The Worst Dates Bring Chocolate Cake : A Romantic Comedy, page 5
“But what if you find the love of your life but write her off as a gold digger?” Ophelia asked, twirling around in her sparkly cape. “And then you’re alone forever and ever. A shut-in, a recluse, your looks faded, flabby, and unappealing.”
Carl laughed. “He’s halfway there already with the number of desserts he’s been eating.”
“Never,” I said. “I work out four hours a day. Besides, I’ll always have money, so half the women will still want me. Dear Ophelia, have no fear, I have a foolproof love-of-my-life test I give at the beginning of the dating extravaganza.”
“If only he put this much work into his job,” Beck said, herding Enola and Annie to the door.
“You morning people. I’m going to work on the updates to the marketing-strategy document later tonight while you’re asleep. Just after I order a cake.”
“His teeth are going to rot out of his head,” Carl said.
That got a small smile from Luna.
She waved as we left Mike’s condo and headed downstairs.
After putting Luna to sleep—she had a very elaborate bedtime routine complete with an ice pack, a hot water bottle, and covering the window in tin foil—I sat on the couch, scrolling through the designs on the baker’s website. She had a multitude of cake pans in random shapes, including those of several animals, which she could use to bake custom cakes.
“Yes, this one is speaking to me.”
And we would see how dedicated Anastasia was to dating a billionaire after I showed up with my new wingman.
9
ANA
“Let’s review,” Elsie said, pacing in front of a whiteboard while Nonna and Gia searched through my closet to try to find something for me to wear for my upcoming date with Walker.
“Laugh at his jokes, even when they aren’t funny. Be alluring, not awkward. Have nice hair and makeup but not too much.”
“On it!” Gia called.
“Be able to talk about topics rich people like. You’ll have to dredge deep in your rich-girl childhood trauma.” Elsie tapped the whiteboard with a spatula.
“My dad liked to slum it, so I never had access to that,” I said, the memories already starting to burble up from the watery depths of childhood trauma.
“You have some socialite friends. Isn’t one of them getting married soon?” Gia asked.
“Yep. Just one more reminder of how I’m a failure at life,” I said.
“Don’t scowl,” Nonna chastised. “You’ll get wrinkles.”
“Marriage may be in your future if you complete the final step,” Elsie said. “Make him fall in love with you. Piece of cake.”
“I’d love cake right now. And a bowl of pasta.”
“No pasta!” Nonna rapped me on the arm.
“But I’m so hungry.”
“Can she have an almond?” Elsie asked.
Nonna was scandalized. “Do you want a man or an almond?”
“Definitely an almond,” I said firmly.
“But just look at this handsome hunk of a man. If I wasn’t in the middle of divorcing my no-good cheating husband, I’d go after him in a hot second,” Gia said, gesturing with a flourish to Walker’s headshot that Elsie has stuck up on the whiteboard with magnets.
Walker was hot. That wasn’t in doubt. But he was also a lot. The dessert stealing and the dick swinging in the café were major red flags. My father was a billionaire and basically a sociopath. Everything on the laundry list of miserable life moments I’d suffered had happened when I was with him.
You are an adult, and you don’t have to deal with him ever again, I reminded myself.
Except that I had clearly failed at adulting if I was catfishing a billionaire to pay my mortgage.
“Walker’s bio on his company website says that he likes the outdoors and hiking,” Elsie informed me, pointing at a picture of a tree on the white board. “You need to slip in your love of the outdoors while you’re flirting with him and stroking his ego over dinner.”
“Why does everyone like hiking? Doesn’t anyone like to stay inside anymore?” I yelled at the ceiling.
“Have a sip of lemon water.” Gia held the cup up to my lips.
“Make sure that you bat your eyes a lot and talk about how busy and important he must be and how difficult it must be to be a billionaire,” Elsie said, reading off her list.
“So all the things my father liked to have women say to him. Got it. Guess my childhood trauma was good for something after all.” I tried not to feel upset.
I could still hear him—the rages he would fly into when he thought someone hadn’t given him the respect he deserved. I unclenched my fist.
“I can’t review anymore. I haven’t had anything to eat today.”
“You want to fit in these clothes?” Nonna asked. “Then you need to fast.”
“Walker’s taking you to a really nice restaurant,” Elsie reminded. “I lost my best salad chef to that place.”
“Ooh!” Gia exclaimed. “I heard that they give you shots of caviar to lick off your hand.”
“That doesn’t sound sanitary,” I said irritably. I was hangry.
Elsie took a bite of one of the cookies Walker had given me.
I watched her movements. “I would literally kill for a cookie.”
“But you’re going to look divine in this dress.”
“Not this one,” Nonna declared, unzipping the dress I had on. “None of these are good enough for Walker.”
“These are very high-end pieces,” I protested.
“Yeah, and they’re all a little blah,” Gia said.
“Not enough leopard print?” The corner of Elsie’s mouth quirked.
“I don’t know about showing up to a fancy restaurant in leopard print. Don’t you think that’s a little Fran Drescher in The Nanny? Besides, I...”
Nonna completely ignored me and disappeared down the hallway.
Walker would take one look at me and turn right around. I felt frazzled. I wasn’t the type of girl who went to parties or clubs. I liked to stay inside and read. I didn’t even date. I had been on more dates in the past two days than I had in years.
Who was I kidding that I could convince a man like Walker that I was girlfriend material, let alone make him somehow fall in love with me?
“This was the dress I wore to meet my second husband,” Nonna said, rushing back as quickly as she could in her platform go-go boots. She held up a sixties-style off-the-shoulder little black dress. “Also wore it to his funeral. I love a versatile garment.”
I reached for it to put it on.
“You need a little more junk in the trunk first. Gia, where are the butt pads?” Nonna rummaged around in one of the bags strewn on the living room floor.
“Oh no, I can barely manage pantyhose,” I begged.
“Shapewear has really come a long way,” Gia assured me as she held up what looked like torture devices. “Besides, these vintage dresses need the undergarments, or else you look like you’re wearing a Party City Halloween costume.”
“This seems excessive.”
“First impressions are important. And you need to make up for the fact that the first time Walker saw you was in your serving uniform.” Gia grabbed my ankle and started forcing me into the shapewear. “No offense, Elsie, but those catering outfits you make everyone wear are not attractive.”
It took a lot out of me to manhandle myself into the spandex. Then I had to stand there as Gia and Nonna buckled me into a girdle and padded bra. Finally, I shimmied into the dress.
“Ooh la la!” Gia whistled.
I turned to stare at myself in the mirror, amazed at the transformation.
“I look...”
“You look hot!” Nonna and Gia high-fived.
“Walker’s not going to know what hit him.”
We might have celebrated prematurely, I decided as I waddled into the restaurant.
Yes, the sexy lady with curves in all the right places was a fleeting illusion. The spandex was starting to sag on me as I walked, and one of the butt pads was totally sliding off-center.
I should have packed a shawl or something, I thought as I waited by the bar.
Maybe Walker just wouldn’t show up and I could go get a couple of slices of pizza and have an early night. I had all those cookies he had given me, and they were calling my name.
I gritted my teeth at the noise in the restaurant. I usually liked to go out to eat early and avoid the worst of the crowds. But Walker had said to meet him at nine in the evening, and so here we were.
Or here I was—surrounded by the typical boozed-up, stuck-up Manhattanites.
“The Hamptons are so out right now,” one girl drawled to her date, who was nodding along like he cared what she was saying.
Another guy was talking loudly on his phone about some investment.
He’s probably doing it just so that people will think he’s someone worth knowing, I thought nastily.
Had I mentioned I hadn’t eaten all day?
I was not feeling charitable.
“It’s free food,” I reminded myself, trying to give myself a pep talk into being excited about the date.
But I wasn’t.
And I was especially not happy when Walker showed up ten minutes late, carrying a dead raccoon.
10
ANA
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shrieked when he walked up to me with the monstrosity. “This is a nice restaurant. Did you seriously bring that here?”
“So nice to see you again, Anastasia. You look divine.”
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped when he leaned in to kiss my cheek.
“Your table is ready, Mr. Svensson,” the maître d’ said in a smooth voice, his expression staying perfectly neutral at the tall, handsome, besuited man carrying a fucking raccoon.
Walker offered me his arm.
I jerked my hand away. It was late. I hadn’t had anything to eat, and now he showed up with a—what was that? It didn’t smell like an animal. It smelled almost sweet.
I shuffled across the restaurant. Another reason why I didn’t like going out so late was that everyone was staring at us.
Fuck. One of the butt pads shifted. The dress hugged my skin, and I was sure all those snooty Manhattanites were whispering about me over their fusion Nordic food.
Walker slid the raccoon onto the table then pulled out my chair for me.
The butt pad slid up my back. The underwire in the bra was jabbing me in the ribs, and I could barely breathe in the girdle.
“Wine?” the waiter offered.
A new life not on the menu?
“Sure,” I said, shifting in my seat.
I glared down at the raccoon. Up close, it wasn’t a taxidermied animal. It actually looked like it was made out of—
“Is that a cake?” I hissed across the table.
“I knew you’d like it,” Walker said, holding out his wine glass to me.
I ignored it. I was done with this date and with him. Living in a box in an alley was preferable to dealing with Walker.
“Who does that?” I demanded, feeling the irritation rise in me. “This is a nice restaurant,” I said sharply. “You can’t just bring outside food in, especially not something that hideous.”
Walker leaned forward. “The fur is made out of candy floss. My brother’s company just invented a new kitchen gadget that spits out multicolored spun sugar. You can use it to make edible fur. I was thinking about making a line of edible furkinis out of it. What do you think?”
Titters of laughter came behind us.
I glanced furtively around.
People were definitely staring at us. This was one of the worst and, to be fair, one of the only dates of my life.
I liked flying under the radar. When writing on my blog and hosting the reality TV gig I did every Christmas, I used a fake last name.
Of the laundry list of terrible memories of my father, one of the worst was him taking me to the American Girl store for my birthday. Not only had he complained about it the whole time, but the paparazzi were there, and one of the tabloids posted our picture online. The comments were cutthroat and ranged from declaring my outfit ugly to asserting that my father must be so disappointed to have a weird-looking, unsocial daughter and how dare he even bring me out in public.
Ever since then, I’ve tried to do everything in my power not to draw negative attention to myself. Now everyone was watching me at my worst.
Walker was grinning at my reaction, that asshole.
“You need to lighten up, Ana. Spontaneity is the spice of life.”
“You need to get that off the table.” I stabbed a finger at the cake.
“I think he’s cute.” Walker tapped the raccoon cake’s frosting snout with his knife. “But,” he added, “if you don’t like it, you can leave.”
I sucked in a breath to give him one last parting shot before I stormed out of the restaurant.
“Of course a spoiled rich boy like you thinks that trolling someone and wasting her time is a fun spontaneous event.” I narrowed my eyes. “You probably never had to do anything serious in your entire life.”
Walker’s gray eyes flashed. “Don’t let my handsome face fool you. I’m a highly successful and respected COO at my company.”
“Doubtful,” I shot back, crossing my arms. “Your employees barely tolerate you, and I’m sure there’s someone behind the scenes making sure to bulldoze all the shit out of your way while you careen through life totally oblivious to how real people live. I bet you plan practical jokes and stupid employee bonding events and are under the misguided belief that your employees actually like them just because a few brownnosers suck up and kiss your ass and tell you how wonderful and creative and smart you are. So you think, Hey, my terrible management skills surely translate to dating. Now here we are with one of the ugliest cakes I have ever seen. And I was a host on The Great Christmas Bake-Off, so I’ve seen some doozies. You probably expect me to fall all over myself and stroke your ego. No. Thanks.”
I stood up.
Walker’s eyebrows raised in shock.
“So you’re actually leaving?” He sounded surprised.
Guess that’s the first time in his life someone’s said no to him. If Walker was anything like my father, then the shock would quickly give way to anger, embarrassment, and demands that I pledge fealty.
I wanted nothing more than to leave.
But really, this was likely my last chance to save my home. In fact, I had probably already blown my shot.
I gingerly sat back down.
“No,” I said carefully, “I will not be leaving.”
“Huh” was Walker’s only response. He was probably smug that he’d beaten me.
I was angry all over again.
Cool it.
I carefully picked up my wine and took a long sip.
“We started off on the wrong foot,” I said, setting the glass down on the table and trying to force myself to seem fun and inviting. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”
I expected Walker to launch into a TED Talk about how he was God’s gift to mankind. Instead, he gave me an assessing look.
“I actually want to hear about you,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were involved with The Great Christmas Bake-Off. One of my friends was in that. Believe me, I heard all about the chaos from him. What was it like on the inside—the drama, the intrigue, the sabotage, the hysterics?”
Ugh.
I did not have it in me to deal with a billionaire like Walker. If only I was trying to catfish one of the self-obsessed snarly ones that grunted single-word answers and only wanted you in their bedrooms for sex. That would be easier to deal with than Walker, who had a visible interest in me and waited intently for me to speak. Not like some other rich guys I had known growing up in my father’s world. The ones who, if they had the bare minimum of home training, could pretend to be interested in what you had to say but in reality were just waiting for a chance to jump in and speak.
I felt a twinge of guilt as I prepared the lie.
I’ll never see this asshole again. Who cares?
“The Great Christmas Bake-Off was fun. It gave me a chance to use my modeling skills in 3D,” I said, trying to channel the airheaded women that my father liked to date. “I was sooo glad when they held it in Harrogate last year. It was wonderful to be out in nature. I went hiking every day.”
Lies. All lies. I didn’t even stay in Harrogate. I just took the train in for the handful of filming days then went back to my condo and did my pet-sitting odd jobs.
You’d think hosting a semipopular reality TV show would make money, but you’d be wrong! I had severely overextended myself on the mortgage.
“You like hiking?” Walker asked.
“I love outdoor sports!” Or was it “activities”? What did outdoorsy people call them?
“Me too,” Walker said, smiling. I refused to admit he had a nice smile. “We should go hiking sometime soon. There’s this great spot out in Vermont.”
Literally sounds like my worst nightmare.
“Yeah, totally,” I choked out.
At least he’s buying dinner.
Though I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to eat much in this girdle.
I’m definitely asking for a to-go box. I don’t care if it’s trashy.
11
WALKER
I couldn’t get a read on Ana. She had been visibly pissed off about the raccoon cake, but then she’d stayed anyway.
The “test” I used for my one true love wasn’t something I was that serious about. I just did it to keep my brothers off my case about gold diggers.
Except for Greg, they had all found the loves of their lives.
I had gone hard in the opposite direction. I had my sisters back—most of them, anyway—and billions of dollars in my bank account. Looking for a woman who was honest, attractive, and fun seemed like asking too much of the universe.
