“Thanks. I’m working on lemon chiffon truffles for the summer. The website rebuild will have a section for showers and luncheons. Thought some citrus will work well for warm weather events, and I’ll need a taste-tester.”
She raises a hand. “I volunteer as tribute.”
I give her a wink and get to work on my new recipe while Charity takes a seat at the island.
“How’s apartment-hunting going?” Charity asks as I line up five bowls.
I’m going to make the recipe several times with varying amounts of lemon to see which is the best.
“It was decent, but with my limited budget, I’m not in love. Plus, I need a place that allows dogs.”
“You can afford to splurge a little,” she suggests, flipping her hair.
“I need to put as much money as possible into growing the orders, so I can move on to phase two, which is a storefront.”
“And when is that expected to happen?” she asks as she eyes another piece that Shawn is packing up.
“It’s a five-year plan,” I answer easily.
“You’d get to your goal faster if you weren’t so stubborn and turning down large deals from lover boy,” Shawn chimes in. Charity’s head swivels to him with raised brows, so he explains, “Sebastian placed a huge order, and Amy refuses to take it because it’s”—he uses air quotes—“ ‘a handout.’ ”
“Oh, for the love of …” She jumps off the stool and leans onto the counter. “Are you out of your mind?”
I scowl at Shawn and then look to Charity, who is drumming her fingers on the metal table, waiting for a proper reason why I’d turn down business.
“It’s complicated,” is the only response I can give.
“It’s romantic. He’s your knight in shining armor, who continues to show up to rescue you. The last time he was here, you had this magical night.”
I laugh while keeping myself from rolling my eyes. “We talked about cheesesteaks and our dead grandmas. I’d hardly call it magical.”
“The fact that you told Shawn and me about it the next day means it was way more than the drab evening you’re pretending it was.” She gives me a don’t lie to me look that makes me turn away, getting back to my task.
She’s right. I did tell her and Shawn about it. Sebastian and I hadn’t kissed, and the conversation was basic, yet … there was something special about the night. Having him here, in my home, in my business, with my dog, sharing a meal and wine and baking. We laughed and talked and enjoyed music.
Perhaps it was a bit magical.
I won’t admit that out loud though.
Charity must sense this pause in conversation as an opening because she walks over, grabs my shoulders, and makes me face her.
“It was lovely. Are you happy now?” I give her a sarcastic grin.
She tilts her head to the side. “No. You’re turning away business. This is not the Amy I know. My best friend would stop at nothing to drum up enough business and get her name out there whether it was one box of truffles or a hundred.”
“Times that by five,” Shawn chimes in, and Charity’s jaw drops. “And some sort of tasting station.”
Her eyes bug out.
Shawn takes the paper with the message for the order on it and hands it to her. She holds it up and squints as she tries to read it, her face making all kinds of crazy expressions as she does.
Charity walks over to me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Amy Morgana, you listen to me. I don’t care if you are secretly in lust for this man or if you hate his guts. There is nothing in the world you love more than this business. That is why you’re going to put on your big-girl panties, fasten your chef’s jacket, and get your ass to this event, where you are going to put on the best goddamn tasting ever. You’ll hand out those boxes, and by the end of the night, the Philadelphia elite will know the name Amy Morgana Chocolatier.”
“This doesn’t seem like a handout to you?” I ask, scrunching my face and feeling unsure.
“You’re living on a futon and taking showers in a nasty gym, where you have to wear flip-flops while trying to clean your booty. Swallow your pride for one night and get ahead in this world.”
I smile at Charity’s tone. She’s gone all super-serious boss lady on me, and it’s not like her at all. In fact, I like this authoritative stance on her.
“So, what you’re saying is, this is a good idea?”
Shawn laughs, and Charity shoots him a glare.
“And you,” she says to him, “clear your schedule. You’re working the event too.”
He points a finger at his chest. “Why me?”
“Because our head chef and face of the business needs to be talking to the people while you serve them. Amy Morgana Chocolatier is luxury artisanal chocolates. The creator of such luxury does not serve. Others must do it for her.” Charity takes another chocolate, chews it, walks back to her seat, and sits down.
“Looks like we have an event to prepare for,” I say, and she bolts out of her seat, clapping her hands in excitement.
Shawn, too, seems pleased I decided to do the event. The more I think about it, the more the idea of putting on a show of my chocolate sounds like quite the opportunity.
As I mix the ingredients, a small smile grows on my face, and Charity walks up, nudging me with her hip.
“You’re envisioning it, aren’t you? This is your opportunity. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Glitz and glamour.
It’s the perfect phrase to describe the event held at the rooftop atrium, where Blake, Fields, and Moore is hosting their annual gala.
Men are donned in suits as the women wear their most sophisticated cocktail attire. There’s champagne, caviar, and crystal chandeliers. While guests nibble on canapes, they discuss business, and joke with raucous laughter as a band plays at the far end of the room.
Shawn and I are set up in a corner. The original request asked for a chocolate fondue fountain. To be honest, I’m not a fan of those things. The chocolate is always subpar, and to use my own recipe, it would have been astronomical. Instead, we have tiered rows of artisanal chocolates that we are using to pair with each guest’s drink of choice this evening.
Since this is a mingling event, people are strutting about, working the room. No one is dancing, though I assume by the large dance floor, they will be later.
I adjust the collar of my chef’s jacket and make sure the name on the coat is visible in its scripted font.
“You look great, boss.” Shawn tries to calm my nerves as I watch people pass our table.
“Why aren’t they coming over here?” I whisper to him through my smile.
“Probably because they just got here and they plan on diving into some of that steak on the other side of the room and getting a little hammered before dessert,” he states. “Just smile, relax, and don’t worry. You’re getting paid whether or not they come over here.”
I give him a half-smile even though I’m a ball of nerves inside.
Still, I stand here, as professional as possible, and smile as guests pass without sampling. I’m watching people flutter about in a sea of high-priced suits and diamond stud earrings when, suddenly, like parting waves of the Atlantic, the crowd moves, and in its wake is Sebastian.