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“Today, you will no longer call me ridiculous,” Sansa Stark announced as she swept through the kitchen. A clogs-only zone due to the slippery floors and the pads placed on them, she had no trouble walking in her three-inch heels.
Hands on her waist, she strolled to Brienne Tarth, who was stuffing frosting into a bag. “Now isn’t the time to convince me of that, Sansa,” Brienne murmured as she regarded the tray of cupcakes before her. Frowning curled her forehead, which popped out a large, bluish vein between her eyebrows. Freckles covered every surface of Brienne’s skin but she was also very pale with blond eyebrows and eyelashes. The vein looked as clear as a blue marker.
Sansa and Brienne were best friends as well as business partners. Brienne had a larger chunk of Evenstar Bakery & Café being that she was the Evenstar and the goddess behind the creamiest pastries this side of Westeros. Sansa wasn’t going to dispute her on that. While Brienne was more than capable of taking care of the business side of running a restaurant, it also meant being the face of the restaurant. Mulish and a bit harsh-spoken, not a lot of people realized that it came from Brienne’s shyness and the awkwardness she had not been able to shake off at the onset of adulthood. Sansa thought her ridiculous for telling her she should be the face of Evenstar Bakery & Café. She only agreed to be co-owner and manager provided that when the press came over, her tall, stubborn friend would come out of the kitchen and meet them. That was one of the responsibilities she took upon herself, ensuring that Evenstar Bakery & Café got a lot of press.
“The most gorgeous man in Westeros is outside this door right this very moment asking for you.” Sansa watched Brienne carefully squeeze frosting over a cupcake. “I’m not joking. This man is the reason why that word exists. And he’s asking for you.”
Brienne frowned at the swirl she had just made.“Uh-huh.”
“He’s not my type. Men like that are trouble and too sure of themselves but I can’t deny that he is easy on the eyes. And he’s asking for you.”
Brienne continued squeezing frosting onto the cupcakes before her. As she did, she whispered, “Smush-smush-smush,” a sound she always made when designing her pastries.
Sansa rolled her eyes. “Bree, are you even listening?”
As she stared at her in frustration, the doors swung open again. Sansa whirled around and saw Podrick Payne shuffling toward them. Shy and soft-spoken though a fast, efficient worker, he was slowly gaining confidence in the last three months since he had begun working here. “Uh, Brienne?” He asked. “I don’t like to nag but the guys over at table 12 are asking for you again.”
Sansa beamed. “That’s him!”
“Huh,” Brienne finished frosting one row and moved toward the next.
Podrick looked at Sansa then Brienne. “We, well, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
“Seven Hells,” Brienne set the bag aside and straightened up to look at them from across the table. Broad-shouldered and six-foot-three barefoot, she was an imposing, powerful figure. Her scowl did little for her unconventional looks though the bright blueness of her eyes gave them a pause. A hand on her boyish waist, she demanded, “What does this man want from me?”
“You won’t know until you see him. So he’s been asking for her?” Sansa clarified with Podrick, who nodded. Aghast, Sansa stomped her foot. “Bree, you know better than to keep a potential client waiting! Or what if he’s from the press?”
“Then he’ll wait.” Brienne shrugged. When Sansa narrowed her blue eyes at her, she sighed loudly. “Alright, alright. I’ll go out to see him. Them? You said he’s with someone at table 12, Pod?”
“Yeah. A dwarf.”
“Change your shoes, remove your apron,” Sansa instructed Brienne. Brienne marched to her office where she replaced her clogs with plain black flats. She untied her apron and left it on her desk. She patted her shirt straight, checked for flour stains and other marks on her clothes. In the full-length mirror mounted on the wall, she did further checking of her person.
Sansa had emphasized to her repeatedly the importance of appearance though Brienne thought it a lost cause. No matter how firm and determined her brush strokes, her hair still stuck out like wild hay. The heat of the kitchen didn’t help her freckle situation, and they stood out like splotchy stains on her skin. She swiped clear lip balm because the corners of her mouth were cracked.
She left her office and strolled out of the kitchen. Remembering that Pod mentioned they were on table 12, she went there.
The breakfast crowd was thick and she had to turn left and right to get to them. Her face heated some more as people glanced at her. She didn’t have to look at them to know they were wondering about her gender. Her height, unattractiveness and figure, not to mention her clothes, fuelled the thoughts that was either a man or a man dressed in drag. Surely women were not as tall, and certainly not so ugly.
As she neared table 12, Brienne sensed someone staring at her intently. She looked up and saw him, sitting right where she was going. For a moment, her heart stopped. Indeed, that is the most gorgeous man in Westeros, she thought, her steps faltering.
His hair, long and brushing his shoulders. Tousled at the top and a little unkempt, it still gleamed gold in the light of the sun entering through the windows. His features were sharply chiselled and symmetrical—there was no artist, no sculptor, who would pass up the chance to render him on either canvas or marble. As she approached, she discovered that his eyes were a sharp, emerald green. He was squinting at her but without the frown that usually came with a gesture like that. No. He was looking at her in a “come here, baby” way and that just couldn’t be, Brienne thought, glancing behind her to check who was receiving that stare. No one.
By the time she reached table 12, her entire face was on fire. Brienne glanced down and saw the dwarf he was sitting with. Pale blond hair, mismatched eyes. His features were not chiselled at all but he was far from ugly. Unsettling at first, she determined, but certainly not unpleasant to look at.
“Hello.” The Most Gorgeous Man in Westeros got to his feet and extended a hand to her. “My name’s Jaime. Jaime Lannister. This here is my brother Tyrion.”
Brienne stared at him suspiciously before she reached out to shake his hand. “I was told you wanted to speak with me?” She believed in getting right to the point. No matter how handsome he was, the work in the kitchen still waited for her.
Jaime Lannister cocked an elegant brow then released her hand. “If we could have a few minutes of your time. Why don’t you join us?”
As Brienne was about to say that they should just state their business because she still had work, a lot of work to do, Pod came up to them. His cheeks were pink. “Uh, excuse me. Brienne? Sansa told me to tell you Hot Pie’s taking over. She told me to tell you there’s no need to rush back.”
Then he was off, as if death were right on his heels.
Brienne swore inwardly as she faced the Lannisters.
Tyrion Lannister smiled at her gently. “Won’t you join us, Miss?”
“Tarth. Brienne Tarth.” Brienne sat down heavily, hearing the chair squeak under her weight. “Call me Brienne. What can I do for you?”
Jaime and Tyrion looked at each other. Brienne suddenly had a bad inkling of what they had come here for. I should have known, she thought, angry at herself, angry at Sansa. Men who looked like Jaime Lannister didn’t just talk to her, they had a reason behind it and it was never good. She scowled, glaring at him and Tyrion. He’s probably come here to proposition me for his dwarf brother. Men. No one would fuck her for her looks but there would always be a man who wanted to know how it would be inside big Brienne.
“My fiancee is a huge fan of yours, Brienne,” Tyrion said. Brienne frowned. Fiancee? Unaware of her confusion, he continued, “And I thought, for our wedding, I could surprise her with one of your masterpieces.”
“We know you did the cake and pastries for the tenth anniversary of Winterfell Department Store,” Jaime added. “We were there. Your Summerlands Surprise was nothing short of delightful. And surprise, of course.”
Brienne couldn’t believe it when her cheeks started to heat at his words. That party had been a few months ago and she did make her Summerlands Surprise—three-tiered cake with the most heavenly, vanilla marshmallow frosting, moist chocolate cake under it and, once sliced open, a rich tumble of melt-in-your-mouth custard. When she first had it sampled by Sansa and the wait staff, groans of pleasure resounded throughout the kitchen.
“You also did the cake for the Boltons’ wedding anniversary last month. I was a guest there. Though I’m pretty sure the flayed man concept of your cake came from Roose’s sick brain, I have to admit it was very good,” Jaime told her.
Brienne had not been too enthusiastic about giving what the client wanted but she had no choice. Sansa herself had not been comfortable—her family had bad blood with the Boltons but, as she reminded themselves, they were professionals. And it wasn’t like they were being asked to flay a man, only to make a cake that was faithful to the Boltons’ old sigil. Brienne generally liked their clients and was more than happy when they hired her again but for Roose Bolton and his ilk, she and Sansa had agreed never again.
Even if someone who looked like Jaime Lannister said her cakes were good.
“Permit me to cut to the chase, gentlemen,” Brienne said, successfully masking her impatience. To Tyrion, she asked, “When is your wedding?”
When he gave her the date, Brienne shot to her feet sharply. The chair fell behind her. Red in the face, she quickly righted it, ignoring Jaime’s attempts to help her. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, shoving the chair under the table. “But that’s impossible. We have commitments that go as far down as six months and we’re not taking on new orders—“
“Are you aware of Lannister Enterprises?” Jaime asked her.
“What? Er, maybe. What of it?”
“Tyrion here is the CEO,” Jaime said. Tyrion smiled at Brienne. “I’m his number two.”
“Not to brag,” Tyrion said, “but half of the businesses here in Westeros is under us.”
“Not mine,” Brienne said hotly.
“Yes. Not yours. Small businesses are really of no concern to us. However, we like to give them a hand. The business world is treacherous and infested with rattlers, vipers, all creatures big and small, actually, one nastier than the next—“
Outraged, her blue eyes wide, Brienne demanded loudly, “Ser, are you threatening me?”
That had everyone in the restaurant turning around to look at them. Sansa’s squeak from the front was very audible.
“Of course not,” Tyrion stepped in smoothly, shooting Jaime a look. “What my brother is saying, badly, I admit, is that the Evenstar Bakery & Café could certainly benefit if it becomes the exclusive caterer of all Lannister Enterprises events. We never do them small. My wedding certainly won’t be.”
“I do desserts, not meals.”
“Then you’ll be in charge of sweet things,” Jaime told her. The way his eyes glinted had Brienne thinking of things that brought goosebumps and sweat on her back.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she said, beginning to back away. “But it’s just plain impossible to fit you in. I would really like to—“
“Then you’ll surely find a way to squeeze my brother and his fiancée in,” Jaime told her.
“What? No. As I was saying—“
“Margaery was at a baby shower last month. I believe it was for Lollys Stokeworth. You made what, in her words, are ‘a lemon-spun dream of a cake.’ She’s yet to stop talking about it. That, she told me, was the true masterpiece. It was light and fluffy yet moist. It would make a fine wedding cake, that’s for sure.”
Brienne remembered. As she tried to form another protest, Jaime Lannister took over.
“We will make it worth your while,” he said softly, as if they were the only people in the room. He was an inch shorter than her but seemed to loom over her. Brienne felt her knees beginning to quake. “And I would love to have another of your cakes again, although I am partial to your muffins.”
Brienne frowned at him.
“Cupcakes,” Tyrion corrected him.
Jaime smiled at her, deep dimple and all charm. “I am partial to your cupcakes, Brienne.”
As Brienne struggled to wrap her head around what was happening, Sansa suddenly chirped beside her. “Hello! I’m Sansa Stark, the manager,” she said, shaking Jaime’s hand and then Tyrion’s. “What can Brienne and I do for you?”
Jaime introduced themselves again because Brienne seemed to have lost her ability to talk. As he spoke, he kept on shooting her a small smile, as if she were something special. That speeded up the return of her sense. Brienne turned away to look at Sansa. “The Lannisters here want to make an order—“
“Ooh! For what event? When is this?” Sansa asked them.
Tyrion told her. Sansa’s eyes widened at the date and Brienne said, “See, I’ve been telling them that it’s impossible—“
“But not unlikely,” Jaime said. “I’m sure there’s going to be a cancellation or two.”
Brienne glared at him. “We have a waiting list.”
“I told Brienne that aside from her services for my brother’s wedding—“ Seven Hells, why did that sound fucking naughtly? Brienne thought as Jaime launched on, “---Lannister Enterprises is also interested in securing her as the exclusive caterer for our upcoming events. We have a lot coming up and we get a lot of press.”
“Sansa—“ Brienne started to warn her. Sansa looked a little dazed at the mention of press coverage.
“Why don’t you leave us your card,” Sansa told Jaime and Tyrion. “My partner and I will have to discuss this. We are busy and yes, while it is not impossible, I can tell you, Jaime, that’s it’s going to be quite difficult. Leave us your card and we will call you tomorrow.”
Jaime pulled out a calling card from his holder. “To say yes, hmm?”
Brienne snorted. “You’ll definitely get an answer, Jaime.”
He gave her a long look then. It was both assessing and something else—something else she couldn’t identify although she was sure if she curled up in a ball right this very moment she could escape him in a way. Any sort of escape from those emerald eyes that saw through her clothes and saw all of her, she thought, relieved when Sansa took the card from him and began to steer her away.
As the two women walked away, Brienne hissed to Sansa’s ears, “We are not saying yes to that arrogant idiot, Sansa!”
“Oh, Brienne!” Sansa rolled her eyes. “You’ve worked with difficult clients before!”
Jaime was still grinning as he watched the redhead tow the blond giant behind her. There was no mistaking the heated conversation they were having. He smirked as he sat down. “She’ll say yes, Tyrion. Women will always do.
Despite their promise to call him tomorrow, Jaime got an answer by evening. And it was not the answer he wanted. Brienne Tarth had left the message in his machine.
“Much as we look forward to working with you, Mr. Lannister,” she said, “I’m afraid Evenstar Bakery & Café will not be accepting new orders for another two months due to the volume of commitments we've made previously. Should you still be interested, you can visit the restaurant to make the order or go to our website and email us from there. Thank you very much and I wish you a good evening.”