at night. You’d be in a better mood.”
Carter let her remark pass. It was no mystery to his cousins that he liked to have a good time, and he made no apologies. He was young, single and financially set for life thanks to his family’s business. And, according to popular opinion, he wasn’t hard on the eyes, either. Why the hell shouldn’t he get out there and enjoy himself?
He took a cursory tour around the kitchen, making sure everything was going according to schedule. They had several big orders to get out today, including a cake for an event being hosted by the mayor’s office. Lillian’s most important asset was its reputation, and Carter made it his business to make sure every dessert that left this kitchen lived up to his grandmother’s incredibly high standards.
Amber Mitchell, one of their assistant bakers who doubled as the receptionist, rounded the corner. “Carter, there’s a guy out front who needs to speak to someone about setting up an event tasting. Belinda and Drake are both busy with other customers. Can you talk to him?”
“Does this guy have a name?” he asked Amber, who’d turned her attention to a cake that was ready to be frosted.
She hunched her shoulders. “Probably. He’s in a three-piece suit and is wearing an awful toupee.”
“That helps,” he drawled.
Carter headed for the retail area. The hard work happened behind the scenes in the kitchen, but it was the storefront that truly awed the bakery’s customers. The opulent, yet tasteful, decor was just one of the things that made the name Lillian’s synonymous with class and sophistication.
Gilding burnished the rich mahogany woodwork, sparkling under the illumination of crystal chandeliers. The polished marble countertops that were inlaid with ribbons of copper and gold made a statement about Lillian’s long history of catering to Chicago’s elite.
Sunlight streamed in from the huge windows that faced North Michigan Avenue. Nestled inside the bay windows were displays of lavishly decorated cakes and delectable desserts. They had discovered over the years that showcasing the bakery’s products was, by far, the most effective way to entice patrons to step inside the store’s welcoming glass doors.
Carter spotted the gentleman in the three-piece suit. He was peering into the custom-made glass display case that ran the width of the store.
“Carter Drayson,” he greeted, holding out a hand. “How can I help you?”
The man returned the handshake. “Lowell Thompson. I’m a client of Bowen and Associates on the third floor. Howard Bowen recommended Lillian’s for an event my company is sponsoring next month.”
“Howard is a very good customer.”
“He tells me Lillian’s sells the best desserts around. I’m new to Chicago, so I’m still learning my way.”
“Well, let me give you the most delicious tour you’ll ever take in this city.”
Carter retrieved a small silver platter from behind the counter and picked out several sweets from the array of intricately decorated cupcakes, pies and Lillian’s famous petit fours.
As Lowell Thompson sampled a dark chocolate espresso cupcake, Carter explained that nearly every item could be made in miniature sizes, more suitable to cocktail parties and other catered events.
“You have an impressive operation going here,” the man commented.
“It’s been going for several decades, and it just keeps growing. These are our newest bestsellers.” Carter motioned to the shelves lined with Lillian’s latest hot item: ingredients for their most popular cookie and brownie flavors in prepackaged mixes that customers could bake at home. It had been his cousin Shari’s idea, and it was turning out to be a lucrative one. Even so, most of their customers claimed that no matter how hard they tried, the make-at-home desserts didn’t have that special Lillian’s touch.
“I’m running late for a meeting, but if you have some time later this afternoon, I’d like to return and discuss a few options.”
“Absolutely.” Carter retrieved a business card from his pocket. “Why don’t you log on to our website and look over our product offerings? If there’s something special you’re seeking, just let me know. We’ll work with you.”
Carter bade the man goodbye and turned back toward the kitchen, but he stopped short at the sight of a woman standing at the register talking to his cousin Drake. He’d never seen her in the bakery before. His gaze traveled over her soft yellow skirt and matching silk blouse, taking in every nuance. Even though the clothes were a bit stuffy for Carter’s taste, he had to admit that she wore them well. Damn well.
She was petite—couldn’t top more than five feet—with milky, caramel-colored skin and luxuriant light brown hair streaked with honey-colored highlights. She was what his grandmother would call a classic beauty.
And she came from money. No doubt about it.
Her clothes said it, but the bling in her ears and around her wrist practically screamed it.
After less than a minute of observing her, Carter had already sized her up. He could tell the kind of person she was simply by the way she held herself: regal, untouchable. Not his usual type of woman—the exact opposite, in fact. His usual type wore about eighty percent less clothing. But there was something about this one that made him want to ruffle her feathers.
Carter started for the counter, but halted as a mother who’d been picking out pastries with her young son cut him off. The little boy, who was holding a cupcake, walked smack into Ms. Prim and Proper, smearing icing all over the designer jacket she held draped over her arm.
Carter stood back and waited for the fireworks.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the mother exclaimed, grabbing the mushed cupcake from the boy’s hand.
Prim and Proper lifted the jacket to eye level, regarded the offending stain...and licked it.
Carter’s head jerked back.
“Mmm. That’s pretty good. I see why my jacket wanted a taste,” she said, smiling down at the little boy, who giggled in return. “But it looks as if you need a new cupcake.” She motioned for Drake to give the little boy another one.
Shock rooted Carter where he stood. That wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. Neither had he expected a simple smile to transform her from reserved to...approachable. Very approachable.
Carter sidled up to the counter where she’d redirected her attention to Drake and a cake brochure she’d apparently brought in from one of their competitors.
“You made the right choice,” Carter said, motioning to the brochure.
She turned to him. “Excuse me?”
“The cakes here at Lillian’s are a thousand times better than what you’ll get over there.” He extended his hand. “Carter Drayson, one of the head pastry chefs. And you are?”
She hesitated for the merest moment before accepting his outstretched hand. Carter’s initial suspicion was confirmed: she definitely came from money. No way had this smooth palm ever engaged in a millisecond of physical labor.
“Lorraine,”
