The Worst Dates Bring Chocolate Cake : A Romantic Comedy, page 1
THE WORST DATES BRING CHOCOLATE CAKE
A ROMANTIC COMEDY
ALINA JACOBS
CONTENTS
Other books by Alina Jacobs
1. Ana
2. Walker
3. Ana
4. Walker
5. Ana
6. Walker
7. Anastasia
8. Walker
9. Ana
10. Ana
11. Walker
12. Ana
13. Anastasia
14. Walker
15. Ana
16. Walker
17. Anastasia
18. Walker
19. Ana
20. Walker
21. Ana
22. Walker
23. Ana
24. Walker
25. Ana
26. Walker
27. Ana
28. Walker
29. Ana
30. Walker
31. Ana
32. Walker
33. Ana
34. Walker
35. Ana
36. Walker
37. Ana
38. Walker
39. Anastasia
40. Walker
41. Ana
42. Walker
43. Ana
44. Walker
45. Ana
46. Ana
47. Walker
48. Ana
49. Walker
50. Ana
51. Walker
52. Ana
53. Walker
54. Ana
55. Walker
56. Ana
57. Walker
58. Ana
59. Walker
60. Ana
61. Walker
62. Ana
63. Walker
64. Ana
65. Walker
66. Ana
67. Walker
68. Ana
Sneak Peak
Synopsis
1. Ana
Read Worst Dinner Date
Family Tree
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright ©2022 by Adair Lakes, LLC.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Created with Vellum
OTHER BOOKS BY ALINA JACOBS
Check out other books about characters mentioned in this one on my website:
http://alinajacobs.com/books.html
To mug cakes—like that guy whose contact info you need to delete from your phone, they’re always there for cheap thrills when we’re desperate.
1
ANA
Is he stealing the desserts?
I gritted my teeth, shuffling through the party filled with well-dressed socialites and billionaires, all of them engaged in the mating rituals of Manhattan’s wealthy and elite—the women’s preening, the men’s fake laughter, the way both parties tried to subtly yet unsubtly show off their expensive watches, purses, and jewelry.
I had no patience for it. Or for the dessert-stealing billionaire.
My feet hurt. My underwear was riding up under my sensible skirt, and I had a mean wedgie. My arms, used to doing no more exercise than holding my phone up in bed and periodically dropping it on my face, ached under the weight of the tray.
My life as a single working girl was in shambles and circling the drain.
So why was I so concerned that one of the rich, entitled men was stealing half the dessert table?
I watched him from across the room as I collected the guests’ empty plates and wine glasses.
The tall blond man had his suit jacket off. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone. He didn’t look the slightest bit guilty.
Maybe he’s just grabbing a cookie. You’ve been bitter and angry lately. Stop thinking the worst of everyone.
I narrowed my eyes at him as I scooped up several napkins off a small round table.
Nope, he wasn’t just grabbing a cookie. He literally had a shopping bag and was emptying platters of desserts into it. Desserts that I had spent an hour arranging on that table.
Just leave it alone, I told myself, trying to practice mindful meditation.
I took the tray into the catering kitchen, handed it off to another worker, then headed back out with a new tray.
You know how rich people are. They love free stuff.
But the audacity of it, the brazenness, made me grind my teeth.
Instead of heading back into the crowd, I took a hard right to the dessert table.
Leave it alone; don’t make a scene. Servers who make scenes don’t get rehired.
Maybe he wasn’t even invited to the party. Maybe he just wandered in here to steal food. Maybe I was about to save the day.
Or not.
When I stepped up beside the handsome thief, tapping the hard plastic tray, he said, “Sorry. The macarons are all gone.”
“No, they’re not,” I hissed at him. “I saw you dump them in your bag.”
“What? Me? Never.” He winked at me.
I saw red. “This isn’t a joke. Those were very expensive pastries and are supposed to be for everyone. Were you even invited to this party?”
“I’m wearing a ten-thousand-dollar suit,” he replied. He popped a cheesecake square in his mouth then pulled a Tupperware container out of the bag and dumped the rest of the cake inside. “And I’m frankly hurt that you think I would sneak into this party. It’s not even that nice.”
“I helped plan it. Of course it’s nice!” I sputtered. “Not only are you a thief, but you’re rude too.”
“Don’t get your pretty face all worked up,” he said, closing the lid on the container. “All the men are on some sort of high-protein health diet, and all the women are drinking their calories tonight. No one was going to touch your precious dessert table.”
He picked up the tray of the mini Key-lime pies.
He was right, damn him. I knew that hardly anyone was going to touch the dessert table. And I had already called dibs on the untouched desserts, specifically those pies.
My eyes flicked to them.
He gave me a lazy smile. “Ah. Seems I’m not the only thief here.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I railed, hoping he didn’t see me blushing.
“I’m not stupid. I know how catering works.” He picked one pie off the tray and held it out to me.
I batted his hand away. “Asshole.”
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Meet me around back, and we can split the haul.”
I jerked away. “I’m not meeting you in a dark alleyway. And I wasn’t going to eat those desserts.”
Lies. All lies.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m a model and a dancer,” I continued. “I would never.” Another lie.
Madame Tatiana, my old ballet teacher, was probably rolling in her grave. She had always said my feet and head were too big for me to be a dancer and that I should go be a trophy wife instead.
Maybe she was onto something. Life sure would be easier. Though I would have to seriously cut back on my dessert intake.
“How about this? What if I take you out,” he said, a lazy smile spreading across his face, “and give you something a little salty to go with your dessert.”
“You disgusting—”
“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter!” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m offended and frankly shocked. All I meant was I’d buy you French fries, fresh out of the deep fryer, and not those crappy ones, either—hand cut. Fried in beef tallow. Salted. Goes great with ice cream.”
I scowled up at him, my face burning. “No, thanks.”
“Seriously?” Now it was his turn to be taken aback. “I’m a billionaire, and not to pat myself on the back, but I’m probably one of the best-looking men you will ever see in your entire life.”
“I have tickets to Comic-Con. Chris Evans is doing a panel. So I think I’m covered.”
“He doesn’t have a nine-figure net worth.”
“Honestly, that’s the biggest issue I have with you aside from the fact that I’m sure you’re wearing a girdle under that shirt, what with the amount of cake you just stole,” I retorted.
Don’t look at his chest! Keep your eyes on his face.
It was no use.
I glanced down.
His muscles bulged under the white cotton fabric.
He totally had the tailor make that shirt extra small on purpose.
“My eyes are up here.” The dessert-stealing billionaire shook his head. “She calls me a thief then reduces me to a sex object.”
“I didn’t—that’s not—” I stammered.
“Honestly, I’m so insulted that I’m going to take these chocolate-chip-cookie-dough bars, and I don’t even like them that much.”
No! I needed those to eat with the red wine I was going to steal tonight.
I grabbed his arm as he shoved the entire tray into the overflowing bag, but his bicep might as well have been made of steel. He didn’t move an inch.
“Here,” he said, handing me two of the pack
“What am I supposed to do with these?” I hissed at him as he started heading toward the exit. “Wait, where are you going? You can’t just walk out of here with all those desserts. Get back here!”
“You need to lighten up,” he said as I caught up to him. “Here, have an apple tart. They’re fantastic. Really will turn that frown upside down. No? You don’t want one?”
I glared at him.
He turned to the hotel concierge. “Apple tart?”
“Yes, please!” She giggled as the handsome billionaire turned his megawatt smile and charm on her.
“You need to give me all those desserts right now,” I ordered. As I trotted after the dessert thief through the lobby of the fancy hotel, I stumbled over someone’s dog in a bag.
A black SUV was waiting in front of the hotel when the doormen swung open the massive French doors. The driver hopped out of the front seat and took the bags.
“Thank you for carrying these,” the dessert thief said, taking the boxes from me and climbing into the car. “I’ll be sure to write your boss about your excellent customer service.”
He winked at me, and I stood there with my mouth slack as the driver slammed the door and the car roared off.
God, billionaires were the worst.
I turned and stomped back into the ballroom.
“I so need to find a new job,” I muttered as I tried to rearrange the now-anemic-looking dessert table.
“Ooh, did you find a Prince Charming to whisk you off your feet and solve all your money problems?” Gia, my best friend and fellow server for the evening, skipped up next to me. “Or did you at least have a quick-and-dirty in the coat closet?”
She elbowed me.
“No.” I scowled in the direction of the exit.
“Too bad. You should have at least gotten his number. Once my divorce from the Beanie Baby–stealing, hoeing husband of mine goes through, I could use a pick-me-up.” She looked longingly at the dessert table.
“Oh, shoot, we should have brought more desserts. They were super popular tonight, huh?” She looked confused by my angry expression.
“I’m going to go clear off more tables,” I grumbled.
And think evil thoughts about cookie-stealing billionaires.
2
WALKER
“Seriously. Who rejects me?”
“Who in their right mind wouldn’t?” Beck replied.
“She was the love of my life.” I flopped down on my brother’s couch and pulled a slightly crumbled cookie out of the bag.
“Don’t eat in my office,” Beck snapped.
I ignored him.
“Greg,” Beck said to our oldest brother, who had commandeered Beck’s office chair.
“When you showed up last night with a bag of ill-gotten food, you told me that it was for our little sisters,” Greg reminded me, his gaze remaining on the paperwork he was reviewing.
“Okay, one, I rescued this food. No one at that party was eating anything. Two, I get to skim some of the profits. I’m a COO. That’s what I do.” I took a bite of the cookie. “And three, this orange fudge swirl cookie sounded like a bad idea on paper, but the reality is quite pleasant.”
“You better not be skimming profits off Quantum Cyber,” Beck warned.
“You’re the CFO,” I reminded him. “You tell me if profits are being skimmed.”
Part of the cookie broke off and shattered all over Beck’s carpet.
“Oops.”
“Greg,” Beck complained. “Do something.”
Our eldest brother looked up and scowled at me.
“You’re covered in crumbs, Walker.”
“I’m disheveled. Unmoored. I found the love of my life, and she rejected me,” I said dramatically.
“It better not be one of the waitresses at the party. We don’t have sexual harassment insurance,” Greg warned.
“She’s not a server. She’s a dancer and a model,” I said, dusting the crumbs into the trash can Beck held out.
“So she’s an underemployed waitress who strips on the weekend,” Greg said snidely.
“And Walker claims he had good taste,” Beck said, snatching up the bag of desserts before I could reach for another one.
“Strippers make serious money. And it’s a surprisingly good workout swinging around one of those poles,” I informed him.
After a moment, Beck said, “I don’t want to know how you know that.”
“Too bad, because I’m going to post the video on TikTok.” I snagged my brother’s laptop—Beck’s, not Greg’s. I wasn’t that stupid.
“Good. Then I’ll finally have an excuse to fire you,” Beck retorted.
“You couldn’t run this company without me. You’re the finance guy who locks himself up in his office, while I’m the personality of Quantum Cyber,” I reminded him. I opened a web browser and searched for the name of the catering company where the girl I had met last night worked.
“Hm. I don’t see her on the website.”
“Greg, are you seriously going to let him do this? He’s stalking a woman.”
“Stop it, Walker,” Greg said mildly.
“Considering he just stole that big project from Belle’s company, Greg’s not in the position to tell anyone how to manage their love life,” I said, navigating to a website for a company that delivered luxury gift baskets.
“All’s fair in war.” My eldest brother smirked.
“I think the quote is ‘All’s fair in love and war,’ but I grew up in a cult, so what do I know?”
“If it keeps him occupied instead of harassing me in my office, he can go on his dates,” Greg said to Beck.
“How dare you misconstrue brotherly affection as harassment, Greg? Just for that, you don’t get any stolen cookies.”
“I don’t like sweets,” he said, handing Beck back the stack of paperwork.
“Sure, showing up at a woman’s place of work in the middle of the night with a stuffed monkey was creepy and off-putting and not at all endearing. I certainly learned my lesson. But what woman would refuse a high-end gift basket? Do you think I should buy the one that comes with a loaf of bread?” I asked, turning the laptop around.
“I think you need to get out of my office and stop wasting everyone’s time.” Beck grabbed my arm.
“You’re right. The bread does come off as a little try-hard. The birthday cake gift basket is the way to go. Who doesn’t like balloons?”
“There’s a helium shortage,” Greg said. His mouth twitched ever so slightly. “She might get offended.”
Beck fumed, his temper starting to rise. “Are you indulging this behavior?”
“Your problem, Beck, is that you don’t have a winning personality. Look at Greg. Sure, he’s looking a little rough around the edges, but he’s making baby steps to move on from his unhealthy obsession with Belle,” I said, shoving a flash drive into Beck’s computer so I could download the keylogger data from the malware I had on his hard drive and get his credit card info.
“Stick with me, Greg. You and I can go on double dates. I bet the cookie gestapo has a friend.”
Greg scowled at me. “It will be a cold day in hell before you and I go on a double date.”
“No problem. I’ll give you the pre-date PowerPoint,” I said, copying Beck’s credit card info into the gift basket site. “The trick is to keep it spicy on the first date. That’s how you get the really interesting women.”
