Crumbling Cakes

Part I

This had to be rock bottom. I was certain of it. I took a second to reflect on my current situation.

Homeless? Check.

Psychotic Mother? Check

Zero prospects except for being this infamous bakery's cleaning lady? CHECK.

About to become unemployed with zero prospects?

Sweet baby Jesus, that's a flashing neon sign CHECK. We're talking Vegas baby. The brightness illuminating the lands.

I glanced around the chaos that is now Senator Romaldo's daughter's wedding cake. The one that took over 48 man-hours to make and assemble. Seven tiered layers with a fully edible 3ft high replica of the Eiffel Tower. Beautiful roses and other nameless flowers made out of fondant that were strategically placed—painstakingly I might add—to appear as if they were gracefully blowing through the air in Paris.

Embrace that visual in all its glory because I mean just that. PARIS. This batshit bridezilla wanted Paris as her cake. Each layer of the tiers was a different view of the Romance capital of the world.

And I, Godzilla, just annihilated the city of love and it's Parisian people into a crumbling pile of Fondant rubble. Oh, alright, some of it survived like the buttercream flowers and other buttercream elements that were safely locked in the giant walk-in fridge. They were going to be placed tomorrow you see, on-site so as to have them not all melt before the grand unveiling. God forbid anything ruin Carissa Romaldo's fairy tale day.

Har dee har as I did just that. Shifting on the ground, I whimpered, getting even more of the monstrosity on me.

Sebastian—my boss, the devil himself—was going to kill me. I'm sorry, no no, not kill. That would be too easy. He was going to skin me alive, boil my writhing body before taking me out with one of his fancy baking utensils. I'll end up the victim of my very own twisted Hansel & Gretel Story.

Only in this version, Hansel kills Gretel because Gretel, the unlucky clumsy bitch, obliterated his greatest creation. I wish I was exaggerating. This cake should have been a gaudy, sickening eyesore. One that left you blind really. Although the jury is still out on that one, that Eiffel tower tip is quite sharp. I grunted and moved the end away from my ass.

Shit, if it had been ugly I would have felt less guilty for destroying the 15 thousand dollar masterpiece.

$15,000.

One-Five Thousand.

That's right people! Count those zero's because when I do, my head explodes.

Anywho ugly but alas, Sebastian the visionary magician with baking skills from the heavens themselves had turned this ludicrous idea, on which I full-on chortled at, into a breathtaking creation.

At the Eiffel tower placement earlier today I actually felt tears well up in my eyes. My breath had been caught in my throat and I was so mesmerized I fully expected little fairies to be floating around the tiers, giving it a magical glow.

It was so gorgeous I wanted to shrink and live amongst the fondant people because let's get real, I will never be going to the real Paris. Hell, it made me want my OWN seven tier Paris monstrosity.

Luckily, any mortification from the misty eyes was spared for my sake since I was sneaking a peek from the broom closet. Why do you ask? That's simple really, I'm not allowed in the kitchen at the end of high profile projects since the cupcake episode of September.

Or the Refrigerator debacle of July.

Certainly not after the stray dog incident of April.

Somehow these things still happen to me. I dipped my finger into the raspberry cream by my thigh and looked at it longingly. I know it's delicious because I sampled it before washing the bowl this afternoon.

Ah fuck it, it's already destroyed and this is rock bottom, right? Placing the finger on my tongue, my lips automatically closed around it.

The moan that ripped through my chest would have been a worthy contender for best moan of ecstasy at the AVN awards. The cream was so delicious and probably the last time I'd ever get to taste it again since my ass was most definitely getting canned. Unceremoniously, I took one more swipe before plopping backward to the ground. A prominent squish gave me notice that tier #3 was successfully destroyed.

Completely if the fart noises from the filling oozing out was anything to go by. I groaned at my predicament. Sebastian was definitely going to go on a rampage. Total casualties? Just one. Moi.

See what I did there? Har har. I'm so funny, these throat clogging tears are from laughter, I swear.

I closed my eyes, my heart already beating wildly in my chest at the thought of having to face him. I could see that hateful glare as he discovered what I had done. Feel the full-fledged wrath that was a-storming my way. I half contemplated making a cake angel in hopes that come morning, upon this tragedies discovery, they would think the divine all being had sent one of his minions to enforce the fact that only God can create such beauty.

I snorted. Well, that was better than "The Glare". This was all her fault. If she hadn't ambushed me then I wouldn't be responsible for the demise of Sebastian's greatest gift to the world. Can you sense my sarcasm? No? Maybe it's desperation.

As I lay in the mess of my own doing, the one that's supposed to be sitting on a table in a wee 12 hours from now getting all "ooh'd" and "ah'd" at, things went horribly wrong. Or even more so than they were. Yup, while my weather-beaten clothes soaked in the confection sugar, I heard a distinct growl.

Did I say growl? I'm sure it was a throat clearing. But who am I kidding, it sounded like a full-fledged growl that  made me flinch.

Did I leave the door ajar? Shit, was that stray back? He'd definitely get one hell of a snack this time around. Maybe I could blame it on him? I contemplated this possible out, hopeful for once in my unraveling life.

And that was when I felt it. The beam of pure rage directed at my head. I tried to keep them closed but my traitorous eyes were not under my command as they popped open. Within seconds they collided with the sexiest eye color I had ever seen. Like the color of the smoothest amber whiskey. The kind I love to drink but will most likely never be able to stomach again.

I'd love to drown myself in those whiskey orbs, but consuming them was the last thing on my mind as "The Glare" was currently drilling to China through my eyeballs.

I gulped involuntarily as I couldn't look away. Absentmindedly, I rubbed the cream off my hand onto my pants; or tried to anyway.

The Devil had found me quite literally red-handed.

I was fucked.