He raised a brow. “I’ll pay her more.”
“She’s very well paid and will shortly be getting a large Christmas bonus. You can try to coax her away.” She smiled at him. “She’ll never come. She loves me.”
They both looked over Mabel, who was—with an air of extreme martyrdom—helping Dominic’s apprentice Aaron to correct his technique. The poor guy still looked on the edge of tears over his error with the order.
“Or she doesn’t trust me to run the business successfully without her supervision,” Sylvie said. “Either way—the terrifying misanthrope is mine.”
Liam edged past them with another rack of cupcakes. “Oh?” His face was alive with devilry, his dark skin creasing into lines of amusement around the light in his eyes. With a pointed chin jerk toward Dominic and very precise enunciation, he asked, “Which one?”
“The strawberries are infusing in cherry brandy.” It was the return of Dominic’s most hard-nosed judging voice. Liam’s grin widened. “Pulse them with the icing. We don’t want it completely smooth.”
“That’s fortunate.” His sous-chef got out a last shot before Aaron tentatively called out to Dominic. “From all I’ve seen so far—it won’t be.”
Dominic’s look was sharp with warning; when it briefly moved to Sylvie, it became a lot more complex.
She watched him walk over and bend to help Aaron. But not before he rested a light hand on his miserable employee’s shoulder.
“He’s a really good boss.”
Sylvie turned. All vestiges of shit-stirring were gone from Liam’s expression. Very seriously, he repeated, “He’s a great boss.”
“I can see that.”
Dominic’s staff viewed him with obvious awe, with a clear desire to meet his very high expectations—but with zero intimidation.
With the exception of one irreverent sous-chef, the atmosphere was more formal than Sugar Fair, but in its way, similarly supportive.
“He doesn’t suffer fools,” Liam said. “But when it comes to mistakes, it’s nowhere near one-and-you’re-done.” A renewed spark of amusement. “Possible exception for incendiary unicorns.” He jerked his head toward the busy stations. “There’s not a person in this building who isn’t exponentially better at their job now than before they stepped through that door.”
There was nothing of the casual, throwaway comment about that information.
He looked at her squarely. “I’m not just his employee. I’m his friend. And it might seem like there’s never been a man less in need of protection—but I’m a pretty protective sort of guy.”
Sylvie didn’t drop her gaze. She didn’t even blink. “Noted.”
A short silence. “You’re pretty badass with a piping bag yourself.”
“That is what they write on the bathroom walls,” she agreed solemnly, and took the cupcake that he proffered with a great ceremony.
At one in the morning, while the rain hit against the roof in steady sheets, Sylvie piped another intricate line of curlicues around the bottom tier of the cake. She switched off the bag to Dominic, who completed a delicate ribbon of sugar lace while she used tweezers to set a cascading river of pearls in place.
“Even?” He made a minute adjustment to the lace.
She scanned the effect. “Slightly more on top.”
They switched places, swapping tools again, and Sylvie stepped up on a low stool to reach the utmost tier. She started piping. “Tell me when.”
“Yeah. That’s good.” Dominic’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the cake in all its crisp, white, beautiful dullness. Without looking away from the pearl drapery, he reached up a hand and balanced her as she hopped down. “Well?”
She took a few steps back, joining the few remaining members of their staff. Most had left with the completion of the cupcakes and chocolates, Mabel so quickly that Sylvie had literally blinked and she’d gone, winking out like I Dream of Jeannie.
“You know those DIY craft kits for kids, where they supply the blank ceramic base and it’s just screaming out for the paint and glitter?” She relented when he cast his eyes ceiling-ward. “It’s lovely. Elegant, chic, and perfect for the brief. And inspiringly executed. If I had my Operation Cake crown coin, I’d award you the thousand quid.”
He addressed her with typically crisp brevity. “Your ingenuity was never in question. But your technical ability now—”
“Is neck and neck with yours.” Sylvie lacked confidence in several areas of her life; this wasn’t one of them.
When the moment between them drew out a little too long, Liam cleared his throat loudly. “And now I’m clocking out and toddling home to my lonely bed.” He stuck out his hand to Sylvie; she took it. “Without the neighborly assistance, we’d still be racing against the clock at dawn—and I doubt we’d have made it.”
“We wouldn’t have.” Dominic nodded at the assembled members of her team. “Thank you very much.”
Sylvie saw several pleased flushes.
When the door closed behind them, she leaned back against a countertop, a flicker of restlessness igniting low in her belly.
Dominic was securing the order away. He picked up one of the cupcakes she’d decorated, holding it under the light and turning it to see a telltale iridescent shimmer. “Glitter is contraband in these premises.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little sparkle.”
That dark intent gaze switched to her face. “On a cake? Yes, there is. In other areas—maybe not.” He set the cupcake in the box with the rest. “No sign of your business partner tonight.”
“Jay had a family commitment. I texted and let him know I was offering some unscheduled overtime for the team. And where.”
“And what did he say to that?”
She felt a bit uncomfortable, and she wasn’t sure why. One of her shoulders lifted in a half shrug. “Not much. He thought there might have been an insurance issue. Having the staff working in someone else’s business.”
“Did he.” She couldn’t read Dominic’s voice at all.
There were a few spare scraps of fondant on the countertop. Turning abruptly, she collected them, squeezing and rolling until the strange tension in her muscles eased. As her fingers moved quickly and she reached for a paintbrush, Dominic shut and locked the fridge.
She sensed his body heat before he said over her shoulder, “What are you doing?”
Keeping her wee project concealed in the palm of her hand, she flickered her brush. Changed to a different color.
“Sylvie—”
“Just a second.” A third brush, the addition of a few spiky eyelashes, and she turned to extend her palm. Her fingers opened. “You’re welcome,” she said graciously.
Dominic looked down at the miniature fondant version of the possessed Betty Boop clown. He was totally expressionless.
With the end of the smallest paintbrush, Sylvie poked the side of the leering mouth, tugged it upward into an even more disturbing grin.
Dominic’s lips pressed together.
She stroked little BB’s head with her pinkie finger.
His chest started to shake.