His Command: (Billionaire Bound: Part 1) A Dark New Adult Romance (2 page)

“I’ll bet you can,” one of them said, grinning and looking over her curvy body, poorly hidden as it was beneath her flour-covered apron. Beth’s throat tightened slightly.

“Yeaah, girl, I bet you had some
fun
makin’ those. You lick the spoon when you were done?” another joined in, all of them starting to grin ear to ear as they saw the hilarious jokes to be made about a curvy baker.

“I got somethin’ you can lick, girl. You bet you’ll like the sweetness.” He grabbed his crotch and humped rudely at the counter. Feeling herself go pale as she stared at the lot of them, she couldn’t think of a single retort—she desperately looked toward Kylie for assistance. Kylie was much better at handling these sorts of situations than she was.

But Kylie wasn’t paying any attention to the teenagers. Her green eyes were wide as saucers as she stared at whoever had come in after the boys—and he was looming over them as they hunched over the counter to comment about her weight, his sharp gray eyes glowering down skeptically at where they blocked his access to Bethany.

“Oh, I think she’s got some sweetness of her own in those big titties of hers!”

“
Excuse me
.” His voice contained an unmistakable Irish accent as he grabbed the collars of two of the teenagers and shoved them out of the way without the slightest bit of hesitation. They shouted in alarm and stumbled into their friends, effectively pushing them out of line. The Irishman lightly tugged on the sleeves of his suit—even Bethany could see it was tailor-made—and adjusted his tie as his judging, utterly displeased gaze remained on the teenagers.

Bethany watched his hands move with a certain grace she had never seen before. But then, she had never seen anyone like him before, especially not in her little shop… A second glance at his suit to reassure herself he was even real left her gaze lingering on the silver silk tie, done in a way she had never seen before. It was almost… braided against the collar of his black shirt.

“Yo, man, we were in line here!” one of the teens protested in annoyance, straightening his baggy attire fruitlessly.

“No, what you were doing is being rude little gowls to this business and its staff, and if you haven’t the interest in buying anything, you can kindly shove off before you ruin this young lady’s day any more than you assuredly already have,” he replied smoothly. In all likelihood, none of them knew what a ‘gowl’ was—Bethany didn’t know what a ‘gowl’ was—but his tone spoke volumes. And despite the tough guy expressions on the boys’ faces, they didn’t dare mess with the Irishman any further, and sulked out of the store, grumbling to one another.

Beth took a deep breath, her throat tight, and turned her attention to the businessman who had just… defended her, and driven the hooligans out when she wouldn’t have been able to nearly as easily. And… no wonder Kylie had been staring at him. He couldn’t be but a few years older than them, but he had every inch of him screaming refined gentleman—and his broad, intense face was by far the most handsome she had ever seen, with gray eyes smoldering out at her like they were coals in a dying fire. His hair was a dark red, neatly trimmed and smoothed back from his face—and Beth realized, as she was staring at him, that he was waiting for her to say something.

“H-hi!” she blurted, too loudly, and blushed slightly. “Hi, welcome to Bethany’s Brownie Bakery. I’m Bethany. Monroe.” Why had she just said that? “How may I help you?”

“You’re the owner, then?” he confirmed lightly, but it wasn’t really a question.

“Yes, I am.”

“And I am her best friend in the whole world,” Kylie added, sidling up beside him with a massive smile on her face, beaming at him. “Thank you so much for getting rid of those
gowls
. Teenagers can be so rude.” The Irishman turned toward her slightly, glanced over her slender form, and then turned away without a word, apparently not impressed with her pretending to know what the insult had meant. Instantly defeated, Kylie’s smile shattered, and she slunk back to the table she had been sitting at.

“I am here to pick up a birthday cake. The name is under Dermott, I believe,” he told Beth. She brightened considerably.

“Oh, of course! I have it in the back. Let me just go and wrap it up.” Beth turned away quickly and dashed into the back. She snatched a box off the pile and then headed to the refrigerator. The cake had been finished a few hours ago, since business had been so slow, although she was glad that she had had the time to finish it up so well. It was a fudgy devil’s food cake, with a buttercream icing, and dozens of piped purple flowers all across the top. Everything was dusted with a glittering, edible gold dust, and royal violet cursive letters spelled out, “Happy Birthday Ashling.” Ashling was an Irish name, now that she thought about it.

Very carefully, Beth put down wax paper, transferred the cake into the box and closed the top before heading out to where her customer waited with Kylie, who hadn’t said a word and was pouting in the corner. “Here you are, sir, I hope everything is to your approval. Everything’s already been paid for,” she said charmingly, setting the cake down in front of him. He popped open the lid and started to inspect her work. Biting her lip a moment, she added, “Is Ashling your girlfriend?”

“My cousin,” he shot back, and she felt her heart skip a beat. Seeming to be satisfied, he shut the box again and then reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

Bethany blinked. “It’s already been paid for, sir,” she repeated carefully.

His gray eyes looked up at her, almost seeming to stare through her as he looked over her messy flour-covered exterior without a word. And then he was setting down several bills on the counter regardless. “A tip.” Not saying anything else, he picked up the box and turned away, leaving her shop.

Kylie and Beth both watched him go—and then the former was springing from her seat and dashing for the cash. “Oh my God, oh my God!”

“Kylie!” Beth gasped, as her money was taken before she could even see how much it was.

“
Three hundred and fifty dollars!
” the blonde squealed excitedly.

Beth’s jaw dropped, staring at her. “H-h-how much?”

“Three hundred and fifty, Beth! Oh, I knew it, I just knew it!” Kylie shoved the bills into her hands, and she stared at them, counting them herself—five times.

Then she looked back up. “Knew
what
?”

Kylie stopped celebrating. “You don’t know who that was? Oh, Beth, that was Ciaran Cavanaugh! There were rumors all over the office that he was in town, but I just couldn’t believe it!”

Beth racked her brain, trying to come up with the name, but she just shrugged helplessly.

“He’s utterly famous in the real estate world, Beth. He’s this billionaire real estate tycoon. He buys up all this property all over the place just to sell it once he’s renovated it. And he was in your bakery! Oh my God, no one is ever going to believe this!”

Beth didn’t pay much attention to her friend’s excitement, but she cradled the money in her hands like it was her firstborn, taking a deep breath. “Well, I don’t know who he was, but he just saved my ass. I can actually afford to pay the bank now.”

“He was in your
bakery
,” Kylie gushed further, ignoring her. “And God is he gorgeous!”

Bethany looked up with a lifted brow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Kylie, he completely shut you down.”

“Shut up! No one needs to know that part!”

Business had, ironically enough, picked up after Ciaran Cavanaugh had left the bakery. Kylie had stayed around for a while, apparently not having any pressing work to do that afternoon, but even with her boycott of all things sweet, she could only stick around with brownies and cookies staring at her for so long. Honestly, Bethany was a bit glad for that, since it let her pay more attention to the kitchen in between customers. She was a good deal calmer and more relaxed than she had been that morning, knowing that there was a lovely tip that would very literally save her ass when she went to the bank later in the week.

Normally, she would close up shop around six or seven, depending on how busy the bakery was; occasionally, that time was later on Fridays and Saturdays, when more people were out and about and more likely to be drunk enough to have a craving for late-night sweets. This was a Tuesday, though, and so she would have gone home hours ago if she hadn’t been in such a good mood. Instead, it was almost eight, and Beth was still in the kitchen, baking a fresh batch of double chocolate chip muffins; they tended to take way too long to make during the day, but were one of her most popular treats.

By this point, when it was so late, although her door was unlocked she didn’t really expect anyone to come into the shop. The lights were on out front still—it creeped her out just a bit to see shadows of people from the streetlights moving around in the darkness—and after she popped the muffins in the oven and turned on a timer, she looked up in surprise when the bell rang. For a moment, she glanced around the kitchen she had been hoping to clean up before the muffins were done so she could head home, but then she shrugged and went out to see who was there. If someone wanted to buy something from what was left of her inventory, she wasn’t going to complain about it.

“Hi, welcome to Bethany’s Brownie Bakery,” she recited as she lifted her apron over her head and hung it on a hook on the wall. “How may I help—” Looking up, her customary greeting faltered when she saw the Irishman from earlier standing in her shop again. He was scrutinizing a lazy Susan plate she had fixed up into a cupcake stand, and self-consciously, Beth grabbed the hair tie she was wearing and let her deflated curls fall free around her face, giving him a smile. “Oh, hi, sir. It’s very good to see you again. Was the cake for your cousin to your satisfaction?”

He looked up at her, his gray eyes impossible to read, and then moved nearer to the counter she stood behind. He had changed his suit from earlier, no longer wearing that silver tie, but the dark blue one he wore was in that same braid he’d been wearing before. “It was delicious,” he confirmed idly. “My cousin sends her thanks for it. It was her favorite part of her birthday, apparently.”

Beth’s smile faltered slightly; it had to be a pretty crappy birthday if the cake was the best part. And she was a baker. “Well, I’m glad she liked it. Can I help you with anything else?” Why was he here, anyway? It wasn’t like he had needed to come back just to tell her the cake was good.

“You’re the owner of this bakery, correct? You mentioned that earlier. How long have you been in business here?” Ciaran asked idly, folding his arms across his chest.

“Uhm, a few months. I just moved to San Francisco from Wyoming so I could open up a proper bakery. I wanted to thank you, by the way. That was a very generous tip for just a birthday cake,” Beth told him carefully, fidgeting. He hadn’t stopped staring at her since she had left the kitchen to see who was here, and something about his gaze still made her feel like she was standing there naked. At first she thought he was just annoyed over those rude teenagers, but that didn’t seem to be the case now.

He shrugged nonchalantly, like a three hundred and fifty dollar tip was the most normal thing in the world. “I can appreciate an upcoming entrepreneur. I came back because I am hosting a party downtown next weekend, and I would like to commission you to provide the sweets for the affair.”

Her eyes widened. “I… I would love to, thank you. What sort of baked goods were you thinking of having at the party?”

“It will be a very large gathering, about two hundred people.” Her eyes bulged, but he ignored her and continued. “So I was thinking at least five large cakes, and a great many cupcakes. I would assume that you’d have a better idea of how many would feed that crowd.”

For a moment, Beth stood there, calculating, swallowing a bit. “Ah, well… Normally, for cupcakes, I’d want to make at least two for everyone in attendance, but with the five cakes that would probably be way too many, so… three hundred?”

Ciaran nodded, considering this. “Very well, that sounds fair. There will, of course, be other food there. I would like the cakes to be as finely made as the one you provided Ashling, but probably quite a bit larger. How much do you charge for that?”

“Uhm… For one cake that large, it’d probably be about two hundred dollars, with the cost of materials…”

“One thousand, fine. And the cupcakes?”

She was staring at him, unable to believe that this was even happening right now. Had she fallen asleep while waiting for the muffins? “Fifty cupcakes usually go for seventy-five, but since it’s such a large number, I think sixty dollars per fifty cupcakes is more than fair.”

“Three hundred and sixty dollars, then. Plus one thousand for the cakes—and I will of course provide a tip once everything is delivered next week.” She had been so consumed with his eyes that she hadn’t even realized that Ciaran had pulled out a checkbook and begun writing the amount for her. “And that will be Saturday, by the by. The party begins at seven thirty, and so I will have someone here around six so that we can get everything loaded up and set up before my guests begin arriving.” He tore out the check and handed it to her. Beth stared at it, unable to process. “Does that sound fair, Miss Monroe?”

His slightly annoyed prompting made her look up and nod profusely. “O-of course! It sounds perfect. I’m certain everything will be ready by then. Uhm, what sort of cakes and cupcakes did you want? Chocolate, vanilla…?”

“A mixture will be fine. I’m sure the flavor will be excellent regardless,” he replied, tucking away his pen and checkbook and looking up at her again. Beth was still clutching the check tightly between her flour-covered fingers, her throat tight. Very lightly, Ciaran smirked at her. “I am assuming you haven’t had a catering job like this since you moved out here, then?”

She shook her head rapidly. “I’ve never had a catering job like this my entire life! But, uhm, thank you so much. I’ll do my very best to ensure that everything is to your satisfaction, Mr. Cavanaugh.” If she’d had any doubts about who he was, his signature on the check confirmed Kylie’s suspicions.

“I know you will.” He started to turn away to leave her shop—only to pause and look back at her. “And, Miss Monroe, I hope you understand that I intend for you to attend the party along with the rest of my guests?”

She blinked at him. “You do?”

“Of course. Especially if you have never offered your services for a soiree like this, I would like you to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Do come in something… not covered in flour, however.” His gray eyes drifted over her breasts in her dirty, stretched-out shirt, and she blushed. But before Beth had the chance to say anything, or even try to refute the idea of going to an expensive party with that many people, he was out the door, and she was staring after him.

For a long, long moment, she did just stare after Ciaran, clutching the check, even once he had climbed into his car and driven off down the road. Then, very slowly, she set the check on the counter, went into the kitchen, and fished her cell phone out of her purse. Her thumb pressed down on the four key, her speed dial for Kylie.

“Hey, Kylie?” she greeted, her voice thin, as the girl on the other end picked up.

“Oh, hey, Beth. What’s up?”

“Would your brother be up for helping me at the bakery for a week or two? I just got this huge order for a party.”

“Sure, probably. I’ll call him tomorrow. That’s great news, though! Whose party is it? Anyone I know?”

“Uh, yeah, kinda. You remember that guy that was in here earlier? Ciaran Cavanaugh?”

Beth jerked the phone away from her ear as Kylie let out an extremely high-pitched, excited scream. The timer on the muffins dinged at the same time, and Beth finally took a breath, something she’d been neglecting to do for about five minutes.