The Last Baker
Title: The Last Baker [3]
Author:![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
shorthorror
Pairing: Brian Haner & Zachary Baker
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This beautiful asshole just came around and started ruining everything for me. I was the last Baker, and I'd promised my father our name would not die with me.
Disclaimer: I am confident the readers can distinguish between what is real and what is fiction. I need not state the obvious.
Prologue
One
Two
I want to thank everybody who contributed to the massive inundation of support and love. It's truly a joy of mine to please the readers and your feedback has helped propel my creativity to new levels.
So far I've been able to update once every day, and apparently people like that a lot. But sadly, I am human. And as a human I must go to a job that I hate to make people money, just so I can have money as well. This job has been killing me lately and alongside school, has left me barely any time to do the things I love. And that means write. I'll try my hardest to update as frequently as possible for you guys. But this means that there won't be as frequent updates.
Thank you endlessly for your support <3
shorthorror
Sure enough, the next day as I made my way through the streets to work, I was trapped in a wonderful gridlock of honking cars, cabs and trucks. I glared at my wristwatch, begging it to tell me I wasn't late. Well I was. I was ten minutes late already. Beside me a man in a red Kia that was dressed in an expertly tailored blue suit was screaming at somebody through the receiver of his BlackBerry. I looked to my right to see a woman with her head in her hands, looking just as distraught as everyone else that had their cars parked in the middle of the street. I leaned back in my leather chair, thankful I could get through this in a BMW with maximum air conditioning and Guns 'N Roses playing on the stereo. I was okay, I had my weekly Frappucino in hand.
Humming along with Axl Rose, I managed to inch my car up every minute or so and when the honking got too loud, I rolled up my window and turned the music up higher.
Unfortunately, forty minutes or so later I was not okay anymore. The radio began to piss me off and I'd only gotten a block down from where I had entered the mass of vehicular chaos. I was nearly an hour late already. My cold and icy treat was now a puddle of runny pink liquid with an unappetizing skin of whipped cream floating on top. I was never late. Never. At least never this late.
When traffic started to move at an excruciatingly slow pace, I swerved to the left and made a large circular detour that put me another half an hour behind. I had to take the highway which was uneven due to mass reconstruction. I eased my beloved BMW over the bumpy trail of a road, wincing whenever I hit an inevitable pothole. After I finally pulled up in the back lot of Milan Verde, I got out, slammed the door shut and pressed the little red button on my keychain so my sleek black Beamer beeped it's cheerful goodbye to me. I sprinted to the back door and wrenched it open. Luckily it was unlocked. Somebody had been there with the key before me.
Inside my employees were sitting around at the tables drinking their morning Starbucks and talking amongst themselves, awaiting my orders, or arrival. Whichever one it was. When I got inside I asked who had unlocked the door. Nancy raised her hand and told me that Greta had given her the key to open as soon as she arrived. Nancy was always early because she had to take a bus and the subway to get to work each day from a county bordering Huntington Beach. I decided against scolding her for not waiting because of my extreme tardiness.
"Are you okay sir? We thought you'd gotten in an accident or something." Said Quentin, a boy in charge of food prep.
"I'm okay. I just got stuck in some really bad traffic. Now enough sitting around everyone. We have a party to prepare for. Nancy, you're on desserts with your team. I want the sweetest, cutest little pastries you can possibly think of. Maybe something exotic with a lot of fruit flavour. And a fruit garland! Don't forget that..." I exclaimed.
After giving everyone their tasks I looked around. I had seen everybody this morning except one. Brian Haner. I knew I had told him ten AM sharp. There was no mistaking that.
I looked around my establishment, starting at my office to see if he was pulling another one of his acts of subtle defiance. He wasn't there, so I looked around the kitchens. My employees were already hard at work and I said nothing to them that could possibly break their concentration. I was too focused on searching for Haner anyway.
I went through the back hall near the walk-in freezer and finally spotted him in the bakery, hunched over a metal tier used for pouring batter. He had his chef suit on, sleeves rolled up and white flour speckled over his arms. There was a large mixing bowl full of batter to his left and the industrial sized oven was already on. I looked him over, disgusted by the mess of ingredients he'd gotten on the floor and on himself.
"What are you doing Haner?" I asked him.
Brian looked up and then smirked at me. "I'm working, Baker."
"Who said to start without me?" I almost fumed.
Brian set down the wooden spoon he was using for mixing and ran his hands under a stream of water from the sink. "Well, seeing as you were almost two hours late, I thought I'd be a good sport and start the cake myself. Six tier, french vanilla strawberry batter?" He verified.
"Uh... yeah." I mumbled.
"The first tier is in the oven. It's got ten more minutes and then we can put in the next two. And are you going to start the fondant? Or do I have to do that too?"
I glowered at him. The cocky bastard! This was the first time any of my employees had the guts to put me down. And frankly, I was in no mood to deal with him and his bratty attitude.
"No, I'll do the fondant, after I test everything you've done so far." I said as I waltzed up to the child-sized mixing bowl.
I stared into the bowl and the sugary-sweet aroma of fresh strawberries and vanilla beans filled me up with it's delicious and edible perfume. I scraped a bit off the side with my finger, leaving an aluminum stripe where I'd taken the batter. After tasting it I wanted to look at Brian and smile, but I didn't. For some reason I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he did a good job. The batter alone was rich and perfectly saccharine. I couldn't believe my tongue.
Instead I nodded. "How's the English cream coming along?"
"Good, wanna use your dirty ass hands to taste it as well?" Brian asked me.
"I washed my hands before I got here you mouthy little twit!"
Brian began to laugh at me. "Mouthy little twit huh? Thanks boss. You're such a kind and supportive employer."
I gritted my teeth that still tasted of his flawless cake batter. "My job isn't to be kind and supportive. It's to make sure you do your job. And your job is to take direction from me without the lip and attitude. If you have a problem with that, then get out of my kitchen!"
Again, that fucking smirk. Could he not go a minute without his lips tugging into that mocking grin? It made him look like he knew it all. Or thought he knew it all. Like behind those deep chocolate eyes lied the secret wonders of the world. Brian wasn't that special. He was just experienced. But I wasn't threatened by him. I wasn't intimidated by the fact that he had gotten everything perfect without an iota of my help. Or the fact that his English cream was the fluffiest most lush substance I had ever tasted. No. I wasn't threatened by him.
For the next two hours Brian and I worked side by side in silence. He layered the cake with the English cream as I prepared the fondant and put it in the fridge to solidify and cool into a malleable and tasty cake covering. After I was finished I looked around for my airbrush kit. I thought I'd put it in the equipment pantry along with the icing bag nozzles and the utensils, but it was nowhere to be found.
"Shit. Have you seen my airbrush?" I asked Brian.
He looked up at me, deep brown eyes wide with surprise. "Your what?"
"The airbrush kit. You know, the thing you use to color the fondant after it's on?" I said.
"No I haven't seen your airbrush thing."
I closed my eyes and cursed the very day I was born. If the airbrush kit wasn't in the pantry then that only left one other place it could be. Back at my house, sitting on my kitchen counter in front of the coffeemaker. I gave a melodramatic groan before I leaned against the wall.
"What's wrong?" Brian asked, as though he were concerned or something.
I shook my head with my eyes closed. I was not in the mood for anymore of his rude quirks or snarky remarks. Just not in the mood to work or think anymore.
"Tell me where it is and I'll go get it for you if you're really having that much trouble." Brian offered.
"No," I protested. "It's at my house."
"Good!" He exclaimed, dropping the cream covered scraper back into the bowl . "I'll buy the coffee then."
I looked at him, confused to shit and wondering if he really did have this much confidence. "Ha! What makes you think you're coming with me? You're not coming to my house."
Brian looked at the wall clock above the sink. "I've been working for hours. I think I deserve a break. And I also want to go over the exterior design with you, since we are working as a team on this. Is there a better time to do it rather than now? Or are you really going to be this immature about everything?"
I flustered and for a brief moment I thought homicide sounded like a good idea. This new guy had just come in and he was already proving to have a better work ethic than me. I hated that he was showing me up left, right and center. This was my territory. My zone. My zen place. My restaurant was the place where I was the man. So far all of his ideas were better than mine, the validity of his points were exceeding my own and he was maintaining that cool composure I didn't know whether to loathe or admire.
"Fine. But we're running in and out. No stalling."
Both he and I hung up our white jackets before leaving. I entrusted the place with Nancy while we were gone since she seemed to be one of Greta's favourites. Nancy nodded obediently when I told her to stop searing the coconut on her lemon raspberry truffles and keep an eye on everybody to make sure nobody slacked off. If there was one thing I hated, it was when people wasted their own time and mine.
Brian smiled at my car after I unlocked it. I got in the driver's seat and turned the ignition so my BMW hummed to life. I watched Brian caress the leather interior admiringly after he got in after me.
"Man, what a beautiful hunk of metal." Brian remarked, stroking the seats and genuine chrome with an appreciation only a male could possess.
"Yeah. She gets me from A to B." I smirked as I put on my sunglasses.
To avoid another traffic jam where I'd have to sit and listen to Brian for an hour, I took the detour again until I reached my house. It was a long and seemingly endless stretch of highway, but it only took about half an hour to get there. I felt kind of strange having Brian sitting beside me in my car. And even weirder when he peered out of my Beamer's tinted glass to look at my two story residence with my double garage and unneeded upper floor.
"Nice place. How did you come to possess this and a BMW all at once Baker?" Brian asked, as though he were surprised I could afford nice things.
"A small fortune left in inheritance and two bouts of life insurance got me what you see before you." I told him.
"And the restaurant?" He inquired.
"Paid for with what was left after university."
Brian nodded, seemingly impressed as we walked through my French doors.
I made my way into the kitchen where the airbrush kit awaited me. I had already packed it away in it's carrying case earlier that morning with the intention of bringing it with me. I guess it slipped my mind on the way to work. But I had it, and now it was with me, and I could get Brian out of my house and back to work where he belonged.
When I walked into the foyer I saw Brian sizing everything up. He strolled around curiously, staring at the art prints I had hung up just for the sake of seeming as though I was interested in paintings. My father always had original Italian art hung up everywhere in his house and it always made the rooms look so alive and charismatic. I thought I'd do the same, but be a little cheaper about it. Besides, I didn't need a genuine Monet to spruce up a room. Just a fake copy of Picasso's Dora Maar au Chat to hang on the olive green wall.
"Ready?" I spoke up, catching Brian's attention from the small tag at the bottom right hand corner of a Van Gogh duplicate.
"When you are, boss." He said, flashing me an actual smile that showcased his stainless white teeth instead of that testy smirk he always threw this way and that.
That was more like it. Why couldn't he just smile and be cooperative like that all the time? Maybe then I'd like him better. I wouldn't tell him that, I would just hope he caught on that respect could get him farther than being a saucy little know-it-all.
In time, my father would always say. In time Zachary Baker.
Author:
shorthorrorPairing: Brian Haner & Zachary Baker
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This beautiful asshole just came around and started ruining everything for me. I was the last Baker, and I'd promised my father our name would not die with me.
Disclaimer: I am confident the readers can distinguish between what is real and what is fiction. I need not state the obvious.
Prologue
One
Two
I want to thank everybody who contributed to the massive inundation of support and love. It's truly a joy of mine to please the readers and your feedback has helped propel my creativity to new levels.
So far I've been able to update once every day, and apparently people like that a lot. But sadly, I am human. And as a human I must go to a job that I hate to make people money, just so I can have money as well. This job has been killing me lately and alongside school, has left me barely any time to do the things I love. And that means write. I'll try my hardest to update as frequently as possible for you guys. But this means that there won't be as frequent updates.
Thank you endlessly for your support <3
shorthorror
Sure enough, the next day as I made my way through the streets to work, I was trapped in a wonderful gridlock of honking cars, cabs and trucks. I glared at my wristwatch, begging it to tell me I wasn't late. Well I was. I was ten minutes late already. Beside me a man in a red Kia that was dressed in an expertly tailored blue suit was screaming at somebody through the receiver of his BlackBerry. I looked to my right to see a woman with her head in her hands, looking just as distraught as everyone else that had their cars parked in the middle of the street. I leaned back in my leather chair, thankful I could get through this in a BMW with maximum air conditioning and Guns 'N Roses playing on the stereo. I was okay, I had my weekly Frappucino in hand.
Humming along with Axl Rose, I managed to inch my car up every minute or so and when the honking got too loud, I rolled up my window and turned the music up higher.
Unfortunately, forty minutes or so later I was not okay anymore. The radio began to piss me off and I'd only gotten a block down from where I had entered the mass of vehicular chaos. I was nearly an hour late already. My cold and icy treat was now a puddle of runny pink liquid with an unappetizing skin of whipped cream floating on top. I was never late. Never. At least never this late.
When traffic started to move at an excruciatingly slow pace, I swerved to the left and made a large circular detour that put me another half an hour behind. I had to take the highway which was uneven due to mass reconstruction. I eased my beloved BMW over the bumpy trail of a road, wincing whenever I hit an inevitable pothole. After I finally pulled up in the back lot of Milan Verde, I got out, slammed the door shut and pressed the little red button on my keychain so my sleek black Beamer beeped it's cheerful goodbye to me. I sprinted to the back door and wrenched it open. Luckily it was unlocked. Somebody had been there with the key before me.
Inside my employees were sitting around at the tables drinking their morning Starbucks and talking amongst themselves, awaiting my orders, or arrival. Whichever one it was. When I got inside I asked who had unlocked the door. Nancy raised her hand and told me that Greta had given her the key to open as soon as she arrived. Nancy was always early because she had to take a bus and the subway to get to work each day from a county bordering Huntington Beach. I decided against scolding her for not waiting because of my extreme tardiness.
"Are you okay sir? We thought you'd gotten in an accident or something." Said Quentin, a boy in charge of food prep.
"I'm okay. I just got stuck in some really bad traffic. Now enough sitting around everyone. We have a party to prepare for. Nancy, you're on desserts with your team. I want the sweetest, cutest little pastries you can possibly think of. Maybe something exotic with a lot of fruit flavour. And a fruit garland! Don't forget that..." I exclaimed.
After giving everyone their tasks I looked around. I had seen everybody this morning except one. Brian Haner. I knew I had told him ten AM sharp. There was no mistaking that.
I looked around my establishment, starting at my office to see if he was pulling another one of his acts of subtle defiance. He wasn't there, so I looked around the kitchens. My employees were already hard at work and I said nothing to them that could possibly break their concentration. I was too focused on searching for Haner anyway.
I went through the back hall near the walk-in freezer and finally spotted him in the bakery, hunched over a metal tier used for pouring batter. He had his chef suit on, sleeves rolled up and white flour speckled over his arms. There was a large mixing bowl full of batter to his left and the industrial sized oven was already on. I looked him over, disgusted by the mess of ingredients he'd gotten on the floor and on himself.
"What are you doing Haner?" I asked him.
Brian looked up and then smirked at me. "I'm working, Baker."
"Who said to start without me?" I almost fumed.
Brian set down the wooden spoon he was using for mixing and ran his hands under a stream of water from the sink. "Well, seeing as you were almost two hours late, I thought I'd be a good sport and start the cake myself. Six tier, french vanilla strawberry batter?" He verified.
"Uh... yeah." I mumbled.
"The first tier is in the oven. It's got ten more minutes and then we can put in the next two. And are you going to start the fondant? Or do I have to do that too?"
I glowered at him. The cocky bastard! This was the first time any of my employees had the guts to put me down. And frankly, I was in no mood to deal with him and his bratty attitude.
"No, I'll do the fondant, after I test everything you've done so far." I said as I waltzed up to the child-sized mixing bowl.
I stared into the bowl and the sugary-sweet aroma of fresh strawberries and vanilla beans filled me up with it's delicious and edible perfume. I scraped a bit off the side with my finger, leaving an aluminum stripe where I'd taken the batter. After tasting it I wanted to look at Brian and smile, but I didn't. For some reason I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he did a good job. The batter alone was rich and perfectly saccharine. I couldn't believe my tongue.
Instead I nodded. "How's the English cream coming along?"
"Good, wanna use your dirty ass hands to taste it as well?" Brian asked me.
"I washed my hands before I got here you mouthy little twit!"
Brian began to laugh at me. "Mouthy little twit huh? Thanks boss. You're such a kind and supportive employer."
I gritted my teeth that still tasted of his flawless cake batter. "My job isn't to be kind and supportive. It's to make sure you do your job. And your job is to take direction from me without the lip and attitude. If you have a problem with that, then get out of my kitchen!"
Again, that fucking smirk. Could he not go a minute without his lips tugging into that mocking grin? It made him look like he knew it all. Or thought he knew it all. Like behind those deep chocolate eyes lied the secret wonders of the world. Brian wasn't that special. He was just experienced. But I wasn't threatened by him. I wasn't intimidated by the fact that he had gotten everything perfect without an iota of my help. Or the fact that his English cream was the fluffiest most lush substance I had ever tasted. No. I wasn't threatened by him.
For the next two hours Brian and I worked side by side in silence. He layered the cake with the English cream as I prepared the fondant and put it in the fridge to solidify and cool into a malleable and tasty cake covering. After I was finished I looked around for my airbrush kit. I thought I'd put it in the equipment pantry along with the icing bag nozzles and the utensils, but it was nowhere to be found.
"Shit. Have you seen my airbrush?" I asked Brian.
He looked up at me, deep brown eyes wide with surprise. "Your what?"
"The airbrush kit. You know, the thing you use to color the fondant after it's on?" I said.
"No I haven't seen your airbrush thing."
I closed my eyes and cursed the very day I was born. If the airbrush kit wasn't in the pantry then that only left one other place it could be. Back at my house, sitting on my kitchen counter in front of the coffeemaker. I gave a melodramatic groan before I leaned against the wall.
"What's wrong?" Brian asked, as though he were concerned or something.
I shook my head with my eyes closed. I was not in the mood for anymore of his rude quirks or snarky remarks. Just not in the mood to work or think anymore.
"Tell me where it is and I'll go get it for you if you're really having that much trouble." Brian offered.
"No," I protested. "It's at my house."
"Good!" He exclaimed, dropping the cream covered scraper back into the bowl . "I'll buy the coffee then."
I looked at him, confused to shit and wondering if he really did have this much confidence. "Ha! What makes you think you're coming with me? You're not coming to my house."
Brian looked at the wall clock above the sink. "I've been working for hours. I think I deserve a break. And I also want to go over the exterior design with you, since we are working as a team on this. Is there a better time to do it rather than now? Or are you really going to be this immature about everything?"
I flustered and for a brief moment I thought homicide sounded like a good idea. This new guy had just come in and he was already proving to have a better work ethic than me. I hated that he was showing me up left, right and center. This was my territory. My zone. My zen place. My restaurant was the place where I was the man. So far all of his ideas were better than mine, the validity of his points were exceeding my own and he was maintaining that cool composure I didn't know whether to loathe or admire.
"Fine. But we're running in and out. No stalling."
Both he and I hung up our white jackets before leaving. I entrusted the place with Nancy while we were gone since she seemed to be one of Greta's favourites. Nancy nodded obediently when I told her to stop searing the coconut on her lemon raspberry truffles and keep an eye on everybody to make sure nobody slacked off. If there was one thing I hated, it was when people wasted their own time and mine.
Brian smiled at my car after I unlocked it. I got in the driver's seat and turned the ignition so my BMW hummed to life. I watched Brian caress the leather interior admiringly after he got in after me.
"Man, what a beautiful hunk of metal." Brian remarked, stroking the seats and genuine chrome with an appreciation only a male could possess.
"Yeah. She gets me from A to B." I smirked as I put on my sunglasses.
To avoid another traffic jam where I'd have to sit and listen to Brian for an hour, I took the detour again until I reached my house. It was a long and seemingly endless stretch of highway, but it only took about half an hour to get there. I felt kind of strange having Brian sitting beside me in my car. And even weirder when he peered out of my Beamer's tinted glass to look at my two story residence with my double garage and unneeded upper floor.
"Nice place. How did you come to possess this and a BMW all at once Baker?" Brian asked, as though he were surprised I could afford nice things.
"A small fortune left in inheritance and two bouts of life insurance got me what you see before you." I told him.
"And the restaurant?" He inquired.
"Paid for with what was left after university."
Brian nodded, seemingly impressed as we walked through my French doors.
I made my way into the kitchen where the airbrush kit awaited me. I had already packed it away in it's carrying case earlier that morning with the intention of bringing it with me. I guess it slipped my mind on the way to work. But I had it, and now it was with me, and I could get Brian out of my house and back to work where he belonged.
When I walked into the foyer I saw Brian sizing everything up. He strolled around curiously, staring at the art prints I had hung up just for the sake of seeming as though I was interested in paintings. My father always had original Italian art hung up everywhere in his house and it always made the rooms look so alive and charismatic. I thought I'd do the same, but be a little cheaper about it. Besides, I didn't need a genuine Monet to spruce up a room. Just a fake copy of Picasso's Dora Maar au Chat to hang on the olive green wall.
"Ready?" I spoke up, catching Brian's attention from the small tag at the bottom right hand corner of a Van Gogh duplicate.
"When you are, boss." He said, flashing me an actual smile that showcased his stainless white teeth instead of that testy smirk he always threw this way and that.
That was more like it. Why couldn't he just smile and be cooperative like that all the time? Maybe then I'd like him better. I wouldn't tell him that, I would just hope he caught on that respect could get him farther than being a saucy little know-it-all.
In time, my father would always say. In time Zachary Baker.
*cough*
Awesome