Sweet Dreams (A Sugar Rush Novel) (5 page)

Integrity
and
quality
were also part of Pierre Lacroix’s professional philosophy.

Polly scrolled through the application, which involved writing an essay and submitting a recipe for an original pastry. She’d never created an original pastry in her life—that had been her mother’s domain, as inventing new recipes had been one of Jessie’s greatest joys.

“It would be cool to send my mother’s éclair recipe to Pierre Lacroix, or at least to his people,” she mused. “Even if I’d never be accepted into the course.”

“Do not put that attitude out into the world,” Ramona said sternly, opening one of her plastic jewelry cases.

An array of colorful stone pendants sat inside the case. After some examination, Ramona removed a shiny, gray-green stone that flashed with iridescent colors of peacock blue and gold.

“Labradorite.” Ramona reached across the table and attached the chain around Polly’s neck. “It protects your aura from negative energy and enhances your intuitive powers.”

“Thanks, Ramona.” Polly admired the shiny stone resting against her skin.

Her intuitive powers could certainly use enhancement—especially if both Brian and her behavior with Mr. Hottie were examples of how badly those powers had failed her. And certainly her business intuition had proven to be nonexistent.

For her, at least, the air of Wild Child still echoed with the sound of folk music, conversation, laughter, and the rhythmic cadence of beat poetry. And her mother was still in the center of it all—bringing customers fresh pastries, refilling their coffee for free, listening to their stories, asking about their families.

Jessie Lockhart had always been so vibrant, so interested in everyone and everything. She was the reason Wild Child had thrived. Polly couldn’t be the reason it failed.

She
wouldn’t
be. And her mother would love the idea of her éclair recipe winging its way to France and Pierre Lacroix. With that thought in mind, she pulled up the application and typed in her name.

After a long day at the bakery, Polly spent the evening writing her essay for The Art of French Pastry course application. She contacted her Hartford Community College teachers to request letters of recommendation, ordered copies of her transcripts, and came up with a “personal philosophy” of how serving artfully crafted baked goods was an expression of love and friendship.

She finally managed to get a couple hours of sleep on her lumpy old mattress before hauling herself up at seven-thirty to get ready for a visit to the corporate headquarters of The Sugar Rush Candy Company.

The instructor of her Confectionary Technology course, which was part of the curriculum for her Culinary Arts certificate, had arranged a class tour of the company’s test kitchen and labs, and they were scheduled to meet in the lobby at nine sharp.

Polly dressed with care in a blue embroidered tunic and skirt, packed her satchel with a new notebook and pens, and drove half an hour to Indigo Bay, a wealthy, flourishing town south of the San Francisco Bay Area that prided itself on its coastal beauty and historic culture.

The downtown square and streets were lined with boutiques, art galleries, and cafés, with the residential neighborhoods stretching into the foothills and toward the rocky coastline. Ivy-covered cottages, cobblestones, and secret courtyards gave Indigo Bay a fairytale atmosphere, which was somewhat fitting given that the town was ruled over by the family who owned a candy company.

But Polly wasn’t fooled by the charming quaintness of Indigo Bay—this was an expensive town where the rich, computer-tech crowd came to eat at gourmet restaurants and taste fancy wines before going to the theater and actually buying paintings at the numerous art galleries.

The sprawling campus of The Sugar Rush Candy Company was on the outskirts of town, a collection of brick buildings perched on a grassy expanse of land overlooking the coastline. The test kitchens and laboratory were housed in a stately warehouse with towers that made it look like a fortress.

Polly checked in at the gate and parked in the designated lot for visitors. She’d never been to the Sugar Rush campus before, but it had been featured in several architecture magazines as a stunning example of the ways in which corporate offices could blend into the environment, with the columned brick buildings also evoking the values and history of the company.

The Sugar Rush Candy Company—originally Stone Confectioners—was founded by Edward Stone in the mid-nineteenth century, and had been the domain of the Stone family for over a hundred and fifty years. Though the name had changed a decade ago, the company was still family-run. The six Stone brothers were a close-knit clan who zealously guarded their privacy and had a reputation for being tough but fair employers.

When the family had moved the Sugar Rush headquarters from San Francisco to Indigo Bay after WWII, the company’s presence had turned around the economy of an entire region of the coastline with investments in local businesses, steady employment, and a commitment to sustaining the coastal environment.

Not much had changed about Sugar Rush over the years, including the foundation of their well-loved products like Honeybee Toffee and Swirl Pops, which had been among Polly’s favorites as a child.

Hoping she could make a few purchases at the gift shop after the tour, she went into the lobby where her twelve fellow students and instructor, Gordon Andrews, milled around. The open doors of the gift shop displayed shelves lined with Sugar Rush candy bars, glass cases arranged with chocolate confections, fat jars glistening with taffy, suckers, jawbreakers, licorice, rock candy, and bubblegum.

“Everyone, gather round.” Gordon spoke in a hushed tone, as if he were in a hallowed, sacred space. “Sugar Rush rarely allows tours into their test kitchens. The only reason we were able to arrange one is that one of the assistant chefs is a former student of mine. So I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to please be on your best behavior and exhibit both respect and deference.”

“Should we curtsy too?” Cora, a fellow student, muttered beside Polly.

Polly smiled. Everyone in the area knew the Stone brothers were the de facto kings of Indigo Bay, so curtsying in their presence would probably not be out of order. Not that Polly thought any of them would emerge from their lavish offices to talk to a group of community college students.

Gordon introduced them to their tour guide, Henry Peterson, who led them through a door marked “Employees Only.” After they put on the required aprons and plastic caps, they followed Henry into one of the test kitchens—a massive, gleaming expanse of granite countertops and stainless steel appliances where the chefs and scientists created different varieties of candy. Two chefs bustled around checking on bubbling pots, as if they were presiding over a modern-day witch’s brew.

“For generations, Sugar Rush has prided itself on hand-making all our candies,” Henry explained. “Everything from lollipops to sour candies, taffy, and chocolate. Usually there are half a dozen chefs working here, but they’ve stepped out to allow us time for the tour.”

“Is the chocolate tested here too?” Cora asked.

“The chocolate test kitchen is located one floor above.” Henry pointed to the ceiling. “This is where we test and create all the other candy. Right now we’re working on different varieties of ribbon candy and taffy.”

Polly had learned and practiced a lot of the techniques in class, but this was the first time she’d ever been in a real candy kitchen and lab. Henry explained all the different processes as they walked around, and soon her hand began to hurt from scribbling so many notes.

“He’s coming!” One of the chefs hurried up to Henry, her whisper loud enough for everyone to hear.

Polly looked up from her notebook, sensing a palpable excitement rippling through the air. Her fellow students shifted and murmured with interest.

“What’s going on?” she asked Cora, who shrugged.

“Oh.” Henry looked disconcerted. “I wasn’t expecting this, but it seems the CEO is about to pay us a visit.”

Intakes of breath rose from the culinary students. An excited flutter went through Polly. She’d never even seen one of the Stone brothers, much less met any of them.

“Mr. Stone often stops by to check on our progress,” Henry explained, “and you’d better believe we hear about it if something isn’t up to speed. Not that that happens often,” he hastened to add.

The two chefs hurried to make sure their stations were in order, their aprons tied, and caps firmly in place. Anticipation heightened the air. Polly found it rather thrilling. The Stone brothers were legendary, and it felt like everyone was waiting for a rock star to arrive.

Henry started explaining the process of making taffy. Polly scribbled notes about water and glucose, watching out of the corner of her eye as the far door opened.

A tall, dark-haired man clad in a beautifully tailored navy suit and tie strode into the kitchen, a leather binder in one hand. Aside from his strikingly handsome appearance, he had an aura of utter control and self-confidence that made her heart leap in a way that it only had once before.

Polly froze.

No way.

No. Freaking. Way.

Her breath shortened. The excitement in the room intensified. All the women stilled with awe and admiration at the sight of the intimidating Mr. Stone.

Or, as Polly had called him,
Mr. Hottie.

THIS COULDN’T BE HAPPENING. TWO
days ago, Polly had not attempted to drunkenly seduce the man who would prove to be the CEO of Sugar Rush. She had not vomited all over his designer Ferragamos or whatever kind of shoes they were. She most certainly had not begged him to fuck her on the feather pillows of his four-poster bed.

Except that she had.

Oh, mother of all that was holy. She wanted to die.

She tried to hide behind Cora and prayed to every god of every religion since the beginning of time that Mr. Luke Stone would not find it necessary to stop and greet her tour group.

Henry was still rambling on about taffy, but Polly had stopped listening. She watched CEO Stone. He took his time walking around the kitchen, stopping to speak to the chefs and examine the contents of two large mixers. His expression was inscrutable, his eyes sharp, his bearing controlled, as if he not only expected deference, but demanded it. He reminded her vaguely of a king who had deigned to visit the peasants.

Then he started toward her tour group.

She glanced at the clock. Could she somehow manage to fake a sudden illness?

“Hello, Mr. Stone.” A flash of nervousness crossed Henry’s face as he extended a hand. “These are Gordon Andrews’s Confectionary Technology students from Hartford Community College in Rainsville.”

“Ah.” Luke Stone’s dark gaze swept over the group. “I like people who are interested in the science of sweet things.”

A few of the girls giggled.

Polly’s heart raced wildly. She tried to duck farther into the group, keeping her head bent so low her chin smashed into her neck.

Go away, Mr. Hottie. Just go away. Nothing to see here.

“Why don’t you introduce yourselves?” Mr. Stone asked. “I’d be interested to know your culinary ambitions.”