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Chapter 2: The Guy Who Made Me Swear Off Men Forever

I've done everything in my power to pretend the entire Fontaine family doesn't exist. But that's next to impossible in this town, especially with Cataclysm: Earth coming out. The Fontaines are everywhere. On magazines. On every television channel. All over the internet. I can't even walk down the street without seeing one of their faces plastered on the side of a bus. You can't escape them.

Meanwhile, Jack is looking at me expectantly.

"Well...?" he says, spreading his arms. "This is huge, right?"

I want to be excited. I want to squeal and jump up and down and proclaim my undying love for Jack for getting me this opportunity. But even if I thought he'd buy my bullshit - which he won't - I can't lie to him.

And Jack, as usual, is two steps ahead of me. He crosses his arms.

"What?" he demands. "What could possibly be wrong with the greatest opportunity you've ever had?" He snatches my chili fries out of my reach before I can stuff any more of them in my mouth to avoid answering his question. "Ashlyn, we're talking about getting your cake in front of Luca Fontaine and Emilia Torres. Do you even understand what that means? If you do this right, you could be the one to make their wedding cake. And you're an idiot if you think that cake won't be in every magazine at every checkout stand in the country."

He's right. If my bakery got that kind of press, I'd be booked solid for the next year. Screw that - the next five years. And with gorgeous, multi-tiered wedding cakes covered in rolled fondant and beautiful lacework, not more phallus-shaped monstrosities. The first dozen or so penis cakes were fun, but the subsequent dozen... not so much. That's not why I opened this bakery.

But taking this job means I might run into him, and in spite of everything, I'm not sure it's worth the risk.

Jack is giving me a look. "Seriously. What?"

After everything I'm sure he's done to get me this opportunity, I owe him an explanation.

"I know someone involved with Cataclysm: Earth," I say. But that's not enough. "And he's the last person in the world I ever want to see." I risk a glance up at my friend. He's frowning, and I can tell he's trying to figure out the part I didn't say.

Suddenly, his eyebrows shoot up. "You mean..."

"Yes. Him." I grab the box of fries back from him. I'm sure my cheeks are nearly as red as my hair. "So you can imagine why I'm hesitating."

"The Devil Himself got a job on Cataclysm: Earth?"

Three years ago, I spent many a drunken night crying to Jack about the Devil Himself. In fact, I met Jack only a few weeks after everything with the Devil Himself exploded so dramatically, back when we were all students in the same film studies grad program - back when I still thought I wanted to follow my parents into the movie industry. So he knows everything - except the Devil Himself's real name. In fact, Jack was the one who came up with that charming nickname after I refused to name the bastard out loud.

But I can't hide that name from Jack now.

My friend's nose is wrinkled. "I thought you said he was a screenwriter. You said he had some fancy-schmancy project waiting for him when he graduated."

Another few chili fries disappear in my mouth. "He did. He is a screenwriter."

"Well, maybe you've got your films mixed up, because this is Dante Fontaine's big project."

I look at him pointedly.

Jack's eyes almost bug out of his head. He nearly chokes.

"The Devil Himself is Dante Fontaine?" he manages between his coughs. "The Dante Fontaine?"

"Yes." Suddenly, I'm having trouble looking at my friend. This is not a conversation I was expecting to have today. The last thing I want to do is drag up those memories.

But Jack is not about to let me off the hook.

"Wait," he says. "Are you really telling me that you dated Dante Fontaine and lied to me about it? You lost your virginity to Dante-Fucking-Fontaine?"

"I never lied," I said. "I just never told you his name. There's a difference."

"If Dante Fontaine so much as looked at me, you can bet your ass that you and everyone else in this town would know every little detail. If he and I - "

"I know. It was just... complicated," I say. "But it doesn't matter why. I can't risk running into him again."

"Fuck. Dante Fontaine."

"You don't have to keep saying his name."

"Forgive me. I just found out my best friend lost her virginity to one of the hottest guys in Hollywood history."

"You mean one of the hottest guys in Hollywood history turned her off men forever."

"Well, you still admit that he's hot, so you haven't completely abandoned the cock."

I groan. "This isn't about cock. This is about me staying as far away from him as possible."

"First of all," Jack says, leaning across the table and pointing a finger at me, "you can't let your fear of some dickwad dictate what you do. Grow some balls. Secondly, this is still an amazing opportunity, and you know it. Thirdly, he'll still be at the film screening when you're setting up. And he's never been a big partier. He might not even show up to the after-party at all. You two probably won't even cross paths."

Jack does have a point, but in spite of his challenge to 'grow some balls,' I still find myself hesitating.

"Oh, come on," Jack says. "Do you really want to be making cakes of male body parts for the rest of your life? This could be your big break."

"I'm not sure bakers get 'big breaks' like people in the film industry."

"You know what I mean."

I do. And honestly, I have no more excuses.

"Fine," I say finally. "But I swear, if I see him I won't be held responsible for what I do."

"Fair enough. Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

Jack grins at me. "Don't mess up his face. They don't make them like that often."

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