The Fontaines of Hollywood series: The Sweet Taste of Sin

In my opinion, there's no greater pleasure in the world than the buttery, slightly nutty flavor of a classic caramel sauce. The secret is, of course, to add a pinch of salt - just enough to stimulate the taste buds but not so much that you overpower the sauce's warm, buttery sweetness. For such a simple recipe, even the smallest change can make a huge difference - using brown sugar instead of white, for example - and after hours of experimenting, I think I've gotten my version just right. I've finally created a mouthwatering, toe-curling, devilishly perfect caramel sauce.

Who needs sex when the world holds pleasures like this?

I'm still licking bits of it off my spoon when I hear the jingle of the bell hanging on my bakery's front door.

"I'm coming!" I call around my mouthful of caramel. I toss my spoon aside and wipe my hands on my apron as I jog out of the kitchen.

Jack Teegan, my best friend, is standing at the counter with a large to-go bag in his hand. His eyes are roaming over the refrigerated cases of sweets on display. Ashlyn's Bakeshop sells a little bit of everything - tarts, éclairs, sweet buns, and a number of classic French desserts that no one here in Los Angeles seems to know how to pronounce - but I do the bulk of my business in specialty cakes, sculpted creations so wild that some of them hardly resemble cake at all.

Jack is looking at one of my latest creations in the case right now, a dummy cake sculpted to look like a man's chest - complete with bulging pecs and washboard abs.

"Classy, Ashlyn," he says with a laugh.

"It's the latest trend in bachelorette party cakes," I reply, propping my elbows on the counter.

"What happened to penis cakes?"

I grin. "I can't exactly put one of those in the front case." Sometimes I can't believe my business has come to this - carving men's body parts out of cake. But I'll take whatever work I can get.

Jack grins. "If you ever need a model..."

"Got it, perv. What did you bring me for dinner?"

He holds up the bag so I can see the GoGo's Drive-In logo on the side. "Chili cheese fries, extra cheese."

I squeal and grab the bag. "You're the best."

I practically skip over to the small table in the corner of the shop. On most days, this table is where I hold cake tastings. But it's Monday, the one day a week my shop is closed, so Jack and I decided to meet up for dinner. I pull my box of fries out of the bag and push the rest of the food back towards Jack.

"They're probably soggy," he warns me as he unwraps his burger.

"They're best when they're soggy," I reply. I shove a handful of fries in my mouth and close my eyes in ecstasy. "God, I love you. In a platonic way, of course." I grab a second handful before the first is even down my throat. "And I've got a surprise for you for dessert. I just perfected my caramel recipe."

"I've got a surprise for you, too. A big one."

My fist of fries freezes halfway to my mouth.

"You mean..." I lean across the table, my eyes searching his. "Ohmygod, did you ask Evan? You asked Evan, didn't you?"

Jack opens his mouth to respond, but I'm still trying to process this monumental news.

"You bastard! Why didn't you tell me last night was the night? I would have made you a special engagement dessert or something! Tell me everything. How did you do it? What did he say? I wasn't going to bring this up yet, but I've been working on designs for the cake - "

Jack catches my arm as I'm rising out of my chair.

"Stop. Breathe," he orders. "I haven't asked Evan anything yet."

"Oh." I sink back down in my seat. Jack's been thinking about popping the question to his partner for a while now, and ever since he's told me, I've spent my free time dreaming up designs for their cake. Wedding cakes are my favorite - I live for sugar paste roses, for royal icing, for cornelli lace - and the thought of making one for my best friend is even more appealing.

But apparently I've gotten ahead of myself. Or maybe all of those naked man-chest cakes have made me crazy.

"You still get to make a cake, though," Jack says. "And if you play your cards right, you might get to make a bigger, more important cake very soon."

I lean forward, intrigued. "Okay, spill it."

"You actually have my predecessor to thank for this."

I frown. "Who?"

"Cory Westers. You know - Brockman's former assistant?"

Jack recently wrangled his way into the coveted position of personal assistant to Matthias Brockman, one of the higher-ups at Fairlake Films. For someone like Jack, who's spent his entire life dreaming of working in Hollywood, it's the opportunity of a lifetime. A few years ago, it would have been exactly the sort of job I thought I wanted, too - but a lot has changed since then.

"I don't understand," I say. "Where does the cake come in?"

"Well, Cory dropped the ball on a lot of shit there at the end, including some details for several upcoming events. I spent most of the day dealing with the mess." He grins at me. "But that's not the important part. The important part is that I convinced Brockman we should do something extra special for the party on Thursday. And that includes getting an awesome themed cake for the occasion."

"A cake?"

"For three hundred people. The more elaborate, the better."

I shove more fries into my mouth as I let that sink in. "This Thursday?"

"Now, I know it's not a lot of notice," Jack says, "but I think - "

"Are you kidding? You're fucking amazing!" I leap up and practically throw myself at him. Who cares if I only have three days? Who needs sleep when I have an opportunity like this? If I can make a name for my bakery among the bigwigs in Hollywood... "What kind of party is it?"

"Only the after-party for the biggest premiere of the year."

My blood goes cold and I abruptly release him. "Wait - what?"

"And I haven't even told you the best part," Jack continues, apparently too excited to notice my reaction. "Remember how I said this might snag you an even bigger cake? Well, it just so happens that the two stars of this movie recently announced their engagement. So if your cake this Thursday is a hit, then maybe - "

"Wait, which movie is it?" I demand, unable to process anything else. Please, don't let it be what I think it is.

Jack's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "God, Ash. What - "

"Which movie?"

I know he can't possibly understand why I'm suddenly so upset, but before this conversation goes any further, I need to know. I have to be certain there's absolutely no chance of seeing him. The man I've spent the last three years trying to forget.

Three long, sexless years.

Jack is looking at me like I've suddenly gone crazy. And maybe I have. But I have a very bad feeling in my gut.

He shakes his head. "I'm almost afraid to tell you now. But trust me - anyone else in this city would be dying for this chance."

"I'm sorry," I say, trying to shake off my fear. Trying to sound eager. "Tell me. I'm dying for it. I promise."

A little bit of the excitement creeps back into his face. In spite of my reaction, he still looks like he's bursting to tell me.

"I know you've been avoiding all the big movie news," he says, "but even you have to have heard of this one. It's - "

"Cataclysm: Earth," I whisper under my breath at the same time he announces the same name out loud.

Shit. The bottom drops out of my stomach as he confirms my worst fears.

Cataclysm: Earth has generated a huge amount of buzz. In part because of its enormous budget - the largest in Hollywood history, if we're to believe the rumors - and in part because the production of this futuristic disaster epic has involved several members of the notorious Fontaine family, the freaking royal family of the film industry. The Fontaines have cracked the ultimate key to Hollywood success, balancing the ability to find infamy in the tabloids with the talent to craft one cinematic masterpiece after another. Charles and Giovanna Fontaine have been featured on magazine covers for decades - since they first hit the red carpet with their high-profile romance - and now their four grown sons are making their own headlines. Hardly a week goes by without one of them - Dante, Luca, Raphael, or Orlando - dominating the celebrity news media.

And I want absolutely nothing to do with them. Well, at least one of them.