Sugar and Spice: A Karma Café Novella Read online

  Oh, the pressure.

  Not.

  Anja rolled her eyes before pulling out a bag of chiboust cream out of the huge refrigerator to start filling éclairs. She worked here, didn’t she? She was doing her part, thankyouverymuch.

  “What does my love life have to do with you renting the apartment to someone who’s practically a stranger?” she asked, carefully filling the delicately hollowed-out pastries.

  Natalia gave an innocent flutter of her dark lashes and shrugged. Anja squeezed the bag so hard, hazelnut cream splattered over her knuckles.

  “You see what she’s doing, don’t you?” she implored her grandmother, who was rolling out dough on the scarred butcher block counter. A tiny fairy of a woman with a shock of white hair that hit her knees when loose, Odette Karmanski didn’t even look up, so she missed her granddaughter’s artful toss of her arms in the air and furious expression.

  Anja didn’t mind. It wasn’t like this was the first, or would be the last, tantrum thrown in the Karma Café kitchen. Her dramatic gestures weren’t wasted. They were just practice.

  “Do you see me standing here, alive and breathing?” Odette asked as she switched from rolling to cutting perfect circles in the dough with a paring knife. “Of course I see what she’s doing. I’m old, Anja. Not stupid.”

  “Can’t you do something?”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I just said I wasn’t stupid.”

  Anja growled.

  “And Paul Chastain isn’t a stranger, darling,” Natalia pointed out. “He’s a regular customer, he’s had us cater many of his events and he’s an amazing catch. Rich, handsome and so well-connected.”

  “His assistant had us cater those events,” Anja corrected, since it was always Dedra Martin who’d made the arrangements. “And Paul Chastain is trouble. A playboy with more money than discretion.”

  “No, that’s Peter Chastain. Paul outgrew that craziness years ago, when his father died and he had to take over the shoe company.”

  “Paul Chastain was just as wild as his brother. He’s just gotten better at the discretion thing,” Anja muttered. Not that she didn’t like Paul. The man was pure eye candy, and charming to boot. Sexy, friendly and the CEO of a multi-national company that created the most deliciously gorgeous women’s shoes, what was there not to like? But that didn’t mean she wanted to play princess to his prince in her mother’s little fairytale. Especially not with a guy who didn’t flip her switches.

  “I hear he’s getting married,” Odette chimed in from her corner, a wicked glint in her dark eyes. “The board of trustees decided it was time to bring the company’s reputation up a few notches, starting with the CEO and, what’s Peter? COO? What a silly acronym. Makes him sound like a little bird.”

  Anja’s smile was a little bigger than her grandma’s joke deserved, mostly from relief. Maybe she had overreacted. Maybe her mother wasn’t playing matchmaker.

  “Who’s he marrying?”

  “Now that’s yet to be determined.” Arranging chocolate dipped strawberries on top of each mini cheesecake, Odette gave a shrug. “From what Peter said over lattes and cake yesterday, Paul has to agree to marry a suitable woman next week or lose control of the company. But he gets to choose his own bride. Isn’t that nice?”

  “Nice.” Her voice low, her eyes narrowed to slits, Anja glared at her mother.

  “Quit looking so grumpy, Anja.” Natalia gave a shake of her head as she stirred the huge vat of potato cabbage soup that’d be served for lunch. She looked a bit like the witch she was reputed to be, standing over a cauldron with her hair, still pitch black, curling out from around the kerchief she wore when cooking. “Mr. Chastain needed a place to stay. We had one available. And we can use the rent money. It’s not like you live in the second apartment. It won’t hurt you to share the upper floor for a week.”

  No, she didn’t live in it. She did do tarot readings there, though. Three of which she had scheduled this week. Just because her client list wasn’t as extensive as her mother’s list of astrology devotees’ didn’t mean they didn’t deserve their own space.

  “You can pretend to be a master matchmaker all you want, but I’m not playing along,” Anja stated flatly, pulling two heavy trays out and setting them in the cooling rack before pulling two more. Two years ago, maybe three, they would bake at least ten trays of peasant bread to get through one lunch shift. Chances were today they’d be using leftovers to make croutons.

  “Did I send you upstairs with a basket of muffins to welcome him to the apartment?” Natalia asked indignantly. “Have I hinted that you should fix your hair, or wear a something with color instead of drab black, or put on lipstick? Once, just once, did I say something about the sad, empty state of your love life?”

  Anja eyed the basket, lined with a vivid red cloth, sitting next to the trays of cooling muffins. And thought back to the comment about her fading youth made, oh, less than five minutes before. “Not exactly.”

  “Then how can you accuse me of playing matchmaker?” Natalia’s voice rang with a combination of triumph and feigned hurt. “Just because Paul Chastain is wealthy enough to answer all our financial prayers doesn’t mean I’d try and set you up with him. Of course, he’s a good looking man with all that thick hair and those piercing eyes. Talk, dark and handsome, indeed.”

  “Don’t forget he has a nice butt.”

  “Mother!” Natalia exclaimed.

  Anja and Odette exchanged matching grins. How Natalia had ended up on the wrong side of the prude line was baffling.

  “Just think about it, Anja. Paul Chastain is a great catch. He’s also enough of a rebel to marry a nice, average girl instead of holding out for one of those fancy socialites the board expects him to commit to.”

  “Well it’s too bad I’m not nice or average then, isn’t it.”

  Natalia huffed, but couldn’t deny it. Anja was too independent to be called nice and average wasn’t a word ever associated with one of the Karmanski women. Weird, wild, spooky. Those might fit, though.

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to be friendly anyway,” her mother decided. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  Ahh, the beginning of the end of all reasonable conversation. Assuming, of course, that a conversation with her mother involving marriage had a hope of being reasonable in the first place.

  “I’m taking a break. Gramma, you try to talk to her. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

  “Ahh, yes. Because a girl should always listen to her momma. Mother knows best, after all,” Odette chimed in a sing-song voice as she sprinkled her tarts with cinnamon sugar and a little extra spice.

  “I’m not listening,” Anja sang back as she pushed through the double doors that separated the kitchen from the café.

  A quick glance at the sparse crowd sent her shoulders drooping. At ten in the morning, they should have more than three customers. Since the chain bakery had opened up the street, along with three new restaurants within blocks, their business had taken a major hit.

  Good food just wasn’t enough anymore.

  Before she could slide into a pout, Anja spotted one of her favorite regulars at the corner table.

  “Dedra,” she greeted, giving the petite blonde a friendly smile. “This is a surprise. I thought you’d be busy packing this week.”

  Although Dedra Hanson was Anja’s complete opposite, she was going to miss her. Quiet, sweet and polite, Dedra had been a Karma Café customer for over a year before she’d unbent enough to chit-chat. It’d taken Anja another year to loosen her up enough for the good gossip.

  Didn’t it just figure, now that they were on the verge of after-work drinks and hitting the clubs, Dedra was moving away.

  “I had to bring by some paperwork for my boss,” Dedra said quietly, her fork poking at the chocolate cake like she was worried it might contain a live snake or something. “I don’t know if you heard, he’s staying upstairs for a few days.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” Anja grumbled, castin
g another glare toward the kitchen, then tossing her midnight curls over one shoulder and slid gracefully into the spindle-backed chair opposite Dedra. “But I thought you were all finished at Chastain. Wasn’t your final day last week?”

  Dedra grimaced, sliding a guilty look at the ceiling.

  Anja’s jaw dropped. “You haven’t told him you quit? What were you going to do? Just leave him a note? Simply not be here when he returned? Resign by text?”

  “I told Peter.” Dedra hunched her shoulders. “And he agreed to keep it under his hat until Paul was back from his vacation.”

  “Sneaky.” Anja liked sneaky. She also liked knowing the whys, wherefores and how abouts of things. All things. Some called it nosy, others termed it gossip. She deemed it curiosity.

  “The problem is, Paul’s back early and I haven’t left yet.”

  “Kinda like being caught with your hand in the cookie jar, isn’t it?” Anja laughed.

  Dedra’s lips didn’t even twitch.

  She gave Anja a long look, instead. Then her eyes shifted to the gilt-framed poster on the far wall. A little faded from years of exposure to the afternoon sun, it featured a much younger photo of Anja and Natalia, proclaiming See Your Future, Control Your Destiny: Magical Readings.

  “You want a reading?” Anja guessed, eyes widening in surprise. She’d offered plenty of times, but being a practical, head firmly on her shoulders kind of gal, Dedra had never expressed interest before.

  “Maybe. I mean, they’re more for entertainment than anything else, right? It’s not like you read minds.” She added a stiff smile to the words to take away the sting.

  Anja wasn’t offended, though. She was just as used to that as she was the shocked amazement when people got their first reading.

  “So what’s the topic? The move? Your new job? The wild exploits of your soon-to-be ex-boss?”

  Aha. Dedra’s fork pierced the cake with enough force to send crumbs flying across the table. That, and the frustrated look in her eyes was all Anja needed to confirm what she’d long suspected.

  Dedra had a thing for her boss.

  Big time.

  “Just a general look at life,” Dedra prevaricated, not meeting Anja’s eyes as she swept the scattered crumbs into a tidy pile. “You can do that, can’t you?”

  “Sure. I can read anything,” Anja assured her, giving a dramatic toss of her pitch black curls. Not that having a good hair day made a speck of difference when it came to the Tarot. But it didn’t hurt the ole confidence levels, and confidence—in Tarot and in life—was everything.

  Something it might not hurt Dedra to learn.

  “Let’s go,” Anja decided, getting to her feet and pulling Dedra with her. “Before my mother comes out and tries to convince you that an astrological reading is more accurate than the cards.”

  Dedra’s practical feet wanted to dig into the worn tile floor in protest.

  What was she doing?

  A Tarot reading, for crying out loud?

  It was a foolish idea. She’d just been trying to drown her woes in a brownie, not try something crazy. But the lure of making her dreams come true, even though she knew it was all a hokey game and couldn’t be real... It was so tempting.

  Dedra gave the poster another nervous glance, then thought of Paul, upstairs probably flipping through the Kama Sutra deciding what positions would be the most fun on his honeymoon.

  Hokey or not, she’d take whatever she could to help get over this stupid crush and get on with her life.

  “I appreciate this,” she said, only half-lying.

  Hooked now, she followed Anja up the stairs without another protest. And if she tiptoed when they reached the landing so Paul wouldn’t hear her, well, so what?

  She wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  Just because she’d told him she had to leave, and was sneaking back. And because she was seeking woo-woo advice on how to either get over him, the party line. Or her secret wish, to make her dream—which was him, naked—come true. Or just come. Nothing wrong with that. Nor was there anything wrong with a practical, intelligent woman listening to advice a modern-day gypsy found on pieces of prettily-colored cardboard.

  Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she’d feel like less of an idiot.

  Idiot or not, she still gaped when she stepped through Anja’s door. And she’d thought the other apartment was colorful? This was like stepping into a kaleidoscope. Vivid purples and teals with a splash of orange or lime here and there should have made the space overwhelming. But paired with airy white furniture and all the wide-open windows, it was warm and fun.

  “Have a seat, and we’ll see what we see.” Anja gestured to the white wicker—couch suspended from the ceiling like a swing. “Have you ever had a reading before?”

  Since reading the future fell into the same category as riding unicorns in Dedra’s mind she could only shake her head. Gingerly, wondering how well the chains were secured, she lowered herself onto the couch.

  “Oh, this is wonderful,” she gasped as it gently swayed.

  Settling across from her on a black velvet poof, complete with tassels and fringe, Anja smiled. “It’s comfy, isn’t it? And it’s a great place for sex.”

  Dedra’s smile dropped, her mouth rounding as she imagined the impact the rocking slide of this couch would add to lovemaking. She cast a speculative glance at the wall separating the apartments, then blushed.

  “You’re cute,” Anja decided, laughing.

  Dedra grimaced, for the first time wishing she could be sexy or exotic instead of cute. Or, as was more often the case, easily dismissed.

  The other woman opened an ornate wooden box, distracting Dedra from her bout of self-doubt. A rich, exotic scent filled the air. She looked around but there was no incense, no candles. Just that open box.

  Anja handed her a deck of old, fragile looking cards with instructions that she shuffle them. When Dedra handed them back, the gypsy dealt them in the shape of a star on the sparkling glass table between them.

  Then she leaned forward to inspect them for... What? A message? Dedra leaned forward, too. But all she saw were mostly naked people, a few weapons and a lot of flowers. The men were impressively endowed, the women in fabulous shape, but other than a suggestion to spend more time at the gym and a reminder that she wasn’t getting laid, she couldn’t see any messages herself.

  “Ahhh.” Anja’s tone was deep and triumphant at the same time. “I see.”

  “See what?”

  “I see why you’re leaving. You’re in love with Paul. I thought it was just a crush, but this is deeper, stronger.”

  Shock ringing in her ears, Dedra stared, first at Anja, then at the cards, them back again.

  “Is not,” she hissed, giving the wall a worried look just in case Paul might be peeking through a crack somewhere.

  “Of course it is. It’s all right here.” Anja waved her ring-laden hand over the display of cards. “So is the answer you need.”

  “Where?” Dedra leaned so far forward, she almost fell out of the swing. She barely noticed, so focused was she on trying to see answers. Was there a way to forestall the board takeover? To keep them from forcing Paul to marry? Some brilliant strategy that would give him fifty-one of the shares or drag one of the curmudgeons over to vote with the Chastain brothers?

  If there was, none of the naked people on the cards were saying.

  “You need clarity and closure. By getting it for yourself, you’ll be able to move forward with a clear mind, and help Chastain succeed at the same time.”

  “Oh, perfect. That’s something I’d love to do,” Dedra said with a delighted laugh. “So what’s the answer?”

  Anja leaned back, wrapping both hands around her knee and offering a smile that had probably broken the hearts of dozens of men.

  “The answer is sex, of course.”

  Chapter Three

  “Sex...?”

  “Sex,” Anja confirmed with a wicked smile. “You and your boss
, the gorgeous Mr. Chastain, need to have sex.”

  To emphasize her point, she tapped her finger on one of the cards. It depicted a couple that looked freakishly like Dedra and Paul. Except they were doing things to each other that Dedra had never, even in her wildest dreams, done with the sexy Mr. Chastain. More’s the pity.

  Dedra almost melted right there thinking about changing that fact. Sex, with Paul. The topic of all of her dreams that didn’t involve chocolate, and a few that did.

  “That’s impossible,” she shook her head and waving her hands at the same time as if she could erase the image from the conversation, and from her imagination.

  “That’s necessary. You need closure. A chance to see if what you’ve been fantasizing about is worth all the energy you’ve given it. He needs to see the reality of what he’s doing, because he’s putting business over emotional well-being, and it will end in disaster.”

  Dedra bit her lip. Well that sounded practical enough. She was pretty much obligated to stop Paul from disaster, right?

  Except that she’d vowed to never be the clichéd secretary sleeping her way up the ladder on her quest for success. Then again, if it was a ladder she was about to leave, did it count?

  Oh, the temptation.

  “I can’t,” she finally decided, ignoring the disappointed nosedive her hopes took as she said the words. “I mean, what am I supposed to do? Just walk over, knock on his door and tell him I’m horny?”

  “I have the key,” Anja offered.

  Dedra rolled her eyes, trying to push herself to her feet. The couch wouldn’t let her go, though. It was like the entire frame had sunk backward at a tilt. She gave Anja a baffled look.

  “This is your perfect opportunity,” Anja said, her words hypnotic as she blithely ignored Dedra’s predicament. “He’s here, easily accessible. You’re here, with all those wild thoughts in your mind and your body on fire for him. You plan to never see him again after this weekend. This is your last chance. Your only chance.”