Fake It Till You Bake It
Jamie Wesley
To anyone who’s ever had a dream
Chapter One
Donovan Dell was a professional football player who loved to bake.
Seriously.
He was used to the quizzical looks people gave him when they learned he, a man who made a living terrorizing quarterbacks, co-owned Sugar Blitz, San Diego’s latest and best cupcakery. He didn’t care, though.
Baking relaxed him. Running his own business thrilled him. His plans for his post-playing career were starting to take root. Exactly how he’d planned.
“Donovan, sales have declined for six straight weeks.”
Okay, maybe not exactly how he’d planned. As his accountant had just noted with absolutely no attempt to spare his feelings. Their weekly business call was off to a rip-roaring start. He made a face at the cell phone lying so innocently on his office desk.
“Donovan, did you hear what I said?” His accountant’s exasperation came through the phone’s speaker loud and clear.
“Yes, Shana, I know profits have declined for the last six weeks,” he answered. Better than anyone.
Business had been good—really good—when the shop first opened in January after his team was eliminated from the playoffs （which sucked, by the way）， probably because people were dying to see their favorite football players up close and personal, hawking baked goods. After that first month, however, the number of customers had slowed from a flood to a steady stream to a damn trickle. He didn’t know why. He’d done all the market research. Their product was top-notch. The shop’s location was excellent.
Yet the sales figures on his computer screen did not lie. And if he and his business partners were going to follow through with their plan to hire a full-time manager, whose salary would be fully funded by the store’s profits by the start of training camp in July, then sales needed to rebound. Soon.
He stifled his hundredth sigh of the day. “We’re going to turn things around.”
He was Donovan Dell. He didn’t fail.
“I hope so.” She didn’t sound optimistic, which set his teeth on edge. Why had he thought it was a good idea to hire his big sister to be his accountant? Yes, she had a brilliant mind, but she would never respect their professional relationship. He was just her baby brother whose diapers she’d changed on way too many occasions, after all. “I told you I wasn’t sure such a large storefront was the best option for the store.”
“Yes, I know.” He was proud of his cordial tone.
He’d bought the building, located in East Village, years ago as a real estate investment. He’d fallen in love with the wide-open space with its exposed brick and original fixtures. Then last year, his best friend and teammate, Nicholas, had suggested turning their mutual baking hobby into a business. Donovan had run all kinds of analyses on the best use for the property, but ultimately, he’d trusted his instincts.
“You’ve already invested so much money into this venture,” she continued.
“Yes, I know,” he repeated, maybe a little less cordially this time.
“You need to start turning a profit soon,” she said. “Football isn’t going to last forever.”
“Yes, I know, Shana,” he said through gritted teeth. Cordiality was no longer on his radar. If there was a person who could be counted on to keep things more real than he did, it was his sister. Growing up in a household with a father who had no interest in reality tended to do that to you.
Shana harrumphed. “I’m just looking out for you, baby brother. We can talk about your personal life if you want. You know Mama is dying to know when you’re going to get married and give her grandkids.”
Donovan groaned, the change of topic doing jack shit to improve his mood. “You already gave her two tiny humans to spoil.”
He always considered the whole marriage-and-kids thing to be something he would think about in that nebulous time frame called the future. Maybe. His parents sure as hell weren’t an example of wedded bliss.
“Pssht,” his sister said. “Like she thinks that’s enough. You know what she says.”
“You can’t give me grandbabies if you’re working twenty-four hours per day,” they said simultaneously. They chuckled for a moment, then went silent.
Shana sighed. “I’m really concerned about the shop, Donovan.”
So was he.
“Have you considered—”
“Hold on, Shana. Someone’s calling me.” He loved his sister, but she’d been giving him advice his entire life, a lot of it good, but this was his problem. He’d figure it out on his own. Besides, he already knew what she was going to suggest—shutting the shop down and dividing the property into apartments he could rent at a premium thanks to the building’s prime location. Probably because he’d contemplated the same thing before Nicholas proposed the cupcake shop. He never took chances. But he had this time.