as their familial bond.

That left him and Belinda in the kitchen today to get out the orders. Carter was expected, but there was no exact time one could ever expect Carter. He worked his own hours, which were usually long and rigorous since he was always striving to achieve more, even though he was already a master at his craft.

“You don’t look funny,” he said when he’d closed the refrigerator, carrying the rolls of fondant over to the working table. “You look really cute in your Betty Boop apron.” It was an honest assessment, one he usually kept to himself. Today, however, Malik had the urge to go out on a limb.

“It was a gift,” she said, slapping her hands down over the apron. Too hard to be an attempt at wiping something off, more likely she thought she could erase Betty Boop’s voluptuously shaped body from the material.

“A very nice gift. Who gave it to you?” he asked as he worked.

Belinda had finally stopped touching the apron and obviously decided to get to work herself. There were two full sheet cakes on the other end of the table. She picked up a bowl of buttercream icing and a spatula and moved closer to the table, on the opposite side from Malik.

“My father.”

“You a Betty Boop fan?”

“Yes.”

It was cordial conversation, the likes of which he and Belinda had gone through on more than one occasion. It wasn’t normally this stiff, even though Belinda was not a fan of conversing while she was working. But Malik sensed there was something bothering her today. She was even more reserved than normal.

He retrieved a marble cutting board and rolled out the first layer of pea-green fondant. Using the rolling pin, he began the painstaking process of smoothing it out just another layer or so before he would drape it over the golf course cake he was working on.

“I can like Betty Boop if I want to. I’m not so stuck-up that I don’t know a simple cartoon character when it’s splattered on the front of my apron,” she said abruptly.

Malik had looked up at her, not speaking for a moment. She hadn’t even gazed at him, just kept scooping icing onto that spatula and gently smoothing it onto the cake. It was amazing how much pent-up emotion she was holding on to. He could see it in the stiffness of her shoulders, the stern set of her lips. And yet, her hands were supersteady, smoothing icing in lengthy strokes, making sure the cake was covered evenly.

“You can like whatever you want. That makes you decisive, not stuck-up.” And yet he wondered who’d called her stuck-up, and if they’d had the guts to do so to her face.

“Right,” she said slapping the spatula into the icing bowl. She turned the cake, surveying it.

“If you tell me who, I’ll gladly punch the person who called you stuck-up,” he offered with a serious face. “Providing it’s not a female.”

The edge of her lips twitched and he knew she wanted to smile. He’d seen her smile before, had received a sucker punch to his gut each time. This one, albeit small, was hard earned. Something was really bothering her.

“It’s not worth it,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “His loss.”

The last was spoken in a softer tone. So much so Malik had barely heard it. After only a few minutes of trying to phrase his question just right, he asked, “So a guy you were dating called you stuck-up. Why? Because you weren’t into him?”

She’d been making sure the tip was properly attached to the tube and had just been about to apply the border to the cake when she paused. Her head turned to the side and she looked at him. Even on Belinda the white hair caps they were required to wear at all times in the kitchen looked cute.

“How did you know it was a man?”

“Because you’re not the type of female to get bothered by what another female says about you. Besides, if it were a female, you would have simply cursed her out and kept it moving.”

She chuckled. “You’re right about that.”

He’d seen Belinda tear down jealous females with a look and a few words spoken in the coolest voice. She wasn’t the screaming and hollering type, nor was she into physical altercations. But she was no doormat, either. Anybody coming at her with smart words should prepare to get an earful. So it had to be a man that had said this to her. A dumb-ass man that most likely needed an eye-opener to see the error of his ways. Malik would be more than happy to open his eye for him—or close it permanently.

“It’s nothing. Just another date gone wrong. I should probably start my own reality show. Surely my love life is entertaining at best.”

Her love life. How long had Malik been thinking about Belinda’s love life? Too damned long. Belinda Drayson-Jones was not on the list of available women for him—no matter how attracted to her he was. How attracted to her he had been for some time now. But pursuing her would go against too many of his rules on dating, namely the no-drama rule. If he went after Belinda, Carter would totally go off. The men in this family were very protective of their women. And as his best friend, Carter would definitely have strong feelings about a relationship between Malik and Belinda—especially with Carter’s never-mix-work-with-pleasure rule. And then there was the fact that Belinda was Lillian’s favorite granddaughter. No secret there. The matriarch doted on everything Belinda did, because everything she did was always right.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “You’re dating the wrong guys.”

“Tell me about it,” was her reply.

“Okay, I will.” He smiled to keep things on this light tone. “Just because he comes from a good family, with money and stature, has a high-paying job and drives a fancy car doesn’t mean he should be a candidate.”

“That is not how I select my dates.”

Malik gave her a knowing look. “You’re not going to date any man you think will tarnish the Drayson family name. So in your mind the man for you has to be influential, accomplished, handsome and debonair. Those are all superficial traits, flimsy as the society pages that describe him that way. Hence, big mistake for you.”

“Malik, really? Do you think I select men from the society pages? You make me sound desperate.”

“Not at all,” he said shaking his head. “You’re too beautiful to be desperate.”

Now, that was a first. Malik wasn’t shy when it came to women; he’d just been careful to stay in his lane where Belinda was concerned. With that comment he’d just swerved into the left lane and had to regain his control to keep from crashing.

“That’s sort of what he said. Apparently I’m also too beautiful to be so stuck-up.”

“Like I said, he’s an idiot. Which means you made a bad choice.”

“Apparently beauty has nothing to do with that that, huh?” she asked.

Malik wanted to let this conversation drop. He’d never talked to Belinda about the men in her life before. Actually, he’d made a point not to discuss that with her. Pity parties weren’t his thing so thinking about the woman he’d never had was a pastime he tried to do without.

She’d finished the yellow border of the cake and was just about to line up the previously made sugar roses when one of them slipped from her spatula and landed on the table instead of the cake. She cursed, her lips drawn tightly as she retrieved the rose that hadn’t been harmed and put it in its place.

“What you need to do is relax,” he told her. “Take some time to just let loose. You’ll forget about what’s-his-name taking his frustrations out on you.” And you can stop being perfect for just one minute, he added, though he kept that part to himself. Because Malik was sure the perfect routine was one tiring job.

“I don’t see how relaxing is going to make a difference in the man I choose to go out with.”

“I’m not saying it’ll make a difference in your choice of men, only you can make that change. But sometimes it’s good to just get away from all the pressures of life. How about this? I pick you up tonight at seven. We’ll go out and have a fun-filled evening at which time you will not think about what’s-his-name that didn’t have the good sense God gave him. You will not think about this bakery and what orders we have for tomorrow. You will not think about the competition that’s coming up or what you can do to contribute for us to win. Deal?”

* * *

First of all, Malik Anthony had always been too damned fine for his own good. As if it wasn’t enough that his body was perfectly toned, tall and sculpted like the basketball player he used to be. No, his honey-colored skin had to be smooth and enticing. His always-close-shaved head and dark brown eyes were like dangling a carrot in front of every female rabbit. The tattoos he had on each of his biceps should have been a turnoff and yet Belinda had always found the scorpion on his left bicep, which represented his zodiac sign, as well as the justice scales on his right bicep, which represented his mother’s zodiac sign, heartwarming instead of offensive.

His laid-back demeanor and almost-always-positive mood tended to give her a headache more often than not. Nobody could be in a good mood all the time. It just wasn’t possible. Life wasn’t that good. Especially not for him, Belinda presumed. Having his dream collapse and ending up here could not have been easy for Malik. But watching him move around this bakery, laughing and joking with Carter and working just as hard as the rest of them, she couldn’t tell he was suffering. Sure, it had been years and he’d probably gotten over the cruel hand fate had dealt him, but Belinda was positive he harbored some resentful feelings. He had to, right?

“I can’t go on a date with you. Besides we both have to be back here first thing tomorrow morning. We have a heavy schedule,” she told him matter-of-factly.

“We’re not the only staff members that work here. Besides, I’m not talking about keeping you out overnight. We’re just going to go out for a few hours and have a little fun.”

“I don’t need you to show me how to have fun,” she said defiantly.

“I didn’t say I was going to show you. I said we’ll have some fun. Meaning both of us. Stop analyzing it to death. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“What if I say no?”

“You can. I’m not desperate either, you know. I won’t beg to take you out,” Malik said in that casual tone

of his.

Why did that hurt her feelings? She didn’t care if Malik didn’t want to take her out. Why should she?

Rolling her shoulders, Belinda took a deep breath. This was silly. Malik was like family—even though his wide smile and infectious laugh often did things to her that neither Carter’s nor Drake’s ever had. Spending an evening with him wouldn’t be that big of a deal. She’d done it before when they’d worked late nights, or at family dinners. There was no reason to expect that tonight would be any different. And yes, she could use a reprieve.

Earlier this week when she’d gone out with Patrick Masterson of Masterson Wholesale Foods, she hadn’t been relaxed at all. And by the end of the evening she’d been ready to wrap her hands around Patrick’s scrawny little neck and squeeze until the shrill sound of his voice stopped completely. He was an annoying, self-centered man who thought the sun rose and set on him. And he had the audacity to call her stuck-up because she’d declined a third date.

The first date had been a favor to her mother, who was on some committee with Patrick’s mother. The second time had been because she feared she hadn’t given him a fair shot the first go-round. After an hour and a half on Monday night and hearing about Patrick’s latest accomplishments which centered around his new shipment of veggie burgers and other organic meats, she’d deduced that a third date would be the type of torture she did not deserve.

“I know you’re not desperate, Malik.” She took another deep breath and used the inside of her arm to wipe her forehead. “You can pick me up tonight at seven. We’ll go out and have some fun, because you think that’ll make everything in my world better. And we’ll be back here tomorrow for work as usual.”

Malik looked as if he were going to say something else. Instead he only nodded and continued to work on applying the fondant to the lower layer of the Ricardo wedding cake.

Hours later after they’d both worked themselves to the brink, Belinda drove herself back to her apartment. She stripped out of her work clothes, switched on the faucet in the tub and poured in a generous amount of bubble bath. She couldn’t wait to sink down into the water. Heading into her bedroom she grabbed a book from her nightstand. These were Belinda’s only indulgences—hot baths and reading. They were her only support system in a life she feared was spiraling out of control.

Just as she was almost out of the bedroom, the phone rang and she circled back to the nightstand to grab the cordless device. She said hello, continuing on her trek into the bathroom.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask when I saw you earlier. How was your date with Patrick?” Shari asked. The preschool had called Shari earlier this afternoon and she’d had to leave straight from her delivery to pick up Andre. So Belinda hadn’t seen her since this morning’s meeting. Of course she thought about her cousin’s reaction to the contest announcement—more aptly about how Shari really felt about Dina English and this upcoming competition. Shari had said she was fine with it, but Belinda hadn’t believed her. The grudge between Shari and Dina had been going on for years now, but as far as Belinda knew, neither of the women had ever confronted each other or had any reason to be in the same place at the same time. A live competition on national TV probably wasn’t the best setting for a reunion, but there wasn’t much they could do about that now.

“It wasn’t worth talking about this morning and it’s definitely not worth talking about now,” was Belinda’s reply to Shari’s question.

“But you two look so good together,” Shari said excitedly. “And just think, if you hook up with him, we could probably be a featured bakery in their store. You know those warehouse stores get lots of traffic. They usually make and sell their own baked goods. But what if we could work out some type of distribution with them? We could use that publicity.”

This was only a small sample of the pressure Belinda always felt weighing on her shoulders. Ever since she could walk and talk, expectations of her had been high. In elementary school she had to be the cutest, the smartest. By middle school her parents had encouraged—she wouldn’t say “forced,” out of respect—her to join the spelling club, which had her traveling for nationwide competitions. At the same time she needed to be well-rounded, so three years in gymnastics and four years of piano lessons were also prescribed. High school was the Debate Club, the Honor Society and every honors class she could enroll in. College was more committees and activities, but by that time, Belinda had begun to tune out more than she absorbed.

“You sound more and more like Drake every day,” she said. “I’m not going to pimp myself out, even for the sake of making Lillian’s a household name.”

“Come on, you know I would never suggest that, girl. I was just saying that would be a perk. Of course you would have to feel something for him, as well. Which by the sound of your voice I’m guessing you do not.”

“Then you would be guessing correctly,” Belinda said as she sank down into the tub, loving the soothing feel of hot water as it touched her skin, and the chamomile fragrance of the bubbles that permeated the air.

“He’s a pompous ass. And he had the audacity to call me names when I said I wouldn’t go out with him again. How childish.” Even though Belinda had to admit the fact that she was still bothered by his words probably spoke volumes about her own maturity. It wasn’t as if she had never been called names before—that, too, had happened when she was younger. Being perfect had never been Belinda’s goal—it was a prerequisite. For so long she went along with it because for the most part it came naturally. Now, twenty-six years later, she felt like she was renting space inside this body—living the life others expected her to live. It was a huge price to pay, one Belinda wasn’t sure she could continue to afford.

On the other hand, there was the guilt of wanting to lead what she presumed was a “normal” life. Her grandmother had risen above what was expected of a normal African-American single mother, and she’d made something bigger—her family and her business. And Belinda owed it to her, to their legacy, to be the best always. That’s what her parents had instilled in her and that was the rule she’d lived by all her life. The one that haunted her to this day.

“So you’re on the hunt again?” Shari asked with a chuckle.

“I’m not now, nor have I ever been on the hunt. My parents are the ones who think I should be married and ready to have babies by now.”

“You should have started young like I did,” Shari quipped.

Shari was a single mother and proud of it. She took care of her son on her own and never complained.

“I don’t even know if I want kids. Or a man for that matter.”

“Oh, you want a man,” she said. “It’s in our genes to want to get married and have kids. We’ve got a legacy to carry on. If we don’t have kids, who does it carry on to?”

Belinda was so tired of hearing about this legacy.

“The show will go on no matter what,” she said drily. “Anyway I won’t have time to think about men with this competition coming up.”

“I know. I’ve been drawing sketches all afternoon. Andre has a fever so he’s been sleeping. But I have so many ideas.”

Belinda had none. Sure, Malik thought she was thinking about the competition all day today, and she’d let him think along those lines. But it just wasn’t true. This competition was important, she knew that. But there was something else she thought was just as important. Something she feared she’d gone too long without experiencing.

Even now talking to her cousin was a distraction. Belinda had decided to make a change, one that was going to require some thought and planning. “Well, I just came home and I’m trying to take a bath. How about I call you later?”

“Sure, you go ahead. I want to work on my ideas some more. At some point all of us need to get together to figure out what our game plan is.”

Belinda nodded, knowing that would inevitably happen, no matter how much she dreaded it. “Right. You coordinate the others and I’ll be there.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know.”

“Hope Andre feels better,” Belinda said before bidding her cousin good-night and hanging up the phone.

She lay back in the tub and closed her eyes. She could get out of this tub and climb right into her bed. Sleep would be a good way to get things off her mind—if she could sleep. Most likely she’d continue to think about her life-altering decision—the one she’d made after her date with Patrick. The one where she decided to take charge of her own life. Unfortunately, once again, her life would have to wait. Tonight she had a date. Or maybe she should just call it an outing. Whatever it was, it was going to take her away from planning and contemplating. And Belinda wasn’t happy about that.