Sugar Rush Read Online Free Page A

What could he possibly see in the mousy girl from D.C. who was too nice to know better? What made her so special? That Lani was certain she’d looked at Baxter like the pathetic little smitten kitten she’d been only made the whole ordeal even more painful to recall. She’d tried to rein that part in when she’d realized what was happening, heard what was being said. She knew she was only hurting herself further with her stupid crush, personally and professionally.
    Of course, at some point, as it all escalated, she’d privately thought—hoped—that Baxter would ride to her rescue. He was the white knight, after all, wasn’t he?
    So many illusions had been shattered, so rapidly. She was tougher than any of them had thought, her time overseas preparing her in ways many of them couldn’t have imagined. She was calm and well mannered because she chose to be, not because she was some silly ninny who couldn’t defend herself. She simply chose not to, as any attempt would be drowned out by the chorus against her, anyway. She’d rather hoped her hard work and Baxter’s faith in her would speak for her, but that hadn’t been the case. So, ultimately, she’d figured out that if she wanted to survive there, the easiest path was simply to stay in her own world, build a certain kind of calm around her, where she could focus on learning. And on Baxter. Preferably doing both at the same time. But ... not always.
    She’d endured almost five years of that constant bedlam. And, in doing so, had learned more, professionally, from Baxter, than she’d ever hoped. She had no regrets. So what if Baxter never had come to her rescue? So what if he had, in fact, thrown her directly to those very same wolves when he’d left for the bright lights of his own brand-new television show, and put Gateau, his baby, essentially in her hands? She’d done it, hadn’t she? She’d shown them all.
    Though it had come at a cost. No matter how calm and centered she remained, that kind of life took a toll. She thought about all the baking therapy she and Char had done together during that time. Usually in the wee, wee hours. Those sessions never had anything to do with their respective jobs.
    And everything to do with salvation.
    Their worlds might be uncontrolled chaos, but baking always made sense. Flour, butter, and sugar were as integral a part of her as breathing.
    Lani had long since lost count of the number of nights she and Charlotte had crammed themselves into her tiny kitchen, or Charlotte’s even tinier one, whipping up this creation or that, all the while hashing and rehashing whatever the problems du jour happened to be. It was the one thing she truly missed about being in New York.
    No one on Sugarberry understood how baking helped take the edge off. Some folks liked a dry martini. Lani and Char, on the other hand, had routinely talked themselves down from the emotional ledge with rich vanilla queen cake and some black velvet frosting. It might take a little longer to assemble than the perfect adult beverage ... but it was the very solace found in the dependable process of measuring and leavening that had made it their own personal martini. Not to mention the payoff was way, way better.
    Those nights hadn’t been about culinary excellence, either. The more basic, the more elemental the recipe, the better. Maybe Lani should have seen it all along. Her destiny wasn’t to be found in New York, or even Paris, or Prague, making the richest, most intricate cakes, or the most delicate French pastries. No, culinary fulfillment—for her, the same as life fulfillment—was going to be experienced on a tiny spit of land off the coast of Georgia, where she would happily populate the world with gloriously unpretentious, rustic, and rudimentary little cupcakes.
    “That’s me.” She lifted her pastry bag in salute. “Cupcake Baker Barbie!” She aimed the silver tip, and bulleted a row of raspberry shots with rapid-fire precision, then