“More like a chance to be a sucker. I know you, Reggie. You’re going to say shit about my cake anyway because this isn’t about my redemption but about you being too cheap. You never liked me because you could never get TJ to like you and you blamed me. But you know what? The real reason he never liked you is your awful personality and selfishness. You don’t have the guts to go up to him and ask him why he doesn’t like you. The only thing you can do is come after me because you’re a coward and you think you’re better than me because your tits are bigger. But guess what? I’m not jealous of your tits or your Instagram followers or that car lube commercial you did ten years ago. I don’t even think about you—ever—until you show up to bother me. Like roaches aren’t on people’s minds until they crawl out from under a Dumpster. And in case you still can’t figure out my answer to your demand: I’m not baking you a fucking engagement cake, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Reggie and Floyd turn bright red. A matching couple.
Over their heads, I spot Noah striding toward us. I start walking to him.
Floyd is the first to recover. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
His anger seems to embolden Reggie. She grabs my arm. “Where do you think you’re going after talking to me like that?”
She shoves me with surprising force. My heel catches on the something on the ground, and I trip.
Damn it,the cake!
I twist, trying to avoid knocking over the buffet. Everything happens in slow motion. Noah rushes forward. I try not to flail my arms. My hip bumps against the table where the cake is set, and it trembles like a building in an earthquake. The crystal columns in the naked tiers shake dangerously. My skin prickles as horror shivers up my spine.
Reggie’s eyes glint with viciousness, and she kicks one of the table legs. Some of the gum-paste rose petals fall from the upper tiers, landing on the smooth surface of the buttercream tiers below. One of the crystal columns tilts to the side and all five of the layers above sway. I raise a hand, like a super hero with telekinetic powers, to stop my gorgeous creation from tipping over.
But it happens anyway. The cake slumps, then topples, crumbling and falling over me. Cool buttercream smears my face, neck, chest and shoulders. Fire burns across my forearm, but I ignore the pain as I stare at the ruins of my masterpiece in absolute shock.
“What thefuck!” Noah’s sharp cry pulls my attention back to the present. “Are you okay?” He holds my arm, raising it.
“My cake…”
“Who cares about the cake?”
I look down and see blood trickling from a long, jagged cut on my forearm. On the ground is a cake cutting knife. The catering people must’ve put it by the cake after we set it up.
“We need to get you to the hospital,” Noah says.
“But the cake—”
“Fuck the cake.” His eyes burn with barely banked rage. I swallow. I’ve never seen him this furious. Actually, I didn’t realize he was capable. “Forget the cake, Bobbi. Let me handle this for you. Please.”
Chapter Thirty
Noah
If Bobbi weren’t staring at me in shock over what just happened, I’d probably take the opportunity to kill Reggie Hopkins and Floyd Baggett on the spot, witnesses or no. It would only take a moment, and I don’t need a gun.
Instead, I put my arm around her, hustle her into my car and take her to the hospital.Four fucking stitches.Every time the doc’s needle pierces Bobbi’s skin, I feel like a bullet is tearing through my guts.
Bobbi pats my arm like I’m the one who needs to be soothed. It just makes me want to murder Reggie and Floyd more.
The doctor says Bobbi is fine, but what the hell does he know? Doctors always say everything’s fine. Fuckers.
You’re being unfair, a cold rational voice points out, but I ignore it. What’s unfair is what happened to Bobbi.
The doc sends her home with a lot of pain meds. If she were really fine, he wouldn’t have to give her anything.
Bobbi studies my expression. “It doesn’t hurt that much. I’m all right,” she says, but the tight hollowness in her eyes tells me not to trust her words.
There is physical pain, but the meds are containing it. Worse is the emotional damage. She’s upset because she didn’t just make the cake to be a pretty decoration at the party. She imagined people enjoying the beauty of what she’d created and marveling over its delicious flavor. To her, baking is about nourishing people’s souls and bodies.
Reggie and Floyd ruined it. And they will pay. I’ll make sure of it.
My phone buzzes.
–Griffin: Is Bobbi okay? How badly is she hurt?
