Author's Notes: This title is not to be confused with that bullshit montage GH showrunners used last year.
Robin glanced over at the clock. She had roughly an hour until Cruz's photographer showed up. Courtney had taken Morgan to school this morning so that she could get ready and head over to her shop before it opened. She had her hair wound around and pinned to her head, not a strand out of place. The bake case was spotless as was every other piece of furniture in the place. She had gone over the floor with a broom and a vacuum cleaner. Having run out of things to clean, she had gotten out the feather duster.
Robin pulled out a stool from the back and placed it in the middle of the shop nearest the door so she could see what the average person saw. The top shelf was dusty, but what could she do? The stool only added half a foot of height and she was only five foot two without it. Besides, she doubted it was noticeable to anyone but her. The figurines were perfectly centered and they added an old-fashioned, straight-out-of-grandma's-kitchen feel to the bakery. She was quite proud of them. No one had to know that she had purchased them for fifty cents at a garage sale. There were glass jars on the second shelf labeled sugar or flour and a little bear across the front of them in a white chef hat holding a plastic gray spatula. They had been a gift from her mother.
She had expertly separated her croissants from her most luscious desserts, forcing the customer to look through the entire bake case. It ran from one corner of the shop to the other, leaving only enough space to fit a set of double doors leading the restrooms. The shelves under the desserts were reserved for jams, jellies, coffee and tea tins, and all types of sauce from chocolate to apricot to caramel.
There were two white wooden spinning racks on either side of the front door full of wedding cake examples she had done herself over the last six months she had owned her business. At the counter, she kept a stack of business cards advertising her catering services along with the contact information for the best wedding planner in the state, Bobbie Spencer. Bobbie was an old family friend and Robin was thankful that she hadn't lost touch with her after the divorce. She hadn't chosen sides or asked to hear what the "real" story was. She had simply offered her services to Robin once the news of her business spread across the town like wildfire. Robin gave the bride a twenty-five percent discount off of her cakes if she chose Bobbie for their planner. It had been a very profitable idea from the get go. She wondered sometimes if her wedding cake sales were all that kept this little store open. God only knew when Skye Quartermaine was going to divorce her husband and get started on her thirteenth wedding.
Robin headed to the back of the kitchen when she noticed a spot on the inner glass of the front door. Well, that just wouldn't do. She was certain she had some Windex in the back and it wasn't as though she expected the photographer to show up any minute. He was a professional, but he wasn't anywhere near her level of neurotic. The double doors slamming behind her blocked out the sound of the front door being pushed open.
Patrick surveyed the little bakery with a mock expression spread across his face. He would never understand the need for knick knacks. They didn't brighten the room or make him want to head to his nearest Mom and Pop store to pick some up. They were juvenile and, in his opinion, tacky. Maybe he could politely point out their uselessness without screwing himself or Cruz over.
The shop had an aromatic smell to it as if the store owner had lit a few fruity-smelling candles prior to his arrival. The spread would be a sinch if this was all he had to work with. Thankfully, he had left his equipment outside, leaving his hands free. He wondered if the owner would notice if he moved some of the packages. He really shouldn't be pushing his luck, but he was still a bit sore at his brother for abandoning him and Cruz guilting him into a job that he surely wouldn't get rich because of.
"Hello?" Patrick's voice carried into the kitchen, apparently alerting the owner because he heard something that sounded like glass shattering just beyond a set of brown-and-black double doors. He stepped closer, the spotless sheets of glass build into the doors allowing him to peek inside. He just wanted to make sure that the owner didn't have a dog-face. He worked better when they were at least slightly attractive. A clever voice pointed out the mess he had made of his life when he had let things get physical with Emily Quartermaine. Then and there, no matter what the owner looked like, he wouldn't make the same mistakes he had made with Emily. He was a professional after all.
"I'll be right there!" A tiny voice answered him a few moments later. Patrick smiled, trademark dimples in place, and took a deep breath. She was probably ninety years old with one of those canes that had a blade at the end of them. If he said the wrong thing, she was more than capable of seriously injuring him. He considered calling Cruz and getting just a bit more information, but his pride wouldn't allow it. Old bag or not, he was here to do a job. God, he had to get his mind out of his pants. He had damn near gotten himself killed...probably. Who knew with Emily? Maybe she was waiting outside pouring gasoline all over his car.
Robin used the small broom and dustpan she kept under the three-part sink to sweep up the mess her unexpected guest had caused her to make. Her fine china was now missing one of its smaller plates, but hopefully none of her family would notice. No one else really paid attention to that, did they? She had hoped she'd be able to recognize something about her guest's voice, so that she wouldn't feel quite so surprised when she came face-to-face with him. Cruz had been so secretive when he'd mentioned this fabulous photographer that she didn't even know his name. It was frustrating! She, who planned for every sort of situation, was going into a business deal with a stranger. Gritting her teeth, she let the photographer know that she was, in fact, in the building. "I'll be right there!"
There was no reason for her to be rude. He had, after all, rearranged his schedule to pick up another man's dirty work. She knew he had been called in as a favor to Cruz, but she wasn't sure what had tipped her off. Would he refer to her as Ms. Scorpio? That'd be the best thing, she decided. No reason to get all informal about it. This was business, not pleasure. Maybe Courtney was right; maybe Logan had completely turned her off to the idea of a future with any member of the opposite sex. She hadn't been with a single person since she found him bed with that strange woman. Would it have made you feel better if you had known her name? A cruel voice teased. Lucky me, I have her face burned into my memory! Robin shot the voice down without even raising her blood pressure. Robin Scorpio: 1 Nagging Voice: 0.
"This is quite a-an impressive establishment." Patrick declared as she emerged from the kitchen. Her chef's hat covered her eyes, leaving him at a disadvantage. Could she see him? The owner reached behind her and flipped on the lights, adjusting the hat with her free hand.
"Thank y--" Robin's response died on her tongue.
"You!" Robin exclaimed in a strained whisper. Patrick gave her a confused look, his eyes still adjusting to the blazing light. "Get the hell out of my store!" Robin demanded without a moment's hesitation.
"Bakery owner...just opened...divorced..." Patrick murmured to himself. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" He shot back.
"Get out! I'll call the police! What do you want? Never mind, get out! I'm dialing!" Robin assured him, searching her pocket-less outfit for her cell phone.
This could not be happening! Patrick thought wistfully. He hadn't had enough sleep. He was hallucinating. Surely, this was just some sort of joke that his soon-to-be-ex-best-friend and his least favorite person in entire the world were playing on him. The police? Who would she call? Mac? That was a possibility. That old bastard wouldn't think twice about it either, not if it came from Robin that he had trespassed--he had been invited!
Robin couldn't stop her jaw from dropping. She was confused. Cruz knew of their history. Why would he set her up this way? She must have underestimated his loyalty to Logan. This wasn't fair. She had walked away without a single regret. She had done a complete one-eighty! Who was this man to come into her life and wreck it? No, she had worked far too long, way too hard to step down now! She was calling Cruz this second...just as soon as she located her cell phone.
"Allow me." Patrick offered in a sickeningly sweet voice, retrieving his phone from his back pocket. "I'll find out what's going on since you're just going to stand there and stare at me." He mocked, putting the phone to his ear.
"Thank you for calling the Port Charles Insider. This is Becca, how can I direct your call?"
"Staring at you? Please. Get over yourself." Robin rolled her eyes, planting her hands on her hips. Patrick scrunched up at his face at her. Thank God he wasn't immature enough to--was she sticking out her tongue at him?
"Hey Becca, it's Patrick. Can you transfer me to Cruz?" Patrick had always liked Becca. If Cruz hadn't stepped in and "defended" her honor, Patrick wouldn't have minded spending time with her outside of the office.
"Oh hi Patrick." Becca's normal speaking voice suddenly sped up. "You know I think you just missed him. Yeah, I just looked back two seconds ago and he's not here. He must have snuck out on me. Can I take a message? I'll be glad to tell him you called."
"No, Becca, you don't seem to understand." Patrick said through clenched teeth. "It's life or death."
"You just try it." Robin dared him.
"Patrick I wish I could help you but Cruz just isn't here." Becca's voice was pleading now, begging him just to hang up the phone.
"You're lying." Patrick accused sharply.
"A woman is lying to you? What'd you do, ask her how you rate in bed?" Robin teased.
"I swear I'm not. Why would I lie to you Patrick?"
"You value your job." Patrick said.
"Patrick I can't help you. You'll have to try to catch him some other way."
"Give me the damn phone. Cruz isn't going to answer." Robin insisted, trying to snatch the phone without having to touch him.
"How would you know? Of course! You're a part of this!" Patrick shouted, his anger directed at his present company.
"Be serious! I wouldn't knowingly do this to myself." Robin sneered.
"Patrick? I'm going to hang up now..."
"No...no...Becca...BECCA!"
"Nice job, Prince Dork."
"You shut up!" Patrick warned, wagging a finger at her as he dialed in the second number he had for Cruz. He was not above calling the man's immediate family if it came to that.
"By now he knows that we know. You're just wasting your time." Robin assured him.
"This is Cruz. I'm not here. You know what to do."
"Cruz, you...son...of...a...bitch." Patrick slammed the phone shut and glared at Robin.
"You can exit the way you entered...through that door." Robin instructed when he made no move toward the door.
"I'm not going anywhere." Patrick countered, taking a step forward. Robin's feet were rooted in their spot. She wasn't going to back down.
"I'm getting a migraine." Robin complained, softly massaging her forehead.
"Getting old Scorpio?" Patrick snarled.
"You're older than I am!" Robin retorted, trying to think of a way to get him out of here without involving her uncle. They were a bunch of gossips--her family--and, by tomorrow morning, they'd have it in their minds that she and Patrick were...were an item! She made a face at that last gruesome thought.
"This isn't getting us anywhere!" Patrick slammed his hands against the wooden side of the bake case.
"Watch it, you ape! You should be used to going nowhere." Robin screamed at him.
"And just what do you mean by that?" Patrick wanted to know.
"You are a Drake, aren't you? Running around in circles, never accomplishing anything, is what you do best!" Robin clarified.
Patrick leapt toward her, but she was expecting that reaction, and, as a result, all he ended up doing was tripping over her chef's hat. She had ripped it off when he was on the phone with Cruz's assistant.
"What are you going to do? Beat me up? Is that what a real man would do?" Robin taunted him.
"Then I'd have to touch you and, from what Logan has told me--well, it's less than pleasant experience." Patrick lied, watching her eyes flash.
"I'm going to claw your eyes out!" She assured him, pouncing on him. Patrick hadn't known such a little woman could pack such a strong punch. She had him on his back before he even knew what was happening.
"Get...off of me!" Patrick croaked, grabbing each of her fists with one large hand while the other rolled her over. The phone on the wall rang, breaking the deadlock. They both lunged for it, convinced salvation was on the other end.
"Sweet Indulgence. How...how may I help you?" Robin said into the phone.
"Robin? Is that you?" Elizabeth's voice came across the line. "You sound different..."
"Just...chasing a stray." Robin told her.
Patrick narrowed his eyes at her as he got to his feet and dusted off his pants.
"Ok...I was just calling to see how the photo shoot was going. You said it was a big deal and I wanted to wish you luck."
"I think I'm going to need more than luck. It seems...oh it's too ridiculous to tell you over the phone. You want to meet for drinks? It's already--" Robin glanced over at the clock, "Eight."
"A bit of a lush aren't you?" Patrick whistled at her.
"Sure. Jake's in two hours?"
"Yeah." Robin agreed, hanging up. "Now, listen here Drake," She began, pointing a finger in Patrick's general direction.
"Enough. We're supposed to be professionals." Patrick reminded her.
"Cut it out. I don't buy this act of yours. The most mature thing you've probably ever done is remember to use a condom during sex." Robin huffed, hanging up the phone.
"Already thinking about getting me into bed, Scorpio?" Patrick baited.
"Oh my God, get out of my store." She begged, dropping to the floor. Sitting cross-legged, she looked like a school-age child. She was so tiny.
"I have a job to do. You wanted the best? Well, you're getting it." Patrick guaranteed, rubbing his right eye when he noticed that it had started ticking.
"Do we know where Cruz is?" Robin inquired.
"Hiding." Patrick answered.
Robin reached for Patrick's cell phone.
"Hey! Hey!" Patrick argued.
"Hush." Robin ordered, dialing a number that had been drilled into her mind.
Two beats later, a male voice sounded over the phone. "McGuire."
"Mark, this is Robin Scorpio. Do you remember me? We met at my mother's last campaign?" Robin prayed he remembered who she was.
"Oh yeah. Hey, Robin." She could hear him smiling over the line.
"Can you do me an itsy, bitsy favor?" Robin wondered.
"For Anna's daughter? Anything." McGuire drawled.
"I need help tracking down a friend." Robin explained. "His name is Cruz Rodriguez."
"Pulling up the information now, Miss Scorpio." McGuire assured her.
"Do you need anymore information?" Robin wanted to know.
"I've got an address."
Patrick handed Robin a napkin and the pen from his front breast pocket. Robin scribbled the address down. "McGuire, you're a lifesaver." He said something about it "being a pleasure" Robin thought, but she hung up before she could be sure.
"He's not going to answer the door for either of us." Patrick pointed out.
"He's not at home. His cell phone has a GPS chip in it." Robin filled him in.
"How the hell did you know that?" Patrick demanded.
"It's common knowledge. A big-shot like Cruz would want a phone with all the features." Robin replied impatiently.
"Let me see the napkin." Patrick ordered.
"In a little while. I need a drink. You're coming with me." Robin explained, leading him out of the shop so that she could lock up.