Love Deceived

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Adalia slammed the door of the fridge so hard, a few of the cute kitty magnets fell off and scattered across the tiles.

“Damn,” she whispered, then placed the bottle of wine on the kitchen counter and bent to collect the kittens. She rearranged them haphazardly and grimaced at the bill she’d stuck up on the beige surface of the refrigerator.

The bakery wasn’t in the clear, and the bank wanted the money back. Now. There were too few customers, or too many expenses, and it ate at her that she couldn’t make it work.

“No. I will make this work. I will.” She grabbed the wine bottle, popped the cork and sloshed some of the deep red fluid into a glass. Failure wasn’t an option... it wasn’t in her vocabulary.

She’d grown up too poor and worked too hard to let that happen.

Adalia strolled through to her living room and lowered herself to the couch with a sigh. She’d not bothered to take off her apron, and she’d been home a half hour. There was just too much to do.

Her laptop was laid out on her wooden coffee table, open and glaring at her, coaxing her to swap over from the spreadsheet to an episode of Game of Thrones.

There wasn’t a TV in the apartment, but she preferred it that way. Anything she really wanted to watch was on Netflix and she was too busy for shows most nights anyway, but after the weird encounter with the mysterious Trent, all she wanted was a glass of wine, some leftover pizza and a couple of dragons.

An email notification sounded on the laptop, and she leaned forward with a frown.

It was from a woman named Michelle Van Heerden.

Attn: Adalia,

We would like to hire you to cater an event. Please respond with contact details so we may discuss this over the phone.

Regards,

Ms. Van Heerden

Adalia took a sip of wine and rattled off a quick response with her phone number. This was good news – she couldn’t help allowing the hope to burgeon in her chest.

Riiiing.

She jumped and swept up her cell, then pressed the green button without checking who the call was from.

“Adalia speaking,” she said, injecting confidence into her voice, which was part alcohol inspired and part innate.

“Hey, girl,” a deep gravelly voice said, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

Great. Just what she needed on a lonely Monday night: not a potential client, but her lowlife ex-boyfriend.

“DeShawn, I told you not to call me.”

“I can’t not call you, babe. I miss you too bad.” An explosion of raucous laughter drowned out another sentence, but it wasn’t a loss to her ears.

“You’re high again,” Adalia stated, resolved to the answers and the lies he’d tell to get out of the telling the truth.

“No, course not, baby. You told me to stop, so I did, right?” he said it in a mild slur and she rolled her eyes.

“And you’ve been drinking as well. You need to get that drunk dial app on your phone, DeShawn.” She couldn’t help cracking jokes, though he probably wouldn’t get that he was the butt of it.

“What that?”

“Never mind. I’m going to blacklist your number, so don’t try calling again.” She pressed the red button with relish and slapped the phone down on the table. How had she ever dated him?

The constant lack of ambition, sitting at home all day and smoking pot while she was out busting her balls for them. Earning as much as she could to fund his boozing and smoking.

It made her livid. Not because he’d wasted his life away or her time for that matter, but because she’d allowed that in her life.

She was a strong woman. Her mother had been a strong woman. Why had she let him walk all over her?

She grabbed at her stomach and frowned. Maybe it was because of self-esteem. Well, she couldn’t be anyone other than who she was.

She certainly deserved better than DeShawn.

Adalia took another gulp of wine, then shook her head to clear her thoughts.

Riiiiing.

She gave a low growl and snatched the phone off the coffee table again, shifting the lifestyle and cookery magazines to the right. She set the glass on the table to better handle the call.

DeShawn just didn’t know when enough was enough.

“I told you, I’m going to blacklist your damn number, so do not call me back!” Adalia hovered her finger of the red button to hang up.

“Is that Adalia?” a snooty woman asked, and Adalia’s heart leapt into her throat. She flashed to the email she received earlier. It was most likely the potential client.

Embarrassment heated her cheeks, and she fanned herself with one hand. “That’s correct.”

“Is this a bad time, Ms. Montclair?” The woman’s cool answer cut at her sense of professionalism.

“Not at all, I’ve just been receiving continuous calls from telemarketers and I’ve grown quite fed up. I’m sure you can understand.” Adalia was quick on her feet at least.

“Of course,” the woman answered without changing her tone. “I emailed you about catering for an event. My name is Michelle Van Heerden.”

“Yes, thank you, Ms. Van Heerden. May I ask what you require for the event?” She stood and hurried to the kitchen, her stockings slipping her up a little, then snatched up a pen and paper.

“We’ve got the menu set for the event, but we’re lacking a good idea for dessert.”

“That’s definitely my forte,” Adalia answered, though she frowned. How had this woman found her? She wasn’t exactly in the papers, and she seriously doubted that Ms. Van Heerden, in all her snobby glory, would deign to leaf through the yellow pages.

“I have it on good authority that your chocolate éclairs are sublime,” Van Heerden droned on, seemingly bored by her own conversation. “So, we’d like you to cater for two hundred guests.”

“Two hundred,” Adalia answered, scribbling the number down and keeping the stammer of awe out of her voice. That was two éclairs per guest, and four hundred in total. “When’s the event?”

Van Heerden cleared her throat. “In three days.”

Good God. Adalia gripped the pen until it made a c***k of protest. She needed the money, but she’d have to work night and day to make that deadline. That was a lot of choux pastry.

“Can you do it, Ms. Montclair?”

Adalia clicked her tongue softly, considering, need and fear mingling inside. “Absolutely, where’s the event being held?”

“The NYIT Auditorium on Broadway. This is a charity event and exceptionally important. We expect prompt delivery and service from you, Ms. Montclair.”

“Of course. I’ll be there, you can count on it,” Adalia answered with total confidence.

The line went dead, and Adalia placed her phone in her bag, which lay open on the kitchen counter. Ms. Van Heerden was upper echelon indeed, if she couldn’t spare a minute to say ‘thank you’ or ‘goodbye’.

Adalia breathed slowly, staring at the clock on the wall, ticking away. Three days wasn’t enough time, but hell, she’d make it work.

She pulled on her shoes, adjusted that apron and slung her bag over her shoulder, then shot a text message off to her assistant patisserie to meet her at the bakery.

Adalia set her gaze on the bill plastered to her fridge and gave a curt nod. This was her chance to make it work, to pay off some of the debt and get the business going.

She left the bottle of wine on the coffee table.