The Icing on the Cake Read Online Free PDF Page A

said. “That is, if you don’t mind how I look.”
    “I definitely don’t mind how you look,” Isaac said as he turned to walk away. Then I think he may have winked at me, but I’m not sure. He may have been grimacing at my smell.
    With a happy little grin on my face, I approached Jean-Pierre, who had returned to his spot in front of the range. “Jean-Pierre, is there a better time for us to meet?” I asked.
    “I am going out of town. Come back on Wednesday. Nine o’clock in the morning.”
    That’s just hours before George wants to look over my draft, I thought fearfully. “Maybe we can do a phone interview,” I suggested.
    “Come back Wednesday,” Jean-Pierre repeated in a tone that said he was used to giving orders.
    “Of course,” I answered.
    I could make it work. I could do as much of the research and writing as possible beforehand and then just add the interview stuff in. It would be no problem. No problem at all.

    I found the restroom the woman had directed me to, where I scrubbed my face and arms with a floral scented soap, hoping this would get rid of the cheese smell. Then I washed my hair right there in the sink with the same soap and dried it with one of the towels in the basket on the counter. I sniffed myself and noted that I smelled slightly better. Kind of like flower scented cheese.
    I combed my hair back into a bun and put a touch of makeup back onto my face. Unfortunately, not much could be done about my clothes. But hey, if holey, grease-stained jeans can sell for $150—and I know they do because I saw them at the mall—then my tomato-soiled cashmere sweater had to be worth like $100, right?
    I went into the dining area and sat down at a table just outside the kitchen doors. I stared at the fresh violets in an antique vase on the table and pretended to take some notes. But there weren’t many notes to take. So instead I drew Jean-Pierre’s head with a whole bunch of tomatoes squished all over it.
    As I doodled, a guy in a wheelchair approached the table where I sat. I immediately put my hand over my drawing.
    “Hello,” the guy said to me. He smiled a friendly smile as he buttoned the top button of his tuxedo shirt. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen a photographer around here, would you?” he asked.
    “Actually, yes,” I replied. “He’s in the kitchen.”
    “Thanks.” The guy smiled at me again before disappearing into the kitchen.
    A short while later he returned side by side with Isaac. The two were laughing and gesturing in a way that suggested they knew each other.
    Isaac approached me and put his arm around the guy’s shoulder. “Annabelle, meet my brother, Ethan.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “Brothers, huh?”
    “Unfortunately,” Ethan joked. He then glanced at a watch on his wrist. “I’d better go. I’m on pretty soon.”
    “Do you work here?” I asked.
    “I play the piano every so often.”
    “Cool,” I said. “I’d like to hear you play sometime.”
    “Well, I’m here every Friday,” Ethan told me. Then he said a quick good-bye to me and Isaac, leaving us alone at the table in the dining area.
    “How did it go in there?” I asked, nodding toward the kitchen.
    “Pretty good.”
    “Well good for you,” I said, my tone slightly sarcastic.
    “Thanks,” Isaac said with a grin. “So, ready for lunch?”
    “Sure am.”
    “Where do you want to go?”
    “Well . . . there’s a great café that sells smoothies and really yummy croissant sandwiches a couple of blocks from here. We could go there if you’d like.”
    “Smoothies and croissant sandwiches it is,” Isaac replied without hesitation.

    Isaac and I walked side by side to the café. Once, my swinging hand brushed against his and I immediately apologized. But secretly I enjoyed the little chill I got when it happened. Hey, a bit of harmless photographer-flirting never hurt anyone.
    As we reached the entrance to the café, I noticed a group of women dressed in exercise wear of various