Hollywood Taxes: A Tycoon in TV Land

Chapter 30: Max's Cake Business

After leaving the FBI field office, Ron originally planned to drive over to Toretto's place, maybe chat with Hector or some of the other skilled mechanics who were close to Toretto. He wanted to talk shop—modded engines, upgrades, new cars.

But somehow, without even realizing it, he ended up standing in front of a small Korean-run diner—owned by a hobbit-sized Korean man, to be precise—and by then, he realized he was starving.

Still, Ron lingered outside for a few laps around the block, only stepping in after confirming Caroline wasn't inside. Sure enough, the only one working the floor was Max—the gorgeous, busty, black-haired hostess—currently being harassed by a group of girls dressed like they just stepped out of a rodeo-themed Instagram shoot.

Well, maybe "harassed" was a bit strong. Let's just say they were a little too entitled.

"I'll take the veggie platter, but swap the beets for kale. And no broccoli—just add more kale. I want the vegetables steamed, and I want lemon juice instead of the salad dressing. Why aren't you writing this down?"

Before Max could even respond, Ron cut in, voice laced with mockery:

"You eat that much kale, are you training to be a mule? Because I don't see you pulling the kind of weight a mule does. I'd suggest you be a little nicer—unless you want that Indian guy over there to tell you you'll be reincarnated as a mule in your next life, grinding grain and being called a mutt by everyone."

Brutal. Even for Ron, that was harsh. But hey—he was just a customer. He could say whatever he wanted. And judging by his expensive, military-issue getup, the "little fairies from the ranch" quickly decided this was someone best left unprovoked.

Americans, for all their bluster, tended to be pragmatic—especially when it came to avoiding people who looked expensive and dangerous.

"Ron~!" Max exclaimed in surprise when she saw him. But her joy quickly cooled as she put on a mask of indifference. "When I woke up this morning and saw you were gone—and a wad of cash on the nightstand—I honestly thought I'd made some incredible, half-drunk business deal. What are you doing back here, Mr. High-End Customer? You here to pay for round two?"

Ron heard the hurt buried under the sarcasm. He quickly raised both hands in a theatrical gesture of surrender.

"Max, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ghosted like that. But you know how my job is—I disappear for a few days sometimes. That's just how it is. How have you been? Still holding down the fort solo here? Is your adorable little Asian boss really so stingy he can't hire another pair of hands?"

Sometimes, when a woman gives you grief, all she wants is an explanation. Doesn't matter if it's half-baked or ridiculous. And women in love? They don't care about logic—that's how guys like Ron, the charming bastards, get away with so much.

"I'm fine," Max huffed. "That adorable boss of mine did hire someone. A Barbie doll who can't do anything but stand there and look confused. And now? She's living in my house. Bonus—she brought a horse with her. So what are you having?"

Ron's heart skipped. So Caroline had finally relaxed enough to bring Soba back. That horse had been her beloved companion since the day they met—it was her favorite ride.

And as far as Ron was concerned, his favorite rides were Max and Caroline.

Ron found a seat and sat down.

"Anything's fine, as long as you can promise me my food hasn't been touched by that chef who looks like he hasn't bathed in a week."

Max shrugged. "Then I'd recommend the cheese pie. Straight out of the box and into the microwave. I guarantee it's untouched and totally sanitary."

Just as she was about to walk away, Ron called her back and began reading—clearly and deliberately—the chalkboard behind the counter:

"And I'll also have one of the 'World's Sweetest Max's Homemade Cakes.' I'll take vanilla."

Max groaned and put a hand to her forehead. "Ugh. I forgot to erase that."

"Why erase it?" Ron said, trying to be encouraging. "I think it's great. I mean for your business—it gets your name out there. It's a good start."

"You sound exactly like that blonde Barbie doll," Max said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm starting to wonder if you two knew each other before—you're saying the exact same things."

"Maybe it's just a shared perspective from a business school background," Ron deflected, quickly averting his gaze from Max's generous cleavage. "I went to Harvard Business School."

"Don't tell me you're about to say I have a fear of success too," Max muttered as she returned five minutes later with his cheese pie. "Do you know what happened to the last blonde Barbie who said that to me?"

"What?"

"She said it right before she slipped into a pile of horse crap. Courtesy of her prized championship stallion. And just my luck, the water at my place's out until 3 p.m. today."

"Ha!" Ron burst out laughing, picturing Caroline falling face-first into manure. "Wait—don't tell me that's why she's staying home today? Waiting for the water to come back so she can shower?"

"Nope," Max said, rolling her eyes. "She's out chasing some back-alley bakery that nobody's ever heard of, trying to convince them to stock my little cakes. Can you believe that? Has she lost her mind?"

After tending to a few other customers, Max finally had a moment to herself and came back with Ron's order.

"I don't think she's crazy," Ron said after taking a bite of the cheese pie—which, thankfully, didn't taste suspicious. "Listen to me, Max. You're not going to be a waitress in a hole-in-the-wall diner your whole life, right?"

"Maybe this is a real chance. A chance to step out of this life. Your little cakes are actually good. Like, five-star-hotel-high-tea good."

"That pampered princess I brought home said the same thing," Max muttered, visibly wavering.

Ron seized the moment.

"Exactly! You see? Everyone thinks you've got something special. Why not take a chance? If you're willing, I'd be honored to be an angel investor in your business. Who knows, maybe I'll make a fortune off your cakes someday."

"As if. I don't even believe in myself," Max said, still unsure.

"Max," Ron said, locking eyes with her, his tone serious now, "you need to believe in my instincts, then. Every investment I've made has paid off. Ever heard of Bubba Gump Shrimp? I'm one of their shareholders—one of the major ones. And I just bought into Tesla."

He leaned forward with a gleam in his eye.

"Hey, I just had a brilliant idea—what if I placed your first big order myself? How about getting your cakes into Tesla's lunch menu? I'm a shareholder—I could absolutely pitch it."

Ron's eyes didn't waver from hers.

Elon Musk might be a shameless player just like him—infamous in the investment world for hype and bravado—but he was also a decent boss. His companies did offer afternoon treats in the break room.

If Ron could land Max that order, it just might be the launchpad she needed.