Sweethand Page 4

  “Thank you.” Yes, focus on Dale. Ignore Keiran’s very existence. In this moment, Keiran King and his offending suit did not fucking exist.

  “How the hell did you get these to look like a rose and taste like heaven?” Dale gushed.

  “A chef never reveals her secrets,” she winked, and he chortled around the dessert in his mouth.

  “Oh man, Keiran, you should get in on these.” Dale waved the dessert in Keiran’s face.

  “I’m good. Shouldn’t you be having dinner first?”

  “Nah, man, I had to get to these before they all disappeared.” To prove his point, Dale started going around the tower, adding each type of dessert to his small plate. “My mom loves your stuff. She gets those cookies you have selling in the grocery every month end. A little treat for herself. Can’t go without them. You really have that sweet hand, for real.”

  Cherisse beamed. “You are so good for a girl’s ego. Tell you what, I’m working on something new. I’ll send you a sample package, maybe throw in some for your mom. Make sure she gets it.”

  “You’re the best!”

  Cherisse shot Keiran a triumphant smile.

  “Buying customers with freebies, how creative of you,” he drawled, unimpressed.

  Cherisse wondered if she could bump into the dessert tower for real, make it look like an accident. Feign shock when the entire thing crushed him under its sugary weight, but there was no way she was wasting her hours of baking on him.

  “Hi, I’m Reba. I’ve heard so much about you. All terrible things, but I love me a bad boy,” Reba suddenly piped up, tossing in a wink. Cherisse had forgotten her presence, too busy being distracted by Keiran’s suit.

  Keiran’s jaw tightened, and Cherisse found the tiny tic intriguing. Ah, so he could dish out the teasing but couldn’t take it.

  “Good to know my reputation precedes me.” The muscle in Keiran’s jaw jumped again, and Cherisse filed that away. How fascinating. The seemingly unflappable Keiran King wasn’t so unaffected by gossip as he’d like people to think.

  Oh, yeah, she was pocketing this little bit of information to use as ammo later.

  Chapter 4

  Keiran

  SHE WORE THE SWEETEST dress, bright blue with a glittering beaded collar. The smile gracing her lips was anything but sweet. It promised vengeance, and Keiran felt an answering pull in his stomach.

  He hadn’t known she’d be here. He’d ducked out on the awards last year like a punk, but he’d definitely seen photo after photo of her and that fool Sean Daley. That guy had rubbed him wrong from their first meeting. Knowing Cherisse and Sean were no longer together, he’d figured she wouldn’t be here. Keiran hadn’t wanted to come. Dale was more the face of DK Productions, but Keiran had vowed to make more of an effort to be out there, support Dale at events like this. Even though the spotlight was so not his thing—which left him open to being gossip fodder for people in the industry—the guilt of leaving his partner to fly solo had finally gotten to be too much.

  The Awards show had been long, and his tolerance had tipped into grumpiness the longer it ran on. He’d been so deep into daydreaming about the food at the reception and the instrumental combo he was playing around with in his head that Dale had to whack him on the shoulder to let him know they’d won their first category. Keiran had been shocked—not because he didn’t believe their work was good, he knew it was. Their roster was full of artistes coming to them to produce their tracks and albums—but that meant he had to go up on stage.

  “Do we have a speech?” he’d hissed at Dale. It hadn’t occurred to him to prepare anything.

  “I got a lil’ something. We can wing the rest,” Dale had whispered back as he’d dragged him up on the stage amid the loud applause and some whistles.

  Keiran couldn’t even remember what he’d said up there. He might have thanked his mom. He hoped he had; otherwise, he wouldn’t hear the end of it, especially since she was stuck home getting over the flu and would be glued to the live stream of the show. The second time they’d won an award hadn’t been any better. It had been a heart-pounding blur. Public speaking made him cold sweat. He preferred being in the studio, immersed in rhythm and bass, wrapped in the music.

  Scott, Maxine, and Dale’s boyfriend, Worrel, had come as their guests. They’d basically abandoned them for food when Dale dragged Keiran to the dessert stations where Cherisse and her team were.

  Her earlier stare had near-incinerated him where he stood. Had she been aware that she’d been throwing him all that heat? Probably. She had to know by now how to get a rise out of him—they’d butted heads enough times over the years—and this time, it appeared she’d switched tactics. That stare had said she wanted to do dirty things to him, and Keiran’s body had responded with yes, please.

  “So much for being nice, huh?” He didn’t bother hiding his annoyance at the whole bad boy comment. No doubt Reba would’ve gotten that impression from Cherisse. Clearly, she bought into all those rumors and gossip.

  Cherisse didn’t look concerned. “No idea what you’re talking about.” She glanced at Reba. “We should go mingle. Bye, Dale.”

  He’d been dismissed. It was becoming an annoying habit of hers.

  “Well, damn. I knew you two weren’t exactly friendly, but dude... That was...”

  “Irritating.” He cut Dale off. It didn’t help that he was already on edge, having run into his father, who had several artistes nominated. The press had loved that, urging them to get some photo ops together. The father-son music dynamo—their words, not his.

  “If that’s what we’re calling it these days.” Dale winked.

  “Don’t you start in on that, too. We should find the others.” Before they could get on that, a woman in a tight white dress swooped down on them.

  “Hey guys, congrats! I’m from ENT TT. Can I chat with you a bit?”

  Dale shifted into super media darling mode while Keiran let his eyes wander, looking for some sign of his twin and Scott, as the woman asked Dale how they felt about their win and what she could expect from them after the Carnival season. Carnival was over, but it definitely didn’t mean less work.

  “We have some surprise collabs in the works, can’t say too much on those yet. So you and the rest of the island can look out for that.”

  Her fingers flew as she typed on her tablet, then turned to Keiran. “It’s good to see you out here. Was beginning to think Dale had you chained to the studio.”

  He smiled as charmingly as he could muster. “Well, those hits don’t make themselves. Studio life sort of consumes all my time.”

  Her laugh was loud and tinkly. “Yes, yes, of course, and we do so love everything you guys have been putting out. All your riddims for Carnival had me wining low.” She reached out and snagged one of the pastries off a nearby dessert station. “These are so addictive. I’ve been munching on them all night. Thank God Carnival’s over so I can indulge.” She patted her flat tummy. “I saw you and Ms. Gooding chatting earlier. I swear, the level of work that goes into her creations. I wonder how many hours she spends on them, and they literally disappear in seconds. You can see the work that goes into these, just like with your music.”

  “She probably has everyone fooled and just pops these frozen in an oven a few minutes before she leaves her house. I mean, come on, mixing music’s gotta be way harder than mixing pastry batter,” he joked.

  The reporter popped the remains of the pastry in her mouth and smiled before asking them for a photo to go along with her blog post on tonight’s winners.

  When she floated away, Dale grabbed his arm. “You don’t say shit like that to the media. They love those kinds of sound bites.”

  Keiran patted Dale’s hand. “It was a joke, relax. It has zero to do with her post anyhow. She won’t use that.”

  “Listen, I know you get weird about being in the spotlight, but be aware of what you’re saying around the media. This is gonna bite you in the ass,” Dale warned.

  Ke
iran wasn’t bothered. What use could his words even serve her article? He needed food and a drink. He made a pass at the food stations, head turning every time he caught a flash of bright blue and heard Cherisse’s distinct laugh. It was infectious, loud, bordering on scandalous even. So incongruous with the rest of her persona. Made you wonder what had gotten that reaction out of her.

  He caught sight of her at a table with one of their local carnival costume designers on her left, noticed Scott on her right, and sent his defector best friend the best glare he could muster, even if he couldn’t see it. Scott, as if sensing he was in the line of fire, turned at the exact moment and had the audacity to wave at them before resuming his conversation.

  “I think he’s doing that on purpose,” Keiran glowered.

  Dale chuckled as they searched for a free table to perch themselves at while they ate. They found one occupied by Remi and Maxine, who seemed to mostly be staring intently at their devices rather than having conversation.

  “Hey, you seen Worrel?” Dale asked, searching the crowd for his boyfriend.

  “Last seen at the pasta station,” Maxine replied. “That stuff is sinfully good.” Dale announced he’d be back and went in search of his guy.

  “So, does your friend only slander my good name to those in her inner circle, or...?”

  Remi looked up from checking the shots on her camera, brow raised. “Is it slander if it’s true?”

  “You believe everything you hear?” he shot back.

  This was the last place to get into it with Remi, but Keiran just couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. Why did he care what Cherisse thought of him? Her opinion shouldn’t matter, but it was rubbing him wrong more than expected. He had to be more tired than he’d thought to let even a hint drop that Cherisse’s judgment was affecting him. He had been going hard in the studio for the entire Carnival season. He couldn’t count how many late-night sessions they’d done.

  The phone in front of Remi suddenly chimed. “Need to get this,” she said, wandering away from the table. The reception had some music piping through the room. It wasn’t loud, but that, combined with everyone’s chatter, would make it difficult to hear whoever was on the other line.

  “What are you doing?” Maxine asked, fiddling with her napkin.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re being weird.”

  He forked some food in his mouth and chewed, not looking at the nail Maxine tapped impatiently on the table. He took his time swallowing before he said, “So?”

  Maxine stole a piece of salmon from his plate and popped it in her mouth. “I can’t wait to see you two try to work together. It’s gonna be an epic mess. Don’t disappoint me. I got a bet going. I need to make some extra money. Working with mummy in her office is driving me up a wall.”

  Maxine was way too excited about the potential disaster that would be him and Cherisse planning an event together. Eric’s speech about wanting him and Ava’s two main people to bond had sounded like BS to him, but what the bride and groom wanted, they got, apparently.

  “So hurry up and fall into hate sex so I can get paid.”

  Keiran choked on his food. “A waste of time bet,” he said after he caught his breath.

  Him and Cherisse? Not happening. Fighting was their thing. The sizzling looks she’d thrown him earlier were obviously a ploy to keep him off-balance in a different way. He wasn’t even angry at her for it; it was downright dirty-handed, and it made him grin to know he could have the perfectly put-together Sugar Queen on edge like that, to the point where she was trying different ways to get at him.

  Maxine sipped her drink. “We’ll see, brother. We’ll see.”

  Chapter 5

  Cherisse

  HER POST-AWARDS SHOW cocktail party hangover was epic. Cherisse stayed in bed until after 9 a.m. Not late by most standards, but she was usually an early riser, greeting the sunrise so she could start her day. She wasn’t a morning person, but years of training herself to be just that helped. Fake it ‘til you make it. Whenever she had an event that required networking, the next day wouldn’t start until later than she’d like.

  Not that she could help it. Extrovert Cherisse kept going like the Energizer Bunny until she crashed, and then introvert Cherisse wanted nothing to do with anyone. Sometimes, she allowed herself the luxury of sleeping way in; others, she’d force herself to push through.

  This Friday morning, she’d tried to strike a balance of sorts. She had a lot of upcoming things but nothing that was pressing for today, so she strolled downstairs, nearly tripping over her cat. The unrepentant furball insisted on curling around her feet since she’d disturbed his snooze spot by choosing that moment to come down the steps.

  “Jello, Jesus, fuck!”

  Jello yawned and went about his business of sleeping, stretching languidly across the bottom step. No love for her this morning. He’d probably already been fed by Remi, so he didn’t need Cherisse for anything right now. She found Remi and Reba on the couch, heads close together, peering at something on Remi’s laptop. Not an unusual occurrence since they were both better at bouncing back from these types of events than her. Remi was a true extrovert, who thrived on being around people, and Reba was just a morning person. Cherisse could be on when needed, but after that, get people away from her so she could recharge.

  “Morning.” She nearly cracked her jaw with the huge yawn that escaped. Remi and Reba both jumped. Remi pushed down the top of the laptop even though Cherisse couldn’t see what they’d been looking at anyway. What was that about?

  Remi shifted the laptop from her lap to Reba’s, jumping to her feet to push a giant cup of warm goodness into Cherisse’s hands. “I got your fave fancy Ritual’s vanilla latte. Figured you’d need the boost.”

  “Have I told you lately that I love you?” She inhaled the yummy caffeine before taking a sip, and yesss, it was heaven on her tongue, but something was off here. Reba was being shifty, throwing weird looks while keeping a firm grip on the top of the laptop, and Remi kept urging her to drink more of the latte. “What’s going on?”

  She wondered if this was Sean-related. Last night, she’d managed to stay clear of him. Had briefly spied him and the woman he had glued to his side, but they hadn’t collided. Good. She’d had enough moments of being around Keiran; she didn’t need her ex thrown into the mix.

  “I want to make sure you’re properly caffeinated for this,” Remi said. “Just don’t kill the messenger.” Her eyes cut to Reba, who hadn’t relinquished her hold on the top of the laptop. “We’d rather show you before you found out from someone else.”

  Cherisse lowered the cup. “You’re scaring me now. What. Is. It?”

  Remi steered her over to the couch, where she sat next to Reba, who passed the laptop over to her. The ENTertainment site was up. Cherisse vaguely remembered the woman who’d made the rounds doing brief interviews with the winners. She’d cornered Cherisse to ask about last night’s dessert display and what they could expect from Sweethand next. The woman, Carol, she thought her name was, had tried to bring up Sean, but Reba had swooped in and nixed that immediately.

  She scrolled the article. Seemed normal enough. It spoke about the awards, and the night’s big winners, then a sub-headline jumped out at her: Is there a mini-feud brewing between the Sugar Queen and the Mixer King?

  What in the hell? The article that followed was no better than that clickbaity headline:

  While last night’s show was all about the music, no one could deny the presence of the delectable dessert towers at the cocktail function. Guests were seen practically razing the towers to get at the delicious desserts, courtesy of the Sugar Queen, aka Cherisse Gooding. Although, not everyone seemed enamored by the sugary goodness. Keiran King, one half of the dynamic music duo from DK Productions, said: “She probably has everyone fooled and just pops these frozen in an oven a few minutes before she leaves her house. I mean, come on, mixing music's gotta be way harder than mixing pastry batter...”


  We at ENT think those are some fighting words. Sounds like a challenge to us. Which do YOU think is harder? Tell us in the comments.

  And to Ms. Gooding, we say: Your move, Sugar Queen.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” If the article had been on paper, Cherisse would have crumpled that shit. No. She would have torn it to shreds, lit it on fire, then swept the ashes into the bin. She gently pushed the laptop to the side so she wouldn’t be tempted to toss it. “That asshole!”

  “Granted, he probably did say that,” Remi said. “But Carol is known for this gossipy type shit. She’s trying to escalate what was admittedly a foolish joke. A feud, really? That’s a reach.”

  “I’m sick of him belittling what I do. I don’t care if he was just joking,” Cherisse fumed.

  She’d worked hard to make Sweethand the success it was today. Last year’s loss had been a big blow to her confidence, especially knowing she had no one to blame but herself. Yes, Sean, the asshole, had cheated, but she’d let it get to her. Making it to the finals of the Pastry Wars had been stressful enough. She had the entire weight of her island on her shoulders. Or so she’d felt. Then the news had broken the night before the finals, and she’d gotten zero sleep. Her phone had been buzzing constantly with family, friends, and random media trying to get at her. Her head hadn’t been in the game. The morning of the competition, she’d totally crashed and burned. Everything had gone wrong. She’d broken down and had just quit the entire thing.

  No doubt dating Sean had opened doors for her business, but she’d managed to keep most of those clients and gain more on her own merits by delivering an excellent service and always being on point. She couldn’t afford an off day, not when dealing with food. People liked consistency. She couldn’t do an awesome dessert today and a mediocre one tomorrow and expect to keep her Sugar Queen title. This shit was hard, but because it was food, people like Keiran thought it was a joke.