Just thinking about it made him smile to himself. Today he was the guilty party. He had a good excuse, though. This week he had been back and forth between New York and Toronto and so he just hadn’t had the time to sit still long enough to review the file. But now he needed it in order to get ready for his meeting on Monday morning. Now how the heck was he going to prepare without that file?
He had no alternative. He had to call Serena. He felt a twinge of discomfort at having to disturb her on the weekend but he knew she would understand. Back at his office he flipped through the employee directory then dialed Serena’s home number. She picked up on the fifth ring.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded breathless as if she’d been running.
“Serena, this is Roman. I’m sorry to disturb you but I need the MacGyver file. Did you take it back from my office?”
“No, I didn’t,” she began then she paused. “I remember Theresa saying she wanted to add a couple of documents to the file, though. Maybe you could check her office?”
“Thanks a lot, Serena. And again, I apologize for disturbing you on a Saturday.”
“That’s okay,” she said then she gasped. “Oh, my God. Smoke!”
Roman heard the clatter of the phone as she dropped the receiver and then he heard what sounded like the banging of pots and pans. What in the blazes was going on? “Serena. Are you okay?” He was shouting into the phone but obviously she couldn’t hear him. All he could do was clutch the receiver and wait. Something was going on, he had no idea what, and he hated feeling helpless. But what else could he do? He was too far away to do anything.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, Serena came back to the phone. “I’m sorry, it was…I burned my cake,” she wailed into the phone.
“Your what?”
“My cake,” she yelled, her voice full of frustration. “I was trying to bake a cake for my grandmother and the whole thing burned. It’s all black and hard and it’s still smoking.”
Roman almost had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Serena Van Buren baking a cake? He was having a hard time picturing it. The high society girl in apron and oven mitts looking like the picture-perfect housewife from the magazines of the nineteen sixties. No way, not this spoiled rich girl.
“What am I going to do now? Today is my grandma’s birthday and I was planning to go over and take her a cake. Now I messed up everything.”
To Roman’s surprise Serena began to sob. It was like a dam of frustration had broken inside her. The sobbing got louder and was punctuated with hiccups.
Roman would not have believed it if he hadn’t been on the phone with the girl. Fiery Serena breaking down over a cake? She could easily order a hundred cakes. What was making her so emotional? “It’s not the end of the world,” he said, trying to soothe her. “It’s only a cake.”
“It’s not only a cake,” she retorted. “It’s my cake, the cake I was making for my grandmother. It was supposed to be special.” She sniffed and took a couple of deep breaths, apparently trying to calm herself. “I followed the recipe to the letter. I don’t know what went wrong. I didn’t exceed the time on the packaging. The cake was only in the oven like twenty minutes.”
“And what was the temperature setting on the oven?”
“The temperature what?”
“Okay. I think we’ve found the key to your problem.” Roman shook his head then chuckled. “You probably had the temperature setting way too high and that’s why you burned your cake.”
Serena heaved a sigh. “Why can’t I do anything right? What am I going to do now? I wish somebody had taught me about these things.”
For a moment there was silence and Roman could just imagine her biting her bottom lip as she seemed to do when she was deep in thought. She was obviously at a loss when it came to domestic matters and why shouldn’t she be? He was sure she hadn’t had to cook anything in her life. And now she had taken it up on herself to bake a cake for her grandmother by herself. He could only admire her for that.
On an impulse he said, “This cake of yours, how soon do you need to have it ready?”
“I told my grandma I wanted to come by around four o’clock this afternoon. I wanted to surprise her with something homemade but who am I kidding? I’ll never be able to do this by myself.”
“I may be able to help.”
“You? How?”
Roman chuckled into the phone. “I’m an excellent chef, if I may say so myself. I learned at the hands of the best.”
“Would you…show me?” Serena’s voice sounded hesitant but hopeful.
“It’s only a little after eleven right now so if you can hang in there while I locate this file and finish what I’m doing I’ll help you bake your cake. Do you have all the ingredients or do I need to pick up something on the way?”
“N…no, I have what I need. Do you know where I live?”
“Sure. I had to check your file to get your home number and I see you listed at one of the apartments just a few miles east of the office. I don’t mind swinging by. In fact, I’d love to get my hands full of flour again. It’s been a while.” Roman smiled to himself as he remembered the last time he’d done any cooking. It had been at the family Thanksgiving gathering three years earlier at his parents’ house. He’d been appointed chef for the day. Since then, though, he hadn’t had a chance to do any real cooking since he was always traveling and his housekeeper took care of his meals when he was at home.
But then he thought of something and his smile disappeared. Was he being presumptuous to invite himself over to the girl’s apartment? It was stupid of him to even make the offer.
“On second thought, maybe it’s not such a good idea,” he said, his tone apologetic. “I’m sure you want to do this on your own-”
“No way. I’m not going to let you back out of this. You made the offer and I’m taking you up on it. You’ll come over…won’t you?”