He just smiled.

"You got any we can eat?" one of his friends asked.

"This batch is almost ready." James peered into the oven window. "But they're for a professor's birthday party."

"We got a job?" Dylan asked.

"No, James and I got a job." Well, that came out bitchy.

"Uh oh," one of the guys said. The others snickered.

"You know, he's got other shit to do," Brittany said.

Nicole ignored her, pouring the syrup into a bowl to cool.

"Did I miss something?" Dylan asked.

"What do you think?" Nicole knew she sounded like a fishwife. Well, she was hurt. He'd peeled grapes to help her overcome her fears, and yet he hooked up with Brittany? Had he memorized her schedule, too?

"If I'm supposed to do something," Dylan said. "You need to tell me."

"This is supposed to be a partnership. Me telling you what to do sounds an awful lot like you'd rather be an employee."

His gaze flicked to James.

"We're not getting many jobs," James said. "We could use some help."

"He's got a job." Brittany said it like she thought Nicole was some rich princess who didn't understand the concept of work.

Nicole bit the inside of her mouth to keep from going off on this girl. She needed to focus on her cake, not get into a battle over a guy who didn't want her.

Arms open wide, Dylan herded his friends out of the room, but Brittany pulled away.

"You know, maybe people don't want lavender cupcakes. Maybe they just want chocolate. Did you think of that?"

"Yeah, Brittany, I have. If you've looked at the website, you'll see the first flavors we mention are chocolate and vanilla." She tried hard to keep her cool. "Underneath that is our list of specialty flavors. And I'm always experimenting with other flavors, hence tonight's honeysuckle pound cake."

Dylan grabbed Brittany's arm and led her and the others to the basement door. When he went downstairs with them, Nicole whirled around to face James.

She pointed a finger at him. "Not a word." She dragged the back of her hand across her forehead. "I'm pathetic. I know it."

"Just a 'lil bit."

"I don't want drama this year. I really, really don't."

"Then don't make any." James shoved his hands into the oven mitts and pulled open the door.

"But he's not working with us at all. We should cut him loose."

"Cut him loose from what? We've gotten two jobs." He withdrew the cupcake trays and set them down on trivets.

"Okay, but he shouldn't get any of the profits."

"There are no profits. But he did set up the website, which was huge. And the two jobs we got came from the article he put in the parent newsletter."

"Whatever." She turned on the mixer to cream the butter.

"You won't believe what I heard." Dylan's voice shot through the noise of the motor, startling her.

He motioned for her to shut it off.

"What?" James pulled off the mitts.

At the same moment, Harry swept into the kitchen, his huge diamond watch glittering in the light. He dangled his BMW keychain off a finger, as he eyed the cupcakes. "Yes." He tipped the tray over, catching one of them before it toppled onto the granite countertop.

"What is your problem, Mr. World is My Oyster?" James said, but Harry just stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. James turned the other cupcakes right-side-up on a cooling rack. "Didn't your nanny teach you manners?"

"Damn, that's good," the son of a billionaire said, his mouth full of white cupcake. "Hey, you should make this shit for my family for Thanksgiving. We have it in Costa Rica. We got a place there. You want to?"

"We're not really set up for shipping," Nicole said.

"No, I meant I'd fly you out and you could have Thanksgiving with us. It's a-"

"Compound?" Dylan said.

James fought back a smile.

"Yeah, it is, but I was gonna say, it's a free-for-all, our family holidays. Everyone brings people. It's a blast. You want to come?"

"I'm going home," Dylan said.

"Fuck that shit. Ever been to Costa Rica?"

Dylan shook his head. "Ticket's already bought."

"So? I'll buy your ticket to Costa Rica. Who cares? I'll buy all of 'em. You in?" He looked to each of them.

Nicole was about to speak, but Dylan said, "I care. I paid for it with money I earned. And I'm not leaving my mother alone for Thanksgiving."

Harry looked at him completely confounded. Not offended, not angry, not anything other than at a loss as for why Dylan was making such a big deal about a thousand dollar plane ticket. "She can come, too."

Dylan froze, and she knew he had to be remembering his mom's visit. Like he'd ever bring her around his college friends again. "I don't think so."

"Thank you, Harry," Nicole said. She saw Dylan shoot her a look, saw his features flush, and she wondered what she'd done to embarrass him. "But I'm looking forward to spending it with my family. My brothers come home, so it's the only time we're all together."

"Yeah, thanks, man," James said. "I've got to see my family, too." He rolled his eyes. "Gotta get drug tested."

"Maybe Christmas then. Plan on it. Gotta bolt." Harry snagged another cupcake and headed out.

"I haven't even frosted them," James called out to him. The door slammed. "Savage."

Dipping her pinkie in the syrup, she found it had cooled, so she poured a little into her frosting, then turned the mixer on again.

"So, what did you hear that we won't believe?" James said over the noise.

But Dylan kept watching her, inching closer. "Was I rude?"

She shut off the mixer, shrugged. "He wasn't being mean. He just got excited about the idea of bringing us all to Costa Rica. He's probably got a-"

"Compound," Dylan and James said at the same time. They high-fived each other across the island.

She ignored them. "Place on the beach. He wanted us to surf and Zip Line and stuff with him. He meant it in a nice way."

"It's not that simple."

"For him it is. He wants something, and he's got all the money in the world to make it happen. I don't think there's a mean bone in his body. It's just...that kind of wealth, the ability to do whatever he wants when he wants, is all he knows."

"Yeah, well, not me."

"Yes, we know that, Dylan. You make that very clear. And, so, yes, you were rude to him. You could've just said no, thank you."

He looked uncomfortable. She didn't want to get pissy with him. James didn't get upset with him because James didn't have feelings for him.

"What did you hear?" James asked gently.

Emotion cleared from his face, Dylan said, "A guy in my language lab had a birthday a few days ago. Last week, I told him about the website, told him to show it to his parents. Never heard back from him. So, I brought it up today. Apparently, his mom said, At that price, they probably use Crisco."

"I don't use Crisco." She shot a look to James. "Should we put the ingredients on the website?"

"No, we don't give away the goods, sweetie."

"But we should at least say something like, Only the finest-no, freshest ingredients."

"Go on," James said, gesturing to Dylan. "What else did she say?"

"They look boring."

Her gaze landed on the unfrosted cupcakes cooling on the wire rack. Usually, she just used a knife to slather on a nice, thick layer of frosting. No designs, no special swirls or patterns-and certainly no sprinkles or toppings. That would be heinous. "I guess I'm more interested in flavor than appearance."

"As you should," James said. "They're the best-tasting cupcakes I've ever had in my life."

She smiled. "Thank you, but I'm not hurt. I'm actually glad for the input. How else can I get better at what I do?"

"You guys don't think it's hilarious that we need to charge more to get people to buy our shit?" Dylan asked.

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, it's ours now?"

"No, I get it," James said quickly. "My dad's the sickest consumer on the planet. He only wants the most expensive car, house, clothes. No lie. When we need a new refrigerator, he calls the appliance store and literally tells them to deliver the most expensive one they've got."

"Why?" Dylan asked.

"Because he assumes it's the best. And it makes him feel good."

"So, he grew up poor," Dylan said.

"Poorer than you."

Nicole sucked in a breath, her whole body on alert. Why would James be so cruel?

But after a tense moment, Dylan burst out laughing. "Not sure that's possible, but okay. I get it."

"So we need to raise our prices and decorate better." She should've known that. Who wanted to give out plain cupcakes for a celebration? "I like baking. I don't really care about the decorating part."

"You know what I need?" James asked. "Those fun bags. Let me spend some time with 'em. Can I play with yours?"

Dylan looked horrified, his gaze going right to her chest. "What's the matter with you? Don't talk to Nicole like that."

"Oh, my God." James laughed so hard he cried.

"I think he means decorating bags. You put the frosting in and add a tip to the bag to make different shapes."

Dylan's cheeks colored, and he looked from James to Nicole. Slowly, he broke out into a shy smile. God, she loved when he smiled. And then he slid between her and the counter, his back to a howling James. "You pissed at me for not helping more?"

"Yes."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know. If you don't want to add this business to your schedule, I understand. I was just being bitchy because of-"

"Brittany." He lowered his mouth-so close to hers-but then shifted at the last minute and whispered in her ear. "She doesn't smell half as good as you."

James swung around the counter, slapped Dylan on the back. "Well, I think you've saved our business. You take care of the prices on the website, and I'll work on the frosting."

"We should probably work on marketing, too." Nicole took a step back. She didn't even know what he meant by that comment-she smelled better than the girl he was screwing? Wow. Cool. "The newsletter isn't enough. How many parents actually read it? My dad probably just deletes it."

She felt Dylan's gaze on her. When he looked at her like this, like he was digging down through the layers, trying to get to the heart of her, it just electrified her.

"We should get the word out to the athletic department, let the teams know," he said. "The clubs, too. As soon as you figure out what you want to do with decorating, take some pictures and I'll send a new advertisement out to the different department heads."

"Sounds good." James brought dirty bowls and scrapers to the sink.

Even though she and Dylan didn't touch-anywhere-she could feel him-this band of heat and energy, this pulsing, pounding connection. No, she didn't want drama, but times like this she knew he felt it, too. Not that it mattered. That, plus the fact he smelled nice, amounted to one big ball of frustration.

He was waiting for a response, so she had to focus on the conversation. "Sounds good."

"Better get back downstairs."

And as she watched him leave, she realized she'd done it again.