Faking Us, Falling Hard

“s**t. What have you done, Callista?” I cursed under my breath as I stared at the three-tier cake destroyed across the marble floor and couch. Buttercream and fondant flowers were smeared beyond recognition. My entire reputation as a baker, gone, squished just like the cake. My fingers trembled as I crouched down, trying uselessly to scoop frosting back into... what? I looked around desperately for paper towels, napkins, anything. The sitting room was all leather furniture and expensive art. This apartment belonged to someone who could fund my entire bloodline and I'd just redecorated his floor with cake. How the hell are you going to explain this, Callista? I was supposed to set this up in the dining room. Just walk straight through, set it on the table, done. But no…. I had to trip over absolutely nothing because I'd been awake since 4 AM and my body had decided now was the perfect time to forget how legs work. "What the hell?" The voice came from behind me, and I jolted so hard I nearly face-planted into the frosting. My head whipped around. A man stood in the doorway, briefcase in one hand, his tie slightly loosened like he'd just come from the office. Tall. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. No no no no no. I knew that face. I've seen that face on magazine covers, business articles, and one viral video Tameka had shown me last month about billionaires under thirty. Thorian Brooks. Oh my god. Oh my f*****g god. The name on the slip now made sense. Your career is over. It's over. He's going to sue you into the ground and you'll never work in this city again. “What’s going on here?” His eyes swept over the m******e on his floor, then landed on me. His expression shifted to something too quick to read before going neutral. "I…" My voice cracked. I scrambled to my feet, nearly slipping again. "I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry. I didn't…..it was an accident….I was taking it to the dining room and I tripped and…" My hands fluttered in front of me, still covered in buttercream. I was babbling. I knew I was babbling, but the words kept coming. "I'll fix this… I swear…..I can clean this up right now and I will refund or bake you another….." "Stop." The word came out firm but not harsh, that it made me freeze mid-sentence. He set his briefcase down, and I watched him take a slow breath like he was forcing himself to stay calm. When his eyes met mine again, something in his expression softened. "First," he said, his voice lower than I expected, "you need to breathe before you pass out on my floor." I sucked in a shaky breath, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. "Second," he continued, stepping closer and careful to avoid the frosting, "it's just cake. Nobody died." Just cake? This man was calling a custom three-tier disaster that cost half my rent just cake? I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. His gaze lingered on my face for a second before he glanced away. "And third," he said, "you can stop apologizing." I blinked at him, thrown completely off balance. Rich people don’t act like this. They don’t stay calm. They don’t tell you to stop apologizing when you've just destroyed their property. He looked down at the wreckage again, and I caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he smoothed it away. "Though I have to ask…" He looked back at me, and this time his eyes caught on mine and held. "Why is there a cake here at all? I didn't order one." "A client asked me to deliver it," I said quickly, fumbling in my apron for the delivery slip. My hands were still shaking. "For Mr. Brooks Sr. 's birthday. This was the address on the order." I held out the crumpled paper. He reached for it and took a glance at the slip. "My grandfather's birthday cake shouldn't be delivered here." He said as he looked up at me. "There's a card," I said, my voice coming out smaller than I wanted. "The client wanted me to deliver it with the cake." I reached into my apron pocket. "Is that it?" My eyes followed where he was pointing. Fuck. The cream-colored envelope was half-buried in frosting near his feet. "Oh god….yes," I started to crouch down, but he was already moving. "I've got it." He crouched down and picked it up carefully, brushing off the frosting with his thumb. He opened it and started reading. I watched his entire body language shift. His jaw tightened. His shoulders went rigid. The calm, almost-warm man from a moment ago disappeared, replaced by something cold. "Is Vanessa the name of your client?" He asked. I swallowed hard. "Yes, sir. She placed the order and asked me to deliver it with the card." He stared at the card for a long moment, then folded it carefully and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He glanced up at me, his expression had shifted to something softer somehow. "What's your name?" he asked quietly. "Callista. Callista Green." "Callista." He repeated. Then he paused, his gaze flicking briefly to my hands still covered in frosting before meeting my eyes again. "Before you panic again, I'm not going to sue you for anything.” Relief hit me so hard my knees almost buckled. "You don't owe me anything," he continued. “And there’s no need to bake another.” What? No. No, that's not… "I'm sorry. I… I can't just walk away from this." His eyebrow lifted slightly. "You're not walking away. I'm letting you off the hook." "That's not…" I took a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "Look, I know you're being nice, and I appreciate it, I really do. But that cake took me two days to make.” My voice cracked slightly. "And it was supposed to be perfect. It was supposed to show what I can do." He was quiet for a moment, studying me. "And now it's just... destroyed," I continued, unable to stop myself. "And it’s my fault because I'm the one who dropped it. So please…" I looked at him directly, ignoring how intense his gaze was. "Please let me bake you another one. A replacement. For free." "That's not necessary….." "It is to me." I cut him off, then immediately winced. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt, I just... I need to do this. For my own sanity. Please." Something shifted in his expression. Not pity, more like... understanding? Respect? "You don't owe me anything, Callista." "I know I don't owe you," I said quickly. "But I want to. This is my reputation. My work. I can't just... leave it like this." I gestured at the floor again. "Please. Let me fix this." He was silent for a long moment, and I could practically see him weighing his options. "Why does this matter so much to you?" The question caught me off guard. "Because..." I hesitated, then decided honesty was the only card I had left to play. "Because I'm trying to build something. My bakery….Sweet Sensations….it's small, and I'm still trying to get my name out there. And every cake I make is a chance to prove I'm good at what I do." I swallowed hard. "And right now, the only thing you've seen from me is a disaster on your floor. So please. Let me show you what I can actually do." He watched me for a moment longer, and I couldn't read his expression at all. Then he sighed. "Alright." Relief flooded through me. "Thank you…." "But not for free." I blinked. "Uhn?" "If you're going to insist on this," he said, and there was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice now, "then we do it properly. I have an event next three weeks. Semi-private. About sixty guests. You handle the dessert." My brain stuttered. "You... you want to hire me?" "You just spent five minutes convincing me to let you bake something," he pointed out. "So yes. I'm hiring you. Standard rates. You bring the dessert, I pay you for your work, and we call it even." "But.." "Non-negotiable, Callista." His tone was firm but not unkind. "You want to prove what you can do? Prove it at the event. But I'm not letting you work for free." I stared at him, completely thrown. Is this real? Is he serious? "Okay," I said finally, and a nervous laugh escaped me. "Okay. Thank you. I…thank you." The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly. "Good." He pulled out his phone and typed something. "I'll have my assistant send you the details—date, guest count, dietary restrictions. Make sure I have your contact information before you leave." I nodded, fumbling for my phone. "Are you okay?" My head snapped up. His expression had shifted to less businessman, more... concerned. His eyes dropped to my trembling hands, then back to my face. "You're shaking," he said quietly. "Did you hurt yourself when you fell?" "No." I shook my head quickly, embarrassed. "No, I'm fine. Just…" Just mortified. Just convinced my life was over ten minutes ago. "I'm fine." He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. "The bathroom's down the hall if you need to clean up." "Thank you." I fled before I could do anything else to humiliate myself. ******************************************************************************* By the time I climbed the three flights of stairs to my apartment, every muscle in my body was screaming. What a day. I fumbled for my keys, already fantasizing about collapsing face-first onto my bed, when I heard the sound of a throat clearing behind me. Oh, please, not now. I turned slowly. Mr. Kowalski stood in the hallway, arms crossed over his cardigan. He was seventy-something, with kind eyes that currently looked way too sympathetic for my liking. That expression never meant anything good. "Callista," he said gently. "Mr. Kowalski." I forced a smile. "How are you?" "I'm fine, dear." He shifted his weight, and I saw the discomfort in his posture. He didn't want to do this. "Listen, I know you're a strong lady. I know things aren't really rosy right now. But..." He sighed. "You've been owing three months' rent." My stomach dropped. Three months. I knew. Of course I knew. The number haunted me every single night. "I know, Mr. Kowalski. I'm so sorry." My voice came out smaller than I wanted. "I've been picking up extra shifts, and I'm waiting on a big order payment that should come through next week, and I just…. I just need a little more time. Please." He looked at me with those kind, tired eyes. "I've given you time, Callista. I like you, you're a good tenant, but I got bills too. The building needs repairs, property taxes are due…." "I know. I know, and I promise I'll get it to you. I just…." "Girl, you look like a whole disaster." I turned toward the voice. Tameka's head popped out from her doorway two apartments down, her box braids piled high on her head, an oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder. She looked me up and down. "What happened to you?" I glanced down at myself, my apron still had frosting smears, my shirt was wrinkled, and I was pretty sure there was buttercream in my hair. "Long day," I muttered. "Almost a terrible day." Mr. Kowalski took that as his cue to leave. "Just... think about what I said, okay?" He patted my shoulder awkwardly, then shuffled back toward the stairs. I stood there, staring at my door, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on my chest. "Cal." I looked up. Tameka was leaning against her doorframe now, arms crossed, studying me with that look she got when she knew I was about to spiral. "I got beer and pizza," she said simply. A sigh escaped me. "Tameka, I can't…." "I ain't asking." She jerked her head toward her apartment. "You look like you need carbs and alcohol, in that order." I hesitated. "Okay." "Good. Give me two minutes to heat up the pizza. Meet me at your place, your couch is better than mine." Before I could argue, she'd already ducked back inside. I unlocked my apartment and dropped my bag on the couch, staring at the pile of unopened bills on my coffee table. How did it get this bad? My phone buzzed in my pocket. I reached for it and glanced at the screen and my heart skipped a beat as I saw the caller ID. My hand trembled as I picked it up and pressed it on my ears. "Hello?" “You're three days late." He paused, and I heard the faint sound of him exhaling smoke. “She just lost a tooth. Next time it's a finger. Tomorrow. Five PM. Don't make me call again. Before I could respond, the line went dead and I couldn’t help but stare at the screen as my pulse quickened. "Cal?" I jolted at Tam’s voice. "Babe, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." I swallowed hard, forcing my face into something neutral. "It's nothing…..It’s a client.” Liar, a voice whispered in my head. "You sure?" Tameka studied me suspiciously. "Yeah." I forced a smile. "I'm fine." Another lie.