Yuki dashed across the narrow alleyway that led to Suncrust Delights, the small bakery he worked at part-time. The bell above the door jingled sharply as he pushed it open, chest heaving from the run. The sweet smell of baked goods did little to soothe the anxiety in his gut.
Behind the counter, Emi Tanaka stood with arms folded, a wooden spatula in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Her short brown bob was tucked neatly under a flour-speckled bandana, but her expression was anything but sweet.
"Twenty minutes late," she snapped without looking up. "That's a twenty percent deduction from your salary this month. Bakery will reimburse you with $150."
Yuki froze, trying to catch his breath. "$150? I'm supposed to get $300 this month. How is that a fifty percent deduction?"
Emi finally looked up, eyes narrowing as she jabbed the spatula in his direction. "Let's not forget, genius—you spilled coffee on the front counter three times last week. And, might I add, you left the cotton candy machine running two nights ago. You want to guess how much sugar crusted that thing by morning?"
Yuki groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. "You're seriously counting that? That machine was older than me!"
Emi didn't flinch. "And yet it was working perfectly fine until your brain short-circuited. Be grateful I haven't fired you yet."
He muttered something under his breath, slipping behind the counter and tying on his apron.
"What was that?" she asked.
"Nothing," he replied, grabbing a pair of tongs and stacking croissants on the display tray. "Just wondering if you wake up already annoyed or if I bring out the best in you."
Emi smirked but didn't answer. She scribbled something on her clipboard and headed toward the back. She came back soon after with perfectly packaged icing cupcake and a latte coffee. "Yuki, mind grabbing me the bakery cellphone? I have a delivery order and I'm not sure I can have it delivered before two in the afternoon. I have a class in the next thirty minutes."
"Is it something I can help you with?" He irked his brows, smiling sheepishly as he grabbed the cellphone from the counter. "Just say it, Emi. I want to help and I swear on my life that I wouldn't mess it up! Trust me!"
"Or really? Because I'm not sure I can. The delivery is to LUNARÉ ICON—yes, that Lunaré. They're holding a fashion conference downtown and want an artisan selection—cake, coffee, and a dozen assorted macarons. Luckily, Suncrest Delights was their first pick."
Yuki blinked. "Lunaré? The place with models that look like they were born inside a Vogue magazine?"
"Exactly. Which is why I'm hesitant to send someone who once delivered a birthday cake to a funeral home."
"That was one time! And the signs looked similar from a distance."
Emi gave him a flat stare. "The funeral home had a giant cross over the door."
Yuki pointed toward the boxed cupcake and latte still on the counter. "Come on, I can do this. Just think of me as... the pastry prince on a mission."
Emi rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. "Pastry prince, huh? Fine. But if anything—anything—goes wrong, you're cleaning the entire back kitchen for a week."
Yuki saluted, already grabbing the paper bag with the order and slipping on a delivery apron. "You won't regret this, boss."
As the door shut behind him, Emi stared at the cupcake she had made for herself... then reached for a second one.
"God help me," she muttered, "he's actually starting to grow on me."
********
"Right this way. You're setting them up by the presentation wall. Third panel to the right."
Inside, fashion executives and big time influencers flocked around each other, clicking glasses and laughing wholeheartedly. Yuki gulped, setting the cake down with carefully on the mirrored table and lined up the macarons like they were art pieces and adjusted the coffee cups one by one, making sure the logo faced out.
Job done.
He straightened up and turned to the assistant. "Hey, um... is there a restroom I could use? I drank too much coffee before leaving and I'm, uh... dangerously close to exploding."
She raised a brow, half amused, half impatient. "First floor's off-limits."
"Oh?"
Her lips twitched. "Private affair."
Yuki squinted. "Like... private private?"
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "The kind you don't talk about at lunch."
His eyes widened. "Oh."
She jerked her chin toward a narrow elevator. "Second floor. Come. I'll show you."
They ascended in silence. When the doors opened, Yuki followed her behind observing how tightly fit her body was, bringing out her curves. Not a figure eight, but was close to it. Her brown hair resting on her shoulders. She stopped in front of the restroom.
"This restroom is for both males and females. Be quick. Don't wander around."
"I won't," he promised, already halfway in when the door slammed shut. He looked up to see which was for males and entered in. Picking the last cubicle on the left, Yuki closed the door gently behind him and finally—finally—let out the breath he'd been holding since the elevator ride. "God bless clean restrooms," he muttered as he relieved himself.
But just as he was about to flush, a soft thump echoed from the wall beside him. Then a muffled giggle. Followed by a moan—high-pitched, breathy, and definitely not someone enjoying a cupcake.
Yuki froze.
Another moan followed, this time deeper—masculine, and shamelessly guttural.
"Oh my god," Yuki whispered, eyes wide.
More sounds: the rustle of fabric, something knocking against a wall, then the unmistakable rhythm of two people forgetting they weren't alone in the universe.
Thud. Thud. Moan.
"Shhh, someone might hear—"
Yuki clapped a hand over his mouth.
He debated flushing, but didn't want to alert anyone. His heart raced like he'd just jogged through a horror movie, only it wasn't ghosts—it was executives getting freaky next door.
And then he heard a voice. Male. Smooth. Lazy with indulgence.
"Tell me again why we couldn't just book a room?"
And the woman responded, half-laughing through a gasp, "Because I've always wanted to try sex in the bathroom but my husband is too busy with work. Oh my---right there, Ugh, damn..."
Yuki stood frozen, every nerve in his body screaming for him to vanish. This is not happening. This is not happening. He pressed his back against the cubicle wall, willing it to swallow him whole. His ears burned, and he cursed the superior acoustics of luxury conference center restrooms.
He knew he needed to leave. Get out. Flush. Wash. Run. The stall door next to him opened.
Footsteps.
He heard the rustle of expensive fabric being adjusted, a low groan of satisfaction, and the faint gurgle of water in the sink. The woman giggled again, breathless, whispering something like, "You're wicked," followed by the man's low reply, "You like that about me."
Yuki's heart threatened to punch a hole through his ribcage.
A phone buzzed. The woman picked up, laughing through her voice. "Yes, baby! I'm just touching up my lipstick. I'll be right there. Tell them I'm on my way."
Husband. Her husband. Oh god.
The door opened, then closed. Silence. For a moment, Yuki dared to hope they'd both left.
Then a single knock came on his stall door.
Yuki yelped. "Occupied!"
"Yuki?" A familiar voice resounded in Yuki's ears, one that definitely belonged to Renji. Yuki rolled his eyes and got out of the cubicle, zipping up. Renji leaned casually against the tiled wall, adjusting the cuffs of his designer blazer. His hair was slicked back perfectly, not a strand out of place, as if he hadn't just committed a scandalous act two stalls over.
"I'll meet you downstairs, beauty," he said smoothly, flashing the woman a lazy grin. "Don't tell anyone, and I'll have your name on my mom's guest list faster than you can say 'runway.'"
The woman laughed softly, brushing a smudge of lipstick from the corner of her mouth. "You're impossible, Renji."
He winked. "That's why you like me."
She walked out with a sway in her step, leaving behind the lingering scent of high-end perfume and barely concealed sin.
Yuki stepped out of the stall, still pale and wide-eyed. "Was that—? You—you seriously—?"
Renji turned to him, eyes gleaming with mischief and the kind of confidence reserved for men who feared nothing—not even being caught. "Relax, Yuki," he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "That's how you handle high society. Give people what they want, and they'll open doors for you."
Yuki looked horrified. "Pretty sure that was more than just a door being opened."
Renji smirked. "Welcome to the big leagues, pastry prince."
"How do you do it, Renji? I mean do these girls know you are just a college student with nothing to offer them?"