it off, but it will mean another all-nighter or nearly an all-nighter and I’m not sure I can take it. If it wasn’t for the time it takes for the cooling and the fondant . . .
I’m a failure. I can’t cancel or even change an order the day before the wedding, there’s no way. All it takes is one bad customer experience for the tales to spread and then no one will hire me, and I’ll have to move back to Blue Falls and, and…he’ll be right. He can’t be right. I can’t fail. I have to pull this off. The mother of the bride is going to be enough to ruin me. It’s going to be blow torch Scarlett all over again. But worse.
Everything goes silent. I buy the bag of sugar in a daze even though I’ll probably need more since I need to re-do the entire order, but none of that is really registering at the moment. I make my way back to the truck, taking a bite to confirm they really are ruined, then a grab a tray of finished, salty product and stalk across the street.
No one notices me striding through the kitchen. Carson is sitting in his little cubby outside Guy’s office and I launch a cupcake at his head. He dodges it. “Scarlett, hey!” he calls, but I pass him right by and push open Guy’s door.
He’s reading some kind of paperwork at his desk and his head lifts at my entrance.
He’s utterly unsurprised, expression flat. Even when I start throwing cupcakes at him.
“This.” Throw. “Is.” Throw “All.” Throw. “Your.” Throw. “Fault!”
When I’m done, there’s mini cupcakes all over his office. Too bad they weren’t frosted. As it is, I barely did any damage at all and the lack ratchets up my fury another notch.
“Who is this?” I glance to the side where a man in an elegant three-piece suit is sitting, watching with lifted brows.
“This is Scarlett Jackson,” Guy answers him, and my gaze snaps back to his.
“I am also the woman who is going to sue you for…for…existing.”
“Now I can see why you’ve been so reticent,” the unknown man says, and the all-consuming anger takes a step back as embarrassment and humiliation move into place.
“Sorry, sir. This doesn’t involve you.”
He grins. “It likely does, but I’m not sure how much I should admit to. Not while you still have ammunition.”
Guy stands. “Oliver, we can talk later. I have something to deal with.”
“Clearly.” Oliver stands, his gaze roving over me briefly in assessment before he turns to Guy and shakes his hand.
The review wasn’t overtly sexual, more evaluating. Not like you would appraise a woman, but like you would examine a particularly interesting specimen of bug or something.
He lifts his brows at Guy and then walks out the door behind me.
Once he’s gone, Guy says, “You didn’t taste the first batch?”
He would turn this around on me. “That’s not the point.” I slam my cupcake tray on his desk and a couple of them pop out and roll onto his desk. I’ve made a little mess of his perfect office and I’m not sad about it.
“How can I fix it?” he asks.
Shocked, I laugh, somewhat manically and pace back and forth in front of his desk. “You want to fix this? You can’t. Unless, of course, you want to help me cook 1500 cupcakes and craft detailed fondant tops, in the next 16 hours?”
He blinks. Silence for a few long seconds. Then he gives a short nod. “You’ve got all the fondant and stencils?”
I nod uncertainly. That didn’t put him off at all?
“Right. We can manage it.”
He stands, grabbing his coat off the hook. It is a victim of my cupcake drive-by, but he just wipes off some of the cake with a swipe of his hand.
“Carson,” he barks.
“Yes, boss.” Carson peers around the doorway. Just the top of his head. He’s bracing himself for further attack.
“Clean up this mess,” Guy tells him. He waves at my feeble attempt at destruction. “And call Clara. Let the girls know I’ll be home late and have dinner sent over.”
I stand there, watching the exchange in befuddled silence.
“Aye, aye, sir.” Carson salutes and gives me a jaunty wink before spinning back to his workstation.
Guy motions for me and leaves out the side door. I follow him, in a complete daze. What is happening? We’re standing outside before he speaks.
“What do we need?” he asks.
“Besides twenty-four additional hours in the day?”
“I mean what do we