Chapter 2
1442 Words
She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“Alright, fine. How much are we talking about?” I asked, resting my chin on my fist while I took another big bite of cupcake.
“Don’t you dare look pitiful while eating dessert. That’s illegal in at least three states.”
“How much, Harper?”
“A hundred bucks.”
I almost inhaled the rest of the cupcake. Coughing hard, eyes watering, I had to wipe my face with the back of my hand.
“A hundred dollars just to drop off a cake? Are you serious?”
“The client paid two grand for this thing. I’m not risking any screw-ups on delivery.”
“Two *thousand*?” My brain short-circuited for a second. A hundred would cover groceries, maybe even let me send something home for the holidays. “Did you bake actual gold into it or something?”
“Not exactly, but close enough. The ingredients cost a fortune, and the decorating took me forever.” A sly, proud little smile crept across her face. “Want to see it?”
That sparkle in her eyes meant she was dying to show off. When she pulled the cake out of the industrial fridge, I got why.
It wasn’t huge, just a neat two-tier round but the finish on it was insane.
“Holy smokes,” I whispered, my old Iowa farm-girl curse slipping out.
Harper burst out laughing. I just sat there, mouth open. The whole thing shimmered like it belonged in a jewelry case. Pearly white icing with this soft, luminous glow. Elegant gold-stemmed orchids wound up the sides, and tiny metallic flowers edged the base like real gold scattered on snow.
I leaned in for a closer look at the delicate detailing, but Harper’s hand shot out to my shoulder.
“Easy there. Breathe too close and the icing might start to melt.”
“Wait, that's all icing?”
“Every bit. The orchids are hand-sculpted fondants, but those little blooms are real gold leaf over buttercream. I was up half the night perfecting it.”
“I believe it,” I said, easing back into my chair. “This is next-level.”
“Exactly. Might be the best thing I’ve ever done.”
“Wedding?”
“Nope. Birthday party, apparently. Or maybe it’s for his wife? The guy was pretty vague.”
“So where’s this fancy delivery going?”
Harper’s grin widened. She knew she had me hooked.
“Penthouse in one of those sleek financial district towers. You’ll probably score a fat tip on top of the hundred.”
I popped the last chunk of cupcake in my mouth and pushed to my feet. “Okay. I’m in.”
“Yes!” She clapped excitedly. “One small detail is that they want you in a dress for the delivery.”
“A dress?” I froze mid-step. “No way ”
“I’ve got options. You can borrow something of mine.”
“Harper ”
“It’s literally ten minutes of your life. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate, Chloe.”
“What if I watch the ovens and you go?”
She planted her hands on her hips and shot me a glare that could curdle milk. We both remembered the last time I handled the timers, charred cakes and a very unhappy boss.
“Fine. I’ll never volunteer for bakery duty again,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“It’s just fabric, Chloe. It won’t magically turn you into a princess.”
I glanced between her hopeful face and that glittering masterpiece on the table. A hundred dollars. Easy money. Ten minutes.
“Alright,” I grumbled. “But I haven’t worn a dress since Mom dragged me to Christmas service last year. This better be worth it.”
“You’re a lifesaver! I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She threw her arms around me quickly.
“Andy would probably rock a dress better than me,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“True, but he wouldn’t look half as good in it as you will.” She slid a glass dome over the cake like she was sealing a treasure. “Trust me you’re gonna be stunning.”
“Stunning?”
“Exactly the vibe for a penthouse full of rich people. And heels. Definitely heels.”
I groaned. “Let’s just get this over with.” I stole one more look at the cake sparkling under the bakery lights.
“Over with? You get to play dress-up, deliver my baby to a fancy party, and make cash while I stay here sweating over ovens. Count your blessings.”
“I’ll count them after I survive the heels without snapping an ankle.”
“Just don’t drop my two-thousand-dollar work of art on the way,” she warned.
***
Two thousand dollars.
“I’m carrying something worth more than my entire existence right now,” I muttered, tugging at the hem of the dress.
Harper’s little black dress looked killer on her curves. On me? It was a whole different story. The fabric hugged my hips and chest like it was painted on, straining in ways that made me self-conscious. My chest, especially, was putting on quite the show.
“I can’t go out like this,” I said, staring at myself in the mirror.
“Why not? You look amazing.”
“It’s a cocktail dress for you. For me it’s basically a napkin. Way too much skin.”
“You can never have too much skin. That’s like too much frosting doesn’t exist.”
I yanked at the neckline. “This thing is so low I could probably use it as a boob holster.”
“You look hot. Own it.”
“I feel like one of those clumsy animated hippos from the old cartoons.” My face heated up as I tried to adjust everything back into place.
“Hang on.” Harper disappeared into her closet and emerged waving something colorful. “Try this.”
She draped the shimmering rainbow shawl over my shoulders. The loose knit caught the light, throwing little sparks of color, and it did a decent job of softening the neckline.
“Not bad,” I admitted, checking the mirror. “Very Lisa Frank meets New York chic.”
“And it hides the important bits. Perfect.”
“When I get back, you owe me a fresh cupcake and that cash.”
“Deal.” She stepped in front of the door as I tried to leave. “One more thing.”
“What now?”
She twirled her finger in the air. “Makeup.”
“I already have some on.”
“Concealer doesn’t count. Sit.”
I dropped onto the stool with a sigh.
“I swear, Chloe, if you spent half as much time on your face as you do sneaking around with spray paint ”
“It’s street art,” I cut in.
“Right. Like that giant flower v****a you tagged on the subway car.”
“That was pure Georgia O’Keeffe inspiration!”
“And you had to put it on a moving train?”
“Look, if someone buys me a massive canvas, I’ll happily stay legal. Until then, I work with what’s around.”
Harper whistled. “Ten by thirty feet? That’s bigger than this whole studio.”
“Exactly. How am I supposed to create real art in a city this expensive? One day I’ll have gallery space and ”
“Yeah, yeah. Hold still.” She started dabbing and brushing with focused intensity. Powders, liners, shadows everything blurred together. I lost track of what was happening to my eyes or lips. By the time the timer dinged downstairs, we were both getting punchy.
“That should work,” she said, stepping back and studying me like a critical artist.
“High praise,” I deadpanned.
“Go deliver that cake already.”
I gave her a theatrical little courtesy. “With pleasure.”
She blew me a kiss. I sent one right back.
Standing there in the tight dress, sky-high heels, full face of makeup, and that ridiculous glittering shawl, I actually felt a spark of confidence. Sure, I’d have to change out of all this before my bar shift. Sure, my butt and chest were getting more attention than they’d had in months.
But this was going to be the simplest hundred dollars I’d ever earned. Ten minutes, drop the cake, collect the cash, and back to real life. What could possibly go wrong?
- Writer
