Cake Topper (The Boys of Bliss Book 3) Read online

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Content Warning: Homophobia that’s shut TF down immediately.

  Cover art © 2020 by Cate Ashwood Designs; cateashwooddesigns.com

  Editing by Clause & Effect

  Contents

  1. Spencer

  2. Eli

  3. Spencer

  4. Eli

  5. Spencer

  6. Eli

  7. Spencer

  8. Eli

  9. Spencer

  10. Eli

  11. Spencer

  12. Eli

  13. Spencer

  14. Eli

  15. Spencer

  16. Eli

  17. Spencer

  18. Eli

  19. Spencer

  20. Eli

  21. Spencer

  22. Eli

  23. Spencer

  24. Eli

  25. Spencer

  26. Eli

  27. Spencer

  28. Eli

  29. Spencer

  30. Eli

  31. Spencer

  32. Eli

  33. Spencer

  34. Eli

  35. Spencer

  36. Eli

  37. Spencer

  38. Eli

  39. Spencer

  40. Eli

  41. Spencer

  42. Eli

  43. Spencer

  44. Eli

  45. Spencer

  46. Eli

  47. Spencer

  48. Eli

  About the Author

  Also by Harley Grace

  1

  Spencer

  Keep the horizon in sight. That was what the websites had said. Keep the horizon in sight, get plenty of sleep, stay out of the sun . . .

  I couldn’t take anti-seasickness medication because, like almost all medications and recreational substances, it put me straight to sleep. Falling asleep on the ferry seemed like a good way to get my stuff stolen, or even better, fall off and drown, so I decided to try literally every other option. Even a ridiculous acupressure wristband, which had mostly ended up being something I could fidget with.

  It didn’t seem to matter what I did, my face was hot, my head hurt, and my stomach was roiling. By the time we docked on Bliss, I was panting and covered in a freezing sweat. It was a catch-22—I needed to get off the boat to stop feeling sick, but unless I wanted to throw up, I couldn’t move.

  After what felt like forever, my stomach unclenched, and I managed to take a few deep breaths. The young woman at the exit gave me a sympathetic smile and wished me a lovely vacation.

  Like I would ever take a boat on vacation. My idea of a vacation was staying at home with a good book, not jetting off to strange destinations and feeling sick all the time.

  Still, I smiled and inclined my head, even though it came out more like a grimace and wobble, and I had to reach out and grab the railing to keep from falling over afterward. She smiled and reached out a hand to help me off the boat, and I gratefully took it.

  By the time I got to the lobby, I was feeling quite a bit better. Still shaky, and I definitely leaned my whole body weight on the check-in desk, but there was some relief in having made it at all.

  Plus the place was air-conditioned and lovely, while it was hot and swampy outside in the awful Florida summer. For the millionth time, I wondered to myself why I hadn’t moved somewhere with more reasonable summer weather. Greenland, maybe. Wanting to live close enough to visit family was a curse.

  The front desk employee, one Alex, gave me a little smile when I practically laid down on the cool white marble countertop. “Can I help you?”

  “Spencer Marx,” I said—or maybe panted, it was hard to be sure because I was still a little light-headed. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to see Mr. Blissand first, or if he has a room waiting for me, but—”

  “You’re here to see Mr. Blissand. From the mainland.” Alex’s smile dropped away, and their jaw flexed and clenched.

  Oh boy. Did they hate the idea of a new employee on the island? Was the place some kind of nightmare of high school cliques, and I was going to be just as unpopular as I’d been then, as the short scrawny gay kid? The last, at least, was supposed to be completely acceptable here. I gave a weak nod. “If I could just get checked in and have a minute to catch my breath—”

  “Check in is at three,” they told me, their tone clipped and perfectly professional. “You’ll have to come back then.”

  My shoulders slumped and I leaned even harder on the counter. “I understand.” They started to look past me, to an angry woman in spiked heels, tapping her foot with impatience. Clearly, everyone wanted me gone. But I had nowhere to go. I was literally a captive audience. In theory, after today, I both lived and worked on the island. “Is there somewhere I could sit down inside? Maybe get some water?”

  They glanced back at me, one sculpted eyebrow raised, and looked me over head to toe. Finally, they gave a tiny smirk. “You could always go sit in the sushi bar.”

  Sushi. Under most circumstances, I’d have leapt at the suggestion. I loved sushi. The thought of sushi on a still-rolling stomach, though, was horrific. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear my mind of the idea of food at all, let alone raw fish.

  “I understand their special today is tobiko with raw quail eggs,” Alex added, and that was it. I dropped my suitcase on the floor with a loud crack and ran for the bathroom signs to my right.

  I hadn’t eaten breakfast, and I wasn’t sure what was worse: throwing up the water I had managed, or those moments afterward, when my stomach kept trying to throw up, but there was nothing in it.

  I longed for my own apartment back on the mainland—an apartment I didn’t even have a lease for anymore—not because I didn’t want to be at a gorgeous vacation resort, but because if I were back there, I could put my head down without having to think about how this was a public bathroom, and how they had varying levels of cleanliness. This one seemed nice and smelled clean, but you just never knew.

  “Mr. Marx?” A smooth, cultured voice asked from outside the stall, a few moments after I’d finished for the last time. At least, I hoped it was the last time.

  “Mmm?” was the most I could manage.

  “I’m terribly sorry for the mix-up at the front desk, but I’ve got you all checked in, whenever you’d like to see your room.”

  It didn’t sound like the front desk employee at all, for which I was grateful.

  I didn’t know what about me they had found instantly objectionable, but they clearly had some reason to dislike me. Maybe they had wanted the job Mr. Blissand had hired me for. It seemed like an amazing opportunity, despite the fact that it was on an island, which was why I had let my apartment lease expire, stored my furniture in my sister’s garage, and come to Bliss. With my expensive MBA, I was a master at business and organization, but as it turned out, qualified for practically no jobs.

  I had no experience, after all. Never mind the fact that I’d worked my way through college while reorganizing a coffee shop from the ground up and putting them back in the black. They had called me a bookkeeper, so that was what I had to put on my resume.

  So after coming back to Florida, I’d spent the last three years as the office manager for an insurance agent, which had turned out to require more of a
glorified filing monkey and coffee-fetcher than an organizational whirlwind. Also, it hadn’t paid enough to keep up with my minimum student loan payments. I’d had to ask for one deferral already.

  Whether Alex at the front desk hated me for it or not, I needed this job. It would let me pay off my student loans in less than five years. Not to mention it being a full-time job, with benefits, at a time when those were hard to come by.

  I finally managed to shove up off the floor, dust myself off, straighten my messed-up clothes, and exit the stall. There, in an expensive pale linen suit was the owner of the resort himself, Adrien Blissand. We had never met before, but for anyone who read financial news sites, his face was one of the most recognizable in the world. Once upon a time Wall Street shark who had disappeared from the public eye a decade earlier, a year ago Blissand had surprised the world when he’d resurfaced not because he’d returned to New York, but because he’d opened a gay-friendly resort on a private island off the coast of Florida.

  He offered me a sympathetic smile, and it felt more paternal than shark-like. “Not a fan of the boat? We can make sure you get the plane for any future trips to and from the island.”

  I held up a hand against the notion, but didn’t try to shake my head. That would just make the dizziness come back. “Even worse,” I managed to whisper. “I’m not a good traveler.”

  I made my way to the sink and splashed some water on my face, since by now there was no chance I looked like a professional anyway. Still, when I was done, I looked myself over to make sure I wasn’t a literal mess. My tie hung limp around my neck, loosened so much that “tie” was a misnomer. I gave up on it, pulled it off, and stuffed it into my suit jacket.

  At last, I turned back to Adrien Blissand. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m sure this doesn’t make the best impression, but—”

  He waved me off, then reached down to grab—he’d brought my suitcase. Damn. The man who had interviewed me had said he was a nice guy, and he hadn’t been exaggerating. Blissand pulled a little envelope out of his pocket and handed it to me—key cards. “You’re on the third floor with the other employees, but as permanent and full-time, we can discuss moving you into one of the cabins on the island if you’d like.”

  I suspected that would mean money out of my paycheck, and it would be longer to pay off my student loans, but if other employees were going to hate me as much as Alex apparently did, maybe it was a good idea. It was a good job and all, but was it that good?

  I held out my hand for my suitcase, but he shook his head and waved me out of the bathroom. I stopped to dry my hands before heading out, looking back at him. Finally, I agreed, “That might be nice.”

  He smiled at that and set a hand on my shoulder. “For now, let’s get you to your room, so you can get a little rest. Then we’ll meet for lunch when you do feel better, and I can introduce you to Chef Eli. Sound good?”

  Gratefully, I nodded and followed him to the bank of elevators.

  2

  Eli

  The calm after Monday’s lunch rush was a farce. I was at the edge of a war zone, and now wasn’t the time to retreat.

  At the end of the week, Adrien was throwing a wedding for two former employees, which meant just about everyone on the resort had a hand in making the day perfect, and there were way, way too many opinions on catering. Andrew Wellman was eagerly providing another set of hands—and every idea in his gorgeous head—to the wedding planner. Darren couldn’t settle on a design for the groom’s cake, much less the actual wedding cake. And the head chef at Austin’s Kitchen, Will, had offered to help, but mostly kept making suggestions on changing the menu—which at this point, was fucking laughable.

  We had to make two cakes, more tarts than I could count, crab puffs, and a dozen other things. On top of all that, I was overseeing three restaurants for the regular resort guests. Sure, one was only open for breakfast and one only for dinner, but it was still a lot of restaurant.

  Will was the head chef at the biggest restaurant at the resort, but I looked after the Sunrise Cafe, Tahiti Lounge, and Candlelight Grotto—the most exclusive, and expensive, restaurant at the resort. That was the jewel in my crown that had lured me to the island, and at this point, I was pretty sure that being head chef at all three while also catering weddings was going to kill me.

  It hadn’t started out like this. When I’d moved from San Clemente, I’d brought my number two, Flynn Mitchell, with me. He was the guy who was getting married—the guy who’d abandoned me to this hell storm of kitchen management and oversight.

  I couldn’t even blame him for it. If I’d had a man, and that man had needed me to move across the country to take care of his ailing mother, I’d have done it too. And that was precisely why I couldn’t afford to make time for a relationship. One distraction, and all of Bliss would fall apart.

  All I had to do was make it through one week—that was what I kept telling myself. After that, it’d all be over, and I’d . . . still be working six (sometimes seven) days a week. It was a totally reasonable amount of work for anyone to do. If they had an extra set of arms, or access to time travel.

  Once the rush was over, I took a second to close my eyes, palms pressed flat against the stainless-steel prep table. I needed to shake off the lunch rush and prepare for what was next, but every day, that was getting a little harder. I knew the signs—I was approaching burnout—but what was I supposed to do?

  Flynn had quit before the resort opened, and things were so hectic from the start that it was easier to do everything myself than to train someone new. I’d make it through one crazy season, then recalibrate. Totally doable.

  “Eli?”

  I lifted my head to see the Tahiti’s front-house manager, Emily, standing there chewing her lip. Her curly hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck, the short black T-shirt she wore showing off the line art tattoo of an elephant on her forearm, marked out in rainbow instead of black ink.

  “Yeah?”

  “There’s a woman in the dining room to see you. She said her name’s Katrina? I think she’s the auditor.” Emily looked like that was the last thing she wanted to tell me, but as pissed as I was about the audit, I wasn’t about to take it out on my coworker. That shit didn’t fly in the real world—at least not when you had to live and work on the same island as them full time.

  “Great. Awesome.”

  She gave me a faint, sympathetic twitch of a smile. “I could always tell her to come back later?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Out of habit, I still kept a book ledger—you didn’t have to worry about messing up a book in the kitchen. Sure, it was a pain if I spilled something on it, but I wouldn’t drop it and break the screen like I would an iPad. I was bound to break something so expensive, and it was way easier to staple in a receipt than worry about organizing something in a computer program I had no time or inclination to learn.

  I pushed off the tabletop, plastered on a smile, and when I passed, Emily clapped me on the shoulder. “Go get ’em, boss.”

  Katrina stood near the bar, her lips pursed, a tablet and a white stylus poised in her long fingers, an imposing woman in a bright red suit and pumps that wouldn’t last two seconds in my kitchen. In my whites and clogs, I felt severely underdressed for this meeting.

  When she saw me coming, she snapped the stylus to the side of her tablet and held out a thin hand. “Chef Darcy, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Katrina Thompkins, with White, Grossman, and McCoy.”

  “You can call me Eli if you’d like.” Her hand was cool and slick, like she’d just put on lotion, and I had to suppress the urge to wipe my hand off on my loose black pants.

  “Eli, then.” She pulled her hand back, leaning her hip against one of the stools at the bar. “I suspect Mr. Blissand has told you about the audit?”

  I frowned. He had; that didn’t mean I liked one bit of it.

  Adrien’s son had found out that his father was throwing his former employee
a free wedding, and rather than consider it a lovely gesture for friends, he was questioning his father’s ability to see to his own business interests, as if the boy had any right to such a large inheritance in the first place. I imagined Julian Blissand was a spoiled trust-fund brat who felt entitled to his father’s resources without ever having worked a day in his life.

  Adrien was, as ever, being perfectly graceful about the entire thing. He’d assured everyone who worked at the resort that he wanted Julian to feel secure in his future, and he was happily submitting to the audit. Which meant, of course, that I was submitting to the audit as well. There weren’t many aspects of the resort business more complicated than the restaurants, so instead of focusing on my job, I had to walk Katrina through the books.

  “I spoke with Mr. Blissand on the way in and told him I’d like to get started with the restaurants first,” she explained. “They’re likely to take the longest, and he said you were the man to talk to first.”

  “I am, and I’m happy to take some time to make sure you have everything you need—”

  But before I could get started, my phone buzzed in my back pocket.

  It was a message from Adrien: I need to meet you in the Candlelight when you have a moment.