The Real Thing (Sugar Lake #1)
Melissa Foster
CHAPTER ONE
WILLOW DALTON SPED into the parking lot of Landry’s Resort with six minutes to spare, telling herself it didn’t matter if she was late. She’d just turn up the charm, hand Patrick Carter one of her famous Sweetie Pie Bakery’s Loverboys—a delicious and colorful cross between an éclair and a cupcake—and he’d remember why he’d sought her out to cater desserts for the Lake George Boating Club’s annual meeting in the first place.
At least she hoped he would.
She couldn’t afford to blow this job. It was her ticket to expanding her bakery’s catering business from her small hometown of Sweetwater, New York, to the outlying areas. Lake George was almost two hours away, but catering jobs like this could double her income. She dreamed of not only expanding the catering side of her business but at some point making Sweetie Pie Bakery into more of a café and bookstore. The job also paid twice as much as her bakery would have earned over the weekend, and she needed every penny, since one of her ovens was on its last leg.
Stuffing her keys in her purse, she took a quick peek in the rearview mirror. Ugh. Her blond hair was tousled, and the lipstick she’d put on so carefully this morning had been talked off as she’d hurried customers out the door so she could close up shop and get on the road. With no time to primp, she scooted out of the car, noticing a smudge of black near the hem of her dress. Her company van had gotten a flat, and she must have brushed against the tire. She’d been forced to drive Chloe, the refurbished ’66 VW Beetle her father had given her when she’d graduated from high school.
She swiped at the stain, and the residue spread. Frigging perfect.
She blew a lock of hair from in front of her eyes with a practiced upward tilt of her lower lip and a quick, hard breath and reached into the backseat for the box of Loverboys she’d brought for Mr. Carter. Her stomach lurched at the sight of blue frosting and gobs of thick custard clinging to the seat and floor.
“No, no, no.” She snatched the box from the floor, acutely aware of the seconds ticking by. The pastries tumbled out in jagged chunks and a shower of crumbs. Groaning, she plunked the box down on the backseat, closed her eyes, and inhaled a deep, calming breath. You’ve got this, Willow.
Her inner realist laughed at her.
Even though her inner realist had gotten her through too many challenges to count, right now she hated that bitch. Willow lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and smoothed her dress. To hell with inner calm. She needed a box of cupcakes and a stiff drink. Or maybe a man. A man covered in frosting and a stiff drink just might take the edge off. She hurried toward the resort to prove just how awesome she was.
She pushed the fancy glass doors open, silently practicing her greeting, and took her place in line at the registration desk, glad for a moment to breathe. The resort reeked of money, from the rich hardwood floors to the elaborate two-story arched windows along the back wall overlooking the water. Leather sofas and intricately carved armchairs created a nook opposite the reception desk. If only she could take a minute to sit in one of the plush seats and calm down. She fidgeted with the knot on the belt tied around the waist of her simple lavender dress. Maybe she should have taken her sister Bridgette’s advice and worn a fancier outfit. She was a world away from Sweetwater, where she wore heels only under duress.
Just another hurdle. I’ve got this.
“Willow.”
She whipped her head to the side at the sound of Zane Walker’s deep voice, shocked to see his piercing dark eyes gazing hungrily down at her. Zane was her older brother’s best friend turned A-list actor, and he had a sluttier reputation than a prostitute.
He was also the guy who’d taken her virginity. Okay, he hadn’t taken it.
She had given it to him.
Or rather, to save her the embarrassment of being an inexperienced virgin, he’d done her the favor of being her first before she’d gone away to college. She’d wanted her first time to be with someone she cared about. Her legs buckled with the memory of their one perfect night down by the creek, and her heart sank as she recalled how she’d broken her own carefully thought-out rules and had gone off to college with romanticized ideas in her head about them. What followed had been painful and embarrassing.
This was not good. Not good at all. She couldn’t afford to get any more flustered. Forcing her eyes away from the sexy scruff she definitely did not want to touch, she snapped, “What are you doing here?”
He wrapped his hand around her arm with a devilish grin on his perfectly plump lips and pulled her from the line. His dark hair had just-rolled-out-of-bed sexiness going on, and over a gray T-shirt he wore the leather jacket she’d given him for Christmas two years ago. She and Zane had a complicated relationship that didn’t include sex beyond their one night more than a decade ago—a complicated relationship that had been put on hold for several months after Willow’s heartbreaking realization during her first semester of college. But that didn’t stop him from propositioning her over text as often as he was bored. If she had a penny for every time a text rolled in at 3:00 a.m. that read something like, Filming at [wherever]; come see me, she’d be rich. She always sent her standard reply—Not a chance. Although he never let it go at that. He wanted to know what she was doing that could possibly be better than a night with him. She often wondered what he thought of her honest answers, which varied from watching her favorite movie—The Notebook—to thinking up new recipes.
“Let go. I have a meeting, and I’m already late. Why are you here? Are you filming?” She wrenched her arm free, looking around for his ever-present entourage of beautiful women and photographers. All the women in Sweetwater had their panties in a bunch over his newest movie, which was being filmed there next week. Soon, their quiet little town would turn into a bustling Zane Hotter-Than-Hell Walker slutfest.
“Chill out, Willow,” he said, way too calmly.
“Chill out?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m seriously late for a huge meeting. I can’t play your games, Zane.”
She stormed back to her place in line, and he dragged her away again.
“Zane! What is wrong with you? Stop it.”
“Wills, listen to me.” He lowered his chin, narrowed his eyes, and flashed another wicked smile. His signature look.