Cake Love: All Things Payne (4 page)

"No you won't," Grandma pipes into the conversation.

Grandma, ever the realist.

"Sweets, your grandpa picked me up at a bar and we went home and had a one night stand. The most unromantic meeting a couple can have. I happened to get pregnant from that night and your Uncle Jackson was born nine months later. Needless to say it was a shotgun wedding. Very little romance for us, but we did grow to love each other. I mean, sure, we humped like rabbits because your granddad was hot, but we didn't fall in love until many years later. So, you never know."

Both my mom and I have plugged our ears as we rock ourselves in comfort. Leave it to my grandma to ruin a moment.

Chapter 5

Morgana's Problem: Her Date

There is a light drizzle with thirty mile per hour winds on Sunday. It prevents me from using my umbrella, though I bring it anyway. I resemble a human banana—yellow rain hat with matching coat and boots.

I enter the warm, dry coffee shop, Beans, Beans, & more Beans, promptly at ten and look around. The aroma of coffee and chocolate is the first to assault my senses. My eyes dart over the large barrels of coffee beans next to the gray slate counter. Quickly I remove the offending yellow and run my fingers through my hair to give the appearance of some maintenance. Thankfully I wore waterproof mascara today.

Stepping further into the shop I look at the one person in line, a man with no umbrella. I walk up behind him and peer around the room. The walls are covered with odd knick-knacks of figurines holding coffee cups and various children’s art work framed in sleek metal and white frames. Most of the black tables and dark booths are taken by couples. There is a lone man who is about sixty sitting in an overstuffed leather chair staring at me with a big grin. Oh God is that him? He lied! He's not thirty-four!

My eyes dart around him and see an umbrella but it's one of those big black golf umbrellas. Maybe he's planning on using it to knock me unconscious or kill me. Those things can be weapons. I know someone accidentally stabbed me in the boob with one once in college. I had to get three stitches.

I look around the room again in desperation and see a hand cradling a blue plaid umbrella. It's a man's hand but he is in a booth with his back to me, so I can't make him out. Oh thank God it's not the sixty year old. Some people may be into the older guy thing, but not me.

My gaze falls back to the older man and notice he is now leering at a group of women at a table near him. Perv!

After a few moments I'm next and recite my order to the bored barista as he stands in front of a wall of coffee beans encased in glass. When I get the warm latte I take a deep breath and casually walk across the light bamboo flooring to the booth that holds the plaid umbrella. As I turn to face him I stop dead and drop my coffee.

"Mr. Payne?"

His eyes look over me in confusion until he sees the red umbrella in my hand and his eyes go wide.

"Morgan...Morgana?"

Oh SHIT!!!

We just stare at each other for a while. I finally move to sit in the booth when one of the baristas comes over with a mop to clean up the spilled coffee.

"So you're Ric, huh?" I glare at him wondering if he knew it was me all along. That must be why he didn't want pictures. God, I am such an idiot! Trying to be romantic my ass! I don't think I could be angrier at this moment!

"Obviously Morgan! Did you know who I was? Is that why you were pressuring me for a picture, so you could do God knows what to my career?"

"What? No! You are the one who knew who I was; don't turn it around on me. You have a sick problem, playing games with me like this. And to think, I almost let you sex-chat me" I huff at him, appalled.

He raises his eyebrow at me. Yeah, the sex-chat would not have been the worst we have done together, but I’m still mad. I try to get out of the booth, my rain gear getting hooked on the table. I yank until I hear a rip. Mr. Payne tries to get up to help me but I push him away.

"Don't you even think about it. Haven’t you already done enough?"

"Morgana, I am just trying to help you with your coat."

I manage to get my jacket free and inspect it, noticing a small tear on the back, near the bottom hem. With much anger and clumsiness I shrug on the raincoat and hat to make my way to the exit. I feel a hand on my arm tugging me back.

"Morgana, let's at least talk about this."

I wrench my arm from his grip and turn to face him. He is gracefully putting on his trench coat along with a black scarf, looking his usual debonair self. This just pisses me off even more; I look like a cartoon, and he looks like he walked out of a Burberry catalog.

"You may be the boss of me Monday through Friday, Ric, but not on Sunday! Not on Sunday," I repeat as I push open the door and into the howling wind. Turning I take a left walking straight into the gale force. Realizing I should have taken a right to get back home I continue walking straight so I won't run into Mr. Payne again. About a minute later when I have finally made it to the corner, despite almost being knocked over a few times by the gusts, I come to a halt as I am almost run over by a black Lincoln town car.

The back passenger door opens and I glance into the car to see Mr. Payne waving me inside. My face is so raw at this point I would get into a shipping crate if one appeared.

I climb inside to the warm tan leather interior and shut the door. Buckling myself into the car as it starts to move away, I glance over at him to find him staring at me.

"What?"

"You really had no idea it was me Morgana?"

"No Ric, I really didn't. How could I have possibly known with the screen name, Hi-Ed-Junior. You said you worked retail, so do a quarter of the people in this city."

He nods and then looks straight ahead. After a minute he speaks again, "You called me an ass and a few other names too."

I turn my attention to the window and watch as we pull into the garage of one of the skyscraper buildings.

"Well, you are an ass, and I mean that in the most professional way possible Ric."

I turn to look at him and he's chuckling.

"Stop calling me Ric. It's Henrik. Come on inside. I can make us some hot chocolate and we can figure out what to do."

Noticing the car has come to a stop I look around to see Henrik's driver running around the car.

"Just take me home. My pants are now soaked and I just want a warm shower. Forgive me if I am not in the mood for talking right now."

The door opens and before Henrik steps out he reaches a hand to me.

"I got those things too."

"You have a ... a pair of women's jeans?"

He smirks and shakes his head. “No, but I can get a pair brought to you once you are done with your shower.”

A shiver just ran up my spine. I could be naked in Henrik's home. Hmm.

"I don't know Henrik, perhaps it’s best if I go home."

"Look Morgana, we are going to be in a foreign country next week, living and working side by side. It is best if we work out any issues now so things aren't strained over there."

He's right. I know myself; I won't even be able to look at him tomorrow let alone for an entire week, not to mention the flight later this evening. I nod and give him my hand. He directs me to the elevators.

Once we are inside the light wood paneled lift, he inserts a keycard into the wall and the elevator immediately begins moving up with no further instructions from him.

"What are you with maintenance?"

"No, I have to have a key to get to my apartment."

I look at him and tilt my head.

"You mean your floor, Henrik?"

"No, Morgana, I mean my apartment."

Just at that moment the doors of the elevator open and we step into his apartment. Henrik Payne has the penthouse of the building. His apartment is the entire floor. My mouth falls open as does my purse, falling to the ground and various items roll out.

I watch as a man I don't know bends down to grab my lipstick, mints, floss, and tampon to put back into my bag. He stands and hands me the purse.

"Ah, thank you." I blush knowing that everyone saw the tampon.

"You are quite welcome Miss." His British accent causes me to giggle and I suddenly feel like I could be in one of those period dramas on PBS. Please let his name be Jeeves, or Coleman! Or Higgins!

"Morgana this is Winston, my butler."

I jump up and down clapping my hands.

"Oh God! That is perfect. Winston it is a pleasure, I'm sure."

The last line I try to say in my best British accent, but it comes out Jamaican. Every time I try to do an accent it sounds Jamaican.

Winston smiles and nods his head at me.

"Pleasure to meet you Miss." He turns his attention to Henrik.

"Winston, Morgana would like to take a shower and we will need to get her a new pair of jeans."

"Very good sir. There is hot chocolate in the living room and I started the fire for you and your guest."

Winston turns and I watch as his silver hair sways from a short ponytail as he retreats down a hall.

"That was so cool! I have never met a British butler before. Oh, and we are going to London tomorrow, will Winston be coming with us?"

Henrik moves around me and waves for me to follow.

"No, Winston will be staying here. I think I can manage a week without a butler."

"But can I, Henrik? I think that is the point. Now that I know of his existence I must have him bring me tea and crumpets, and say 'very good miss' and all that stuff."

His laughter fills the large room we have entered. There are two tan sofas with a huge brown suede chair facing a fireplace so big I could walk into it. I now want to live in that fireplace -- provided no one ever starts it up again. On either side of the massive fireplace is a wall of windows overlooking Lake Michigan.

I press my face to the glass and stare at the misty fog and choppy waves below.

"Can I marry your apartment? I promise to let you have visiting rights but I think I want to put a ring on it."

I watch his reflection come up beside me in the glass and feel the vibration from his laughter as he leans on the window.

"For what it's worth Morgana, I did look forward to our online chats. You always made me laugh, not many people can do that. As for marrying my place I thought you said once you were marrying cake. Are you two-timing now?"

I turn my face from the glass, realizing I just smeared lipstick on it. Trying to cover my smudge I rub my sleeve on the window, making it worse.

"I can lead a double life. Cake on the weekends and this apartment during the week. Cake will never find out.”

Henrik nods and pulls a tissue from his pocket and wipes away the smudge from the window. I feel my cheeks flame. First I spill the contents of my purse, then smudge up his window, what's next? Will I accidentally poop on his floor? Can I be any more of a doofus?

He reaches over to cup my chin and brings it towards him. Oh my God he's going to kiss me. Do I want him to kiss me? He accused me of some terrible stuff at the coffee shop and has really screwed with my brain the past few months. It would be wise for me to back away from him and walk out that door. Oh who am I kidding, I'm far from wise. Kiss away Henrik!

I close my eyes and start to pucker my lips when I feel something brushing my chin. Oh, he likes to start slow. Okay I can get into that. There is another brush of my cheek and I moan to help him along.

"Did I press too hard Morgana?"

"Oh no Henrik it felt just right. I..." I open my eyes to see him with the tissue trying to wipe my cheek. Suddenly it occurs to me I have smeared lipstick on my face. He's being gentlemanly and cleaning it up, while I moan and tell him how right it feels. Please kill me.

"The shower is ready Miss. I have ordered your pants and it will arrive while you are cleaning. I shall lay it on the guest bed for you."

I look over to see Winston pointing down the hall. To escape my mortification as quickly as possible without looking back at Henrik, I follow Winston down the hall to a large gray bedroom that has a king sized bed in it. We round the corner to a gorgeous en-suite bathroom. I stop at the door as my eyes gaze upon what can only be described as one of the wonders of the world. It is magnificent.

If I die and go to heaven and have to use its bathroom, it wouldn't come close to the beauty that lay before me. The shower has eight heads. Eight! And I can walk straight into it, no door, no curtain; it's just part of the room. Everything is gray tile and dark brown wood with bright white porcelain sinks.

"I think I just had an orgasm in my pants."

Winston, without a misstep, hands me my fluffy white, soft as a baby's ass towel and says, "Very good Miss. Will that be all?"

I nod, knowing I will be incapable of forming words for a while. He leaves, closing the door behind him. That's when I take off my clothes faster than I ever have before. I only wish I owned tear away clothing like porn stars for this exact moment.

Walking over to the shower I notice the flooring is heated. Nice! Pressing a few buttons I figure out quickly how to get all the shower heads running to the perfect temperature. I step in with my arms raised in a V, and I have the Hallelujah chorus playing in my head.

After a few minutes of conducting an imaginary orchestra and then segue into an air guitar solo I decide to actually clean myself. Picking up a pink sponge (I'm thinking Henrik likes pink) I pour on the floral smelling body wash and get to work. Oh I make sure I use long, slow strokes. Don't want to leave this shower to soon. Need to get nice and pruney.

After finishing up my face and hair I reluctantly turn off the shower. There are streams coming from my eyes, but it's isn't shower water. Staring in the mirror I frown.