Decadent Dreams

No longer delivering the delectable sweets that came out of this world-renowned bakery, today Malik was a senior pastry chef right alongside the Drayson grandchildren. Hence his dressing up today for this very important meeting with Ms. Lillian, a woman Malik had come to love and respect as if she were his own grandmother.

He’d arrived at the bakery early; then again he did that on most days when he had three cakes to go out by noon. The orders were usually split among the chefs unless the customer requested someone in particular—which mostly happened to Carter, who was as smooth and charismatic as he was the absolute best artisan cake designer Malik knew. While each of the senior team were masters at baking and decorating signature cakes, cookies, brownies and fine pastries, they all had somehow managed to find their own niche that was respected throughout the business. As for Malik, his favorite dessert had always been fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies so it was logical that he spent a lot of time developing new cookie recipes. Brownies were a new specialty that he’d been working on, and after a tremendous response from customers to his new flavors, he figured he’d hit on something big in that department.

There was a children’s party later today to celebrate one of the local middle schools’ production of The Wizard of Oz, so in addition to the three cakes on his schedule, Malik had ten dozen cookies and four dozen mint brownies to bake by three o’clock this afternoon.

He looked at his watch as he moved down the hallway that separated the large kitchen and the offices at Lillian’s, and headed toward the showroom. He knew Amber would already be at the front desk since the bakery opened at nine and it was already 8:50 a.m. Now, he would check the display cases to make sure they were full before heading into the meeting—the meeting he hoped didn’t take too long.

As he approached the swinging doors to the showroom, Malik heard voices and figured more of the staff was here early this morning. He was just about to enter when he looked through the circular windows first and stopped dead in his tracks.

There should be a law against being so fine and so uptight at the same time. He shook his head as his eyes stayed fixated on her—a pastime he’d long since developed. His body had a systematically physical reaction to seeing Belinda. The heat always started at the top, with a lick of his lips as he swallowed deeply. His chest heaved, his heart rate increasing. Then his fingers clenched because the thought of touching her was almost irresistible. All that pooled into the groin area, causing an undeniable erection. To get rid of it, he’d have to focus extremely hard on something like baseball stats or the last chick flick he’d been forced to watch.

About thirty seconds later his brain would once again take control of his traitorous body and he’d be back to business.

Belinda Drayson-Jones was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. That was a simple fact. Her tall, curvy frame was alluring and the buttery complexion of her skin enticing. But for Malik, it was her eyes that grabbed him by the balls and squeezed so tightly he thought he’d have an aneurysm every time he stared at her. Not just their green color, because he’d seen green-eyed beauties before. No, for him, it was deeper. It was the look of pure sadness that he found in the hazel-flecked depths that kept a stranglehold on him.

Even today, as he finally pushed through the door and walked into the showroom, he could tell she wasn’t happy.

“Morning, good people. How are we today?” he asked in his normal upbeat tone as he approached the table where Belinda sat with her brother, Drake.

“Hey, man, glad you’re here early. I have something for you,” Drake said to Malik as he dug into his leather briefcase and pulled out what looked like a report. “When you get a moment, look that over. I have one for Carter, too. We should meet sometime this week to talk about what we want to do.”

Malik took the bound papers from him and flipped through them quickly. He nodded. “That’s right. We did talk about this a few weeks ago. I’ll look at it tonight.”

“When’s a good time for you to meet?” Drake asked.

“I’m free this weekend,” he told him, still looking at the papers and not at Belinda, who he knew was looking at him.

Here was a fact he’d discovered about Belinda in the years that he’d known her. She had to know everything, be in control of everything and do everything. Now, that seemed like more than one fact, but actually it all culminated into one—perfection. That should have been her middle name. On most days, to the bulk of the people who knew her, it was annoying as hell. To Malik, it was funny and sad at the same time. Some days, he felt as sorry for her as he was attracted to her.

“I’m free for a meeting this weekend, as well,” she said in a voice that wasn’t husky but wasn’t dainty and feminine like her cousin Monica’s, either. It was simply Belinda, to which Malik had learned to classify a lot of things about her.

“You’re not invited,” Drake told her with a quick smile.

“Sorry.” Malik added his own smile when she eyed him suspiciously. “No girls allowed.”

“Very funny,” she said, standing and walking from the table.

Her perfume was heavenly, Euphoria by Calvin Klein. He knew it well and wanted to personally thank Calvin for creating the scent that matched the woman so expertly. He was about to turn and say something else to Belinda when the front door opened and Shari Drayson walked in.

“Grandma’s here. Time for the meeting.”

Chapter 2

Lillian Reynolds-Drayson walked into the kitchen with an air of royalty that rivaled Queen Elizabeth. She was a tall woman, almost five-seven, with skin the color of warm honey weathered only slightly by time. She wore a rose-colored suit, the skirt modestly five inches below her knee, the jacket custom fit with floral appliqués at the shoulders and down the lapels. She loved pastel colors as much as she loved fresh flowers. But what Lillian loved most was this bakery and her grandchildren, most of whom were assembled around her.

“Good morning. I know you’re all wondering why I called you here this morning so I won’t beat around the bush,” she said.

Lillian stood at the head of the twelve-foot-long stainless steel worktable. To her left, her grandson Drake sat on a stool, his briefcase and paperwork spread out in front of him. Drake always had paperwork because his mind was always busy. That had been the case when he was a child and more so now that he’d grown up and decided he was better at marketing and advertising than he was at baking. After he’d graduated college and come into the fold, he’d brought new-generation fundamentals and visions into Lillian’s. He’d been the one to suggest those dang computers that took over most of the duties that Lillian and Henry had done themselves. Not that Lillian was complaining. She knew the day was coming soon that she would no longer stand at the helm of this business, dictating what its next step would be. And she wasn’t sad about that. It was the natural course of things. Life had to go on. Together she and Henry had built this legacy so that one day they could sit back and watch their offspring continue on with its success. She’d been fortunate that her grandchildren had the same talent and passion for baking as she did. While her children had also learned at her elbow, watching everything she did, tasting her new creations and helping in the early days of the bakery, they’d all seemed to grow in different directions.

But Lillian wasn’t one to be deterred. She knew at some point there would be someone to pass down the bakery to. Sitting right beside Drake was his sister Belinda. A more beautiful child Lillian swore she had never seen. A natural talent in the kitchen, tenacious and unwavering in everything she did. Lillian prayed especially hard, however, over this one every day.

To her right was another one of her granddaughters. Shari was a quiet one, very talented and a great mother to her four-year-old son, Andre. Lillian was proud of how dedicated a mother and a baker Shari had become. She only wished her granddaughter would one day experience the fulfillment of a good relationship.

Monica was her other granddaughter, but she wouldn’t be at today’s meeting. Monica had spearheaded one of their newest ventures, the production of dry cake and cookie mixes to be boxed for sale. Today she was meeting with their attorneys and distributors to discuss how to get Lillian’s gourmet mixes onto the shelves in as many stores as possible.

Standing beside Shari was a young man who was like a grandson to Lillian. She was the first to admit that she’d initially had doubts about Malik Anthony when he had no choice but to make a complete U-turn from a sports career to delivering cakes and pies all over Chicago. But Henry had convinced her to give the boy a chance. Her dear sweet husband had seen something in this young man that Lillian wasn’t quite sure was there. However, over time Malik had definitely proven himself to her and to this business.

She had another grandson, Carter, who was mysteriously missing from this meeting. That fact she would definitely deal with later.

“As you might know already, Daisy just returned from Los Angeles, where she had a meeting with a television studio.”

Malik stood up from his seat, going over to help Lillian. Taking her elbow, he guided her down as she angled for the stool behind her.

“Thank you, son,” she said with a smile.

Drake was also moving, bringing her a mug that Lillian knew would be filled with her favorite hazelnut coffee—three creams, one sugar. These boys had been raised right and would one day make some woman very happy.

“Daisy attended on behalf of the bakery. When she called me to report that the meeting had been successful, I was beside myself. Henry and I are very excited about this opportunity.” As she spoke, Lillian was careful to look around the table at the faces of the people who helped make this a renowned bakery.

In the back of her mind she knew that these bright and talented individuals would need more to draw from than just their undeniable talent for baking, a pretty face or charismatic personality. This was a big opportunity for them, and Lillian only prayed they would be able to come together to pull it off.

“One of those reality TV shows that your generation loves to watch has offered us a place in their next competition, I believe they call it...” she said, looking over at Drake for his input.

Drake nodded and pulled out of his briefcase a couple pamphlets that he passed among his sister, his cousin and Malik.

“You Take the Cake is the Festival of Foods channel’s highest-rated baking competition. It airs live weekly and features four bakeries that go head-to-head in a cake baking competition. The prize is one-hundred-thousand dollars and national recognition. We’re slated to compete in the next competition, which is two months from now,” Drake said, barely containing his excitement.

“Are you serious?” Shari asked first as she looked up from the pamphlet to Drake.

“Daisy was very serious about this deal,” Lillian answered. “As am I. I hope you all know how important this is.”

She heard Belinda sigh as she read Drake’s meticulous outline of the details of the competition. He paid as much attention to the details of his marketing presentations as Belinda did to everything else, whether it was baking or simply getting dressed. That girl needed everything to be just right. She’d been that way since she was little, and Lillian had watched her coordinate all the books on her shelf in alphabetical order then make sure each book was lined precisely so that none were sticking out farther than the others. Belinda had even played neatly, keeping all the clothes from her Barbie dolls stored in labeled ziplock bags. And when she packed them away, she was careful to smooth down the hair of each doll before laying them in the box and closing it. Then she would carry the box ever-so-slowly before slipping it under her bed. While Drake’s room usually looked like a hurricane had swept through it, Belinda’s, even at seven years old, looked as if she’d hired a maid to come in and clean it. The last time Lillian had been to Belinda’s apartment, she noted her granddaughter’s ways hadn’t changed over the years.

“So we’re going to compete with another bakery on a national television series?” Belinda asked.

Drake smiled. “Yes, that’s exactly what we’re going to do. And we’re going to win this competition because once we do, Lillian’s will be recognized as Chicago’s number-one bakery.”

“We’re already Chicago’s number-one bakery,” Shari added.

“But this will make us official,” Drake told her.

“This will make us national,” Malik spoke up finally. “With the win under our belt, Monica won’t have any problem getting the stores to carry the mixes. We could open another location, branch out to have shops in different states.”

“Now you see where I’m going with this,” Drake said. “This is a phenomenal opportunity for us. Once we win, we’ll be golden!” Drake told them, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

Even Belinda had smiled at that. “Winning would be a coup for us. We’ve already been featured in a couple cooking magazines but with this we’re liable to make the cover. And Festival of Foods has a great national following. They’re the top food channel out there.”

“We could try some new recipes,” Shari said, tapping her fingers on the pamphlet as she talked. “Do something nobody has ever done before. Different flavors and fillings.”