Cake Love: All Things Payne
By Elizabeth Lynx
Dedication…
To anyone who looked at cake and thought, “Yeah, I’ll have that.”
My reasoning behind Cake Love order… When I wrote Rules of Payne I saw it as a movie in my head. That’s how I write. So, that’s how I ordered this collection of books, like a dvd to a movie. When you get a movie you watch the movie first, right? I know I do. After watching it I want to learn more, find out why characters did certain things or what the actors were thinking as they were playing a scene.
For that I flip to the movie extras. The commentary or deleted scenes or actor interviews. I’m the type of person who likes to know everything about the stuff I love.
Therefore, when I decided to put Cake Love in order I put The Payne In The Blog last. Even though it starts when Henrik and Morgana meet, I felt that it was just the extra stuff to their story. The ‘behind the scenes’ if you will of Rules of Payne. Feel free to read it any order you choose, but I hope you understand my reasoning behind the order to this collection.
Thank you and enjoy Cake Love…
Rules of Payne
Cover Image: hennyka
Cover Design: Elizabeth Lynx
Chapter 1
Morgana's Problem: Her Boss
"My boss is a good man."
Staring at my reflection trying desperately to believe what is coming out of my mouth I zero in on my eyes, the gateway to the soul. Perhaps there is also a side entrance I can take so my mind believes this.
"He is good at his job."
This is true. I notice the golden flecks perk up in my iris as I state this truth. Hmm. Perhaps if I wear sunglasses while talking to clients about to meet him they won't notice the lies coming out of my mouth when they ask about Mr. Henrik Payne, aka VP Payne-in-my-ass.
I'll try one more.
"I don't want to sleep with him."
The golden flecks disappear from my hazel eyes as the lie dulls the sparkle. It's too obvious when I am telling the truth and when I am not. As I think of his crystal blue eyes breaking me with their stare or how his thick muscles strain under the tailored cotton of his shirt, it's hard to pretend I am not utterly attracted to the man.
After fixing the flyaway strands of my red tresses, I shut my compact mirror and throw it back in my purse hidden in the bottom drawer of my dark brown desk. He's about to walk in any moment. I look up at the slick modern clock over his large wood grained door, 8:29 with the second hand on the 11.
And five...four...three...two...one.
I hear a swish and look over to see his tan shoes scraping the gray carpeted floor as he briskly walks toward me. Mr. Payne's phone cemented to his left hand while his right holds the brown briefcase containing the usual: laptop, manila folder with the Denton file, and one pack of Extra spearmint gum.
His tall firm body encased in a slim navy suit stops at my desk. A pair of arctic blue eyes lift and focuses on me for the standard brief second, causing my heart to flip flop and breath to hitch, before returning their attention back to his Samsung Galaxy S5 as he swivels to go into his office. Mr. Payne leaves his door ajar indicating his need for morning coffee. Much like the Pavlovian condition, I hop to my feet as the several months as his assistant has created this learned response.
I head down the hall past walls of glass overlooking large Chicago skyscrapers and a sea of dark wood cubicles and into a doorway in the middle of a white wall that is our office kitchen.
"Mornin' sucka." My banter directed at the only person in the room, Grace, the receptionist, a waifish girl that would have given early 90’s Kate Moss a run for her money. I like her despite her unhealthy obsession with Mr. Payne. Geez, I am one to talk.
She is young, fresh out of college, and I, at the ripe old age of thirty, try my best to seem cool with hip talk – very outdated hip talk. Fortunately for me Grace is a voracious bibliophile. I think I am more knowledgeable on current trends then she.
"Good morning Morgana. How is the Payne this morning?" She is cradling her yellow flowered teacup as if it is the only source of heat in this building.
I walk over to the coffee pot nestled on the faux gray marble counter next to the stainless steel sink and proceed to prepare Mr. Payne's coffee just as he prefers—black, like his heart. Turning back around to face Grace who is seated at the small round generic table I watch as she fights with a loose tendril of her dark hair that keeps escaping from her restrictive bun. As I lean back onto the counter, bringing the warm green mug to my lips, I take a sip. Then another. After that, another.
"Oh you know the same as usual. No 'Good morning Ms. Drake' or 'Hello plebe', just a door left open so I can play fetch." I raise the coffee to illustrate my point and then bring it back to my lips for another gulp.
She sighs and her emerald eyes veer off to the corner of the ceiling while nodding.
"He is fetching."
Is society bringing back the word fetching? I'll have to Google it and then cross-reference Twitter about the matter.
"Yes, well I better get back or he might be forced to use my name to find me." I fake horror and almost spill the half full cup of black crap all over my blue silk blouse. It was a purchase at full retail price which is very rare for me, but it is stunning and the cut fits my body perfectly. This is an unusual department store find. When I stumble upon something so perfect, stinginess be damned. Plus, it goes perfectly with my brown pencil skirt.