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Even if he was an oppressive old man, no longer the sweet and loving father I remembered from my childhood. Money did that to you. Greed and the hunger to claim every piece of the pie did that to you. He’d even told me I needed to find a husband because I wasn’t getting any younger. Yeah, if he had it his way, he’d fix me up with his best friend’s geeky son. Not a chance in hell.
“You knew this weeks ago. The last time we had drinks and the last time you ate one of my goddamn cupcakes.” Okay, so maybe I was tired of being treated like a petulant child.
Then stop acting like one.
I’d been the good girl, the planner. The organizer. A book nerd. Studious to a fault. And I’d chucked it all for what I was starting to believe was a pipe dream.
Willow lifted a single eyebrow before taking a sip of her blue curacao martini. How could people drink shit like that?
“And why did you suggest this bar? There’s nothing but spoiled rich boys and cronies here.”
“You do know the old saying. You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar.” Willow winked. All she had to do was wag her little finger and the men would come running.
I continued stirring my Absolut martini with the swizzle stick, scanning the hopping bar one last time before giving one of my best friends a death stare. Willow had been one of my besties long before we’d decided to head to the same college, much to both our parents’ chagrin. We’d been little hottie troublemakers, even if we’d also competed for the valedictorian and salutatorian positions for graduation. As usual, I’d won.
To this day, she refused to let me live it down.
“And just why do I want a fly when I can have a true Neanderthal?” I retorted. It felt more like we lived in a college town than a rich man’s haven. Although I could dub San Diego a spoiled brat’s playground. There were the rich and the poor, nothing in between. If you were lucky enough to be born into the upper echelon of society, your entire life was handed to you on a silver platter. Forget about silver spoons; you were one of the few that had everything waiting for you.
An Italian sports car at sixteen.
A multimillion-dollar trust fund at birth.
Admittance to every social club on the West Coast by twelve.
A jet.
A yacht.
Me? I’d been born on the other side of the coin, my parents required to work two jobs, but they’d pulled themselves into an amazing position over the last few years, my father’s media production corporation finally getting the just recognition it deserved. He’d managed to lure decent writers to create two television programs, even hiring A-list actors to portray the leads. I’d been forced when working for him to kowtow to every one of them, something I’d hated.
My parents already loved being a part of Hollywood glamor, talk of at least one Emmy nod making them the talk of the town. They were close to becoming rich and famous. Great. Like that wouldn’t go to my father’s head even more than success had.
At least they were people I could be proud of. This bar? It was full of spoiled bratty boys who would likely never grow up. I was disgusted and over trying to date anyone in this town.
“I think what darling Willow is saying is that you’ve become a bore lately.” Bella Fontaine had been the third musketeer in our college experience, her wild tales of growing up just outside Paris delightful. “Yes, we know you have this amazing dream of being the next great American baker but after four months, you’re still working at a bakery.”
“I thought I could learn something while I searched for the right location,” I insisted. And while I tried to clone what money I had. I wasn’t naïve but going into business in this town was akin to madness. You had to be rich, and I wasn’t that by a long shot.
“About making cupcakes? Oh, please, darling. You create the tastiest ones I’ve ever had but it’s not rocket science.” Willow continued to add salt to the oozing wound.
She certainly didn’t mince words.
“A bore? Not rocket science?” I demanded, tossing back most of my martini. “You try making a few dozen beautifully decorated cupcakes, presenting them with love and attention. Then you tell me if everyone can do it.”
“Why, yes, darling. A sullen bore.” She was grinning. “I’m not trying to insult your dream. We’re both just concerned you might have made a teensy-weensy rash decision in quitting such a high-paying job.”
Neither one of them understood what facing the wrath of my father was like. His mood swings had escalated, and he rarely talked about why. I’d quit because he’d berated me in front of the other employees over nothing. No-thing.
Willow leaned in. “I think her terrible decision-making ability is because she hasn’t had sex since she lost her virginity a hundred years ago.”
“How about we announce it to the entire place?” I swung my arms out in my usual dramatic fashion, my voice louder than theirs combined.
Oops.
No one would ever call me delicate.
“Why don’t I?” Willow actually got up from her chair, and I almost punched her in the gut. Instead, I yanked her back down.
