Along with my contract, I do still also have my phone. I dig it from my purse, my fingers clutching it like a lifeline, as I pace on the sidewalk around the corner from the hotel. Where my van used to be.

God, I hate Becky.

“Drew?” I say when my first call goes through. “Help?”

Within twenty minutes, the cavalry arrives. I could die with gratitude if I weren’t already dying from panic. McKenna shows up in a taxi, her jaw set and chin high. She and Becky never got along well back in high school either. Lulu parks our parents’ car behind the convertible and gets out with eyes bright—I’m not sure if it’s the drama or the urgency she’s excited by.

Drew shows up in his Jag a moment later—with Charlie in tow, to my surprise. “I figured you could use as many hands as possible,” Drew says as he hurries over. He puts his hands on my shoulders, settling my jittering just for a second. His gaze is steady, but I can hear his anger on my behalf in his voice. “We’ll get you through this, Maggie. Where do we start?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if we can even do this,” I whimper. “Why did I tell them I could?”

“Because you knew you had people who’d do whatever they need to in order to stop you from being screwed over.” He squeezes my shoulders. “We’re here. At your command. What do you need?”

“A kitchen?” His touch grounds me. I try to think fast. “The hotel has one. I was supposed to bring the cakes in there. There shouldn’t be anyone else baking. We’ll use that.”

“I brought all your molds,” Lulu pipes up. She jabs her thumb toward the car. “They’re in the backseat.”

Relief rushes over me. One small hassle averted. “Thank you so much. Okay, everyone grab everything you can carry, and let’s see what we’ve got to work with in there.”

Three things I’ll say for Alice Astley’s choice in hotels: It has a huge kitchen, it has many very spiffy looking ovens, and it has a pantry already stocked with enough flour, sugar, and other basics for us to get started on the first round. I dictate a shopping list to Drew as the rest of us haul the supplies into the kitchen, and he calls up whatever delivery service he has on speed dial. I don’t even want to think about how much an emergency delivery is going to cost, but hey, if we can pull this off and I get what I’m supposed to be paid, I can cover it.

I lay out the molding pans, grab bowls, measuring cups, and trays from the cupboards, and set up a sort of assembly line. “Lulu, you can start with the sifting. Charlie, each of those bowls needs three cups of flour, one and a half of sugar, and three teaspoons of baking powder. McKenna, get all the molds greased.”

The room heats up with the combined energy of several ovens warming up plus all our frantic bodies racing around. I can’t replicate the exact spread I had planned—some of it will take too long to set or rise. But I’ll make the best I can with what I’ve got.

And what I’ve got is a staff full of amateur enthusiasm, frosting, and booze.

Thank fuck for the booze.

I bend over the most essential box—the one filled with bottles of liquor. Okay, quick combos. Whisky with cinnamon. Vodka with lemon. Strawberry with rum? Yes, that sounds good. Kahlua can give a little kick to half the chocolate ones, and the others . . . Mmm, cherry brandy, that could work.

My heart never stops thumping double time, but for moments here and there in the mad bustle around the kitchen, I actually forget I’m in the middle of a potential catastrophe. I’m sloshing alcohol here and there, dipping my fingers into this bowl and that. “A little more cocoa.” “Let’s toss a pinch of cayenne in that one. Trust me.” “Where are the peanut butter chips?” By the end of the first hour, I don’t think there’s one person in the room who isn’t liberally dusted with both flour and sugar, and splattered with batter besides. Drew ends up with a smear of golden cake base on his jaw that, God help me, makes him even more delicious. Not that we’ve got any time for back-room shenanigans today.

The first of the cock cakes comes out of the oven a smidge too early, and I almost have a heart attack when the tip deflates. Then inspiration strikes. I very carefully carve out a hollow where the cum frosting will shoot out. Lulu cackles. And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t look even more salacious than usual once we’ve got icing smeared all over it.

“You are clearly a genius,” Charlie informs me, raising his hand to Drew for a congratulatory high five—for landing a chick who knows her way around a dick?—that I think I’m not supposed to notice.

I can’t really complain about Charlie anyway, because five minutes later he nearly gets himself showered in pink frosting while diving to save a bowl that teeters a little too close to the edge of the counter.

The finished cakes, cupcakes, and other assorted treats begin to multiply on the far counter. I’m just icing the last batch when my phone jangles. I smear it white and purple fumbling to put the speakerphone on.

“Maggie,” Kimmy’s chirpy voice rings out. “I’m coming around to take a look at your work. We’re going to need to pass the cakes through final approval shortly.”

Shit. Theoretically I have ten more minutes, but I don’t want her to know just how close we’re cutting it. “All right,” I say with all the cheer I can muster. “See you soon!”

As soon as I’ve ended the call, I start slapping frosting on every cupcake in reach. “Everyone grab some toppings! Sprinkles on the pink and brown ones. Cinnamon lips on pink. Purple gets chocolate balls. Big cocks on the red ones and little cocks on the white. Extra cocks, stick ’em anywhere you want!”

Feet tramp around me in a flurry of movement as I slather icing faster than I’ve ever moved before. Sweat trickles down my back. Anyone who says baking isn’t a sport has never finished a relay like this one.

Drew is just setting the last candy cock in place when the door swings open. I pick up that tray, all those dicks pointing merrily up at me, and carry it to join the rest of the spread.

“Wow, look at this.” Kimmy’s heels click across the floor. “Someone’s been busy.”

Try “almost having a heart attack,” but I give a nervous laugh. “Just a few final touches,” I tell her, crossing my fingers behind my back.

Drew, McKenna, and co. are all lined up, looking about as exhausted as I feel. But all eyes are on Kimmy as she stops at the end of the counter and considers our work. I wait, my mouth dry. Suddenly I can see every tiny imperfection—a couple of the pink cupcakes are missing their sprinkles! One of the dick cakes has more coconut on one ball than the other! I clasp my hands in front of me to keep from fidgeting.

Kimmy’s expression stays cool as she continues her assessment. Then she nods.

“This is fantastic,” she says. “The girls are going to go crazy over it.”

Relief hits me so hard I could practically fall over. Oh, thank all things sweet and dirty. “I always deliver,” I say, hoping my voice isn’t so ragged it betrays how close I came to not delivering. We did it. Chew on that, Becky Haverton.

“No orange zest?” Kimmy checks, and Lulu covers her mouth to muffle a giggle. I might have mentioned some of the various orders I received to her over the last few days.

“Not a hint of one,” I say. “And this batch here is the dairy-free one.”

Kimmy glances at them and shakes her head. “Cupcakes for a dog,” she mutters, and in that moment I’d happily make her my new bestie. “I’ll mark you down as delivered,” she goes on. “The crew will be coming through for touch-ups and to bring them out.” She shakes my hand and then heads for the door, and I let out a massive sigh.

“The dicks are up to standard,” I announce, and my rag-tag team breaks out in applause.

I’m pretty sure the only thing holding me up right now is my immense awe of just how far they all came through for me.

“Thank you guys,” I say, and I find myself getting choked up. “Thank you so much, all of you. There’s no way I’d have pulled this off without you.”

McKenna smiles. “Any time. It was actually kind of fun. So, what does everyone say to a round of celebratory drinks?”

I know it’s barely six o’clock, but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, exhaustion is hitting me like a van full of missing cupcakes. I feel like I could sleep for a week. “Raincheck? I haven’t slept in days.”

Drew comes over and puts his arm around me. “Come on, Miss Baker,” he says. “I’ll get you home.”

We all amble outside, the others dispersing—Charlie surprisingly taking the subtle hint and waving down a cab rather than trying to join us. When we come around the corner to get the Jag, my legs freeze up for the second time that afternoon.

“What?” Drew says.

“My van.” I point at the boxy white vehicle, which is standing exactly where I parked it less than three hours ago. A rough laugh tumbles out of me. “She brought it back. Well, at least I don’t have to explain a theft to the rental company?”

We go around back and open up the doors. Boxes upon boxes of baked goods sit there waiting for me, packed in with ice to keep them cool. I press the heel of my hand to my forehead.

“All the work we just did . . . Man, I could strangle her, I really could. And not even just for me, and you guys. That’s an awful lot of cake to waste.”

“So you’re not up for digging your way through several hundred cupcakes?” Drew says with a teasing smile.

“Ah, no.”

“How about donating them?” he suggests. “I’ve done some work with the local church food bank. They usually want canned goods, but I’m guessing they won’t turn anything down.”

“That’s a great idea,” I say, impressed. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

Truth be told, we don’t hand over every one of those cakes. Drew grabs one box for us to take back to his loft. Less than an hour later, I’m soaking with him in the sinfully warm—and huge—jacuzzi tub. My muscles are melting, my legs tangled with his amid the bubbles, and my mouth is full of vanilla-and-rum cupcake. And did I mention the hot, naked guy relaxing with me?

Life doesn’t get much better than this.

I sigh and sink a little deeper into the bubbles. My throat tightens briefly as I remember how close I came to having this afternoon flop. “I really do appreciate you coming to my rescue—again. I promise this’ll be the last time you need to bail me out.”

“Don’t be silly,” Drew says, repeating that move with his toe, but along my inner thigh this time. A heady shiver travels over my skin. “I was happy to help. And, you know, there are certain benefits to being in with the baker.”

“Oh, yeah?” I lick the last of the icing off my thumb and look at him through my eyelashes. “What sort of benefits are you counting on tonight?”

He gives me a lazy grin and runs his thumb along the arch of my foot. “Lounging naked in a bath together is a good start. You’re a creative woman. I’m sure you can come up with something more.”

“Let me think a minute.” Because I’ll be damned if I’m doing anything but reveling in the massage he’s giving my foot at this exact moment. I trace my fingers up and down his calf as he works the knots out. But a needy feeling is gathering on my lips and between my legs. Who am I kidding? I want him to massage a lot more than my foot.

I push off the side of the tub and slink up on him through the bubbles. Drew watches my approach with that careless grin, but heat sparks in his eyes. I slide my hand up his side under the water and lean in for a kiss.

He meets me halfway there. His mouth is sweet from the alcohol-laced icing, and I swear it tastes even better on his tongue than it did on the cupcakes. His hands glide over my water-slick skin with an ease that makes me quiver in anticipation. I kiss him harder, with a moan as his palm rises to cup my breast. He works it over with slow, teasing circles, drawing another whimper from me.

I push him back against the tub and shift my legs over him so I’m straddling him. “Fuck, yes,” Drew mutters. His hard cock brushes between my legs, and my breath stutters. Then I’m kissing him again, with all the needy desire I have in me.

My pelvis sinks so I can rub against him more deliberately. Drew grips my hips in a rough inhale. He feels so good, even when he’s only pressed against the outside of me. He guides my rhythm, the length of him caressing my clit, and I have to break the kiss to gasp at the sensation.

“I want you so fucking badly,” Drew growls, the intensity in his voice almost enough to undo me right then. I whimper and arch into him, milking every drop of pleasure I can from the contact. There aren’t any goddamn condoms here, but I can’t imagine moving from this position. Not without both of us getting some release first.

“You’ve got me,” I murmur, and capture his mouth again. My fingers wrap around his cock. An ecstatic sound thrums through Drew’s chest. I pump him, swiveling over the head, tightening toward the base, and his grasp on my thighs tenses. Then one of his hands slips between my legs.

“Oh, yeah.” I clutch his shoulder with my left hand as the other continues its escalating rhythm along his rigid length. He fingers my clit, my slit, with careful but insistent pressure. My head bows down until my forehead grazes his. We’re both panting now, the water lapping at the sides of the tub with the movements of our bodies. Drew’s cock twitches. He shakes his head, his eyes hazed.

“Not yet. Not until you . . .”

He tweaks his thumb over my clit as the same moment as his fingers plunge into me, and I’m shattering. I come, shaking and clenching, with a moan that chases the rush of pleasure. Drew’s chest hitches, his hips tense, and one last jerk of my hand propels him after me.

Damn.

When I catch my breath, Drew is watching me with a blissed-out expression blue eyes. “You’re really something, Maggie,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

My heart shivers.

Shit.

I know this is all supposed to be a temporary arrangement, but how am I ever going to get enough of this man?