2 Broke Girls x 1 Rich Man [TV series 2 Broke Girls ff]

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Max flopped onto the couch the second they got home, dramatically throwing her arm over her eyes like a fainting Victorian widow. "Caroline, I have been through trauma today. I need at least twelve hours of recovery time."

Caroline, ever persistent, was already flipping open a notebook at the kitchen counter. "Max, come on. I want to help with the cupcakes."

Max peeked out from under her arm. "Yeah, you want to, but I need you to want something else. Like sleeping. Or not making my life harder."

Caroline ignored her and tapped her pen against the notebook. "Look, I know you always handle the baking, but we have a thousand cupcakes to deliver in a few days, and if I can at least learn the basics, I can help speed things up."

Max sighed. "Caroline. You have many talents. Being rich. Wearing pastels. Pronouncing 'croissant' like you swallowed a French waiter. But baking? That's—" She sat up and gestured at herself. "—a Max Black zone."

Caroline crossed her arms. "Oh, really? Because I seem to remember making a perfectly edible batch of cupcakes once."

Max scoffed. "No, you made a batch of paperweights that looked like cupcakes."

Caroline huffed. "You're exaggerating."

Max raised an eyebrow and pulled out her phone. After a few swipes, she held up a picture of one of Caroline's infamous "cupcakes"—a rock-hard, burnt-bottomed hockey puck with a single, sad swirl of frosting on top.

Caroline squinted. "Okay, so maybe they were a little dense."

Max deadpanned. "NASA called. They want them for spaceship insulation."

Caroline groaned and grabbed Max's arm, yanking her off the couch. "Come on. Just teach me already!"

Max let out a long, suffering sigh. "Fine! But if you set off the smoke alarm again, you're explaining it to the fire department this time."

[Kitchen]

Caroline tied her apron with a determined nod as Max begrudgingly dragged herself to the kitchen, rubbing her temples like a mother about to teach her toddler how to drive a race car.

"Alright," Max said, slapping a mixing bowl onto the counter. "First lesson: measuring. And I swear, Caroline, if you start eyeballing things like you do with your 'a dash of this, a splash of that' approach to cocktails, we're going to have another batch of cement pucks."

Caroline scoffed. "Max, please. I can measure."

Max folded her arms. "Oh, yeah? Then tell me how many cups are in a quart."

Caroline opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then frowned. "…I feel like this is a trick question."

Max smirked. "It's not. It's basic math."

Caroline waved her off. "Math is for people without personal shoppers."

Max groaned. "Oh, this is gonna be a long night."

She reached for the flour, but Caroline beat her to it, proudly scooping a heaping cup and dumping it into the bowl.

Max blinked. "Okay, I'm seeing about three problems already."

Caroline frowned. "What? It's flour. I put it in the bowl. It's fine."

Max sighed, rubbing her face. "Caroline, rule number one: baking is not 'fine.' Baking is science. You measure wrong, and suddenly, we have a batch of dough that either collapses or rises like it's trying to escape the oven."

Caroline huffed. "It's just a little extra flour."

Max grabbed the cup from her and leveled off the excess with a butter knife. "No, it's a lot extra. We are not making spackle."

Caroline rolled her eyes but took mental notes. "Okay, okay. Level it off. Got it."

Max passed her the sugar. "Next, we do the same thing with—"

Before she could finish, Caroline enthusiastically dumped an entire scoop into the bowl, sending a fine dusting of sugar into the air.

Max stepped back, coughing. "Caroline, are we making cupcakes, or are you trying to fumigate the apartment?"

Caroline winced. "Oops. Too much?"

Max gave her a flat look. "Unless you want the cupcakes to double as hummingbird feeders, yes."

Caroline bit her lip. "Right. Precision. Got it."

They moved on to cracking eggs. Caroline, ever confident, grabbed one and smacked it against the edge of the bowl.

And watched as half the shell fell in with it.

Max sighed, fishing out the shell pieces. "Awesome. Love a little crunch in my cupcakes."

Caroline groaned. "Why is this so hard?!"

Max leaned on the counter, smirking. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because baking is a highly skilled craft that takes years of practice, not something you can just manifest into existence with positive thinking and an expensive handbag?"

Caroline crossed her arms. "Alright, Chef Sarcasm, since you're the expert, show me how it's done."

Max grabbed an egg, gave it a single confident tap against the counter (not the bowl), and split it open effortlessly, the yolk slipping into the mixture without a single shell fragment in sight.

Caroline's jaw dropped. "Oh, come on. That was a trick."

Max grinned. "Nope. Just experience. Now, you try."

Caroline took a deep breath, grabbed another egg, and mimicked Max's movement.

Tap.

Crack.

Splat.

The egg slid off her fingers and onto the floor.

Silence.

Max took a long sip of her coffee. "You know, I suddenly understand why your dad paid people to do everything for you."

Caroline groaned, grabbing a paper towel. "I swear, I'm not usually this incompetent."

Max smirked. "Sure. And I'm a morning person."

By the time they finally got everything measured and mixed properly, Caroline looked both exhausted and oddly triumphant. The batter was smooth, the right consistency, and—most importantly—contained zero foreign objects.

Max wiped her hands. "Alright, Blondie. Now comes the easy part. We pour it into the liners."

Caroline brightened. "Oh! I can do that."

Max handed her the scoop. "Just remember: only fill them two-thirds full. Not all the way to the top."

Caroline nodded enthusiastically. "Got it."

Max watched for precisely three seconds before Caroline overfilled the first cup.

Max squinted. "Caroline."

Caroline froze mid-pour. "What?"

Max pointed. "That's not two-thirds. That's 'prepare for liftoff.'"

Caroline glanced down at the overflowing batter and winced. "Okay, I see my mistake."

Max handed her a spoon. "Fix it."

Caroline carefully scooped out the excess.

By the time they had all the cups filled (with only two minor spills), Caroline stepped back, beaming. "We did it!"

Max smirked. "Correction: I did it while you tried to burn down the kitchen."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Let's just bake them."

Max slid the tray into the oven and set the timer. "Alright. Now we wait."

Caroline clapped her hands. "Ooooh, this is exciting! I feel like a real baker."

Max snorted. "Yeah, we'll see if you still feel that way when we frost these things."

Caroline waved her off. "Frosting is easy."

Max just grinned. "Oh, honey."

...

Twenty minutes later, the kitchen smelled like vanilla, sugar, and something suspiciously close to victory. Max pulled the cupcakes out of the oven and placed them on the cooling rack, nodding approvingly. "Well, look at that. They actually look edible."

Caroline leaned in with wide eyes. "Oh my God. I helped make these." She clapped her hands. "Max, I might actually be good at this!"

Max raised an eyebrow. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. You measured things under strict supervision and managed to crack eggs without triggering an apartment-wide disaster." She patted Caroline's shoulder. "But baby steps. You didn't ruin them, and that's a win."

Caroline puffed out her chest. "So, what's next?"

Max smirked and grabbed a massive bowl of buttercream frosting from the fridge. "Now comes the real test."

Caroline frowned. "Max, it's frosting. You just… spread it on."

Max let out a long, slow, evil laugh. "Oh, sweet summer child."

Caroline crossed her arms. "You're being dramatic."

Max grabbed a piping bag and started filling it with the smooth, fluffy buttercream. "Caroline, frosting isn't just about 'spreading it on.' It's about finesse. Precision. The right pressure." She picked up a perfectly cooled cupcake, held the piping bag confidently, and with a few smooth motions, swirled a perfect peak of frosting on top. It was bakery-level perfection.

She placed it down and dusted her hands. "Boom. Art."

Caroline blinked. "Okay, that was kind of impressive."

Max handed her the piping bag. "Your turn."

Caroline took it with all the confidence of a woman who had never used a piping bag in her life. "Easy."

She squeezed.

Nothing came out.

She squeezed harder.

A single, sad glob of frosting plopped onto the cupcake like it had given up on life.

Max bit her lip. "Okay. Well. That's… something."

Caroline frowned. "Why isn't it swirling?"

Max sighed. "Because you're treating it like toothpaste. You gotta finesse it. Watch the wrist." She made a swirling motion in the air.

Caroline huffed. "Fine. I'll try again."

She grabbed another cupcake, adjusted her grip, and squeezed more confidently.

This time, the frosting did come out.

All at once.

Caroline's eyes widened as the frosting erupted from the piping bag in an uncontrollable surge, completely burying the cupcake in a mountain of buttercream. It oozed over the edges, pooling onto the counter in a sticky, sugary mess.

Max stared at the disaster, her lips twitching as she fought back a laugh. "Well," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "that's one way to do it. Very… explosive."

Caroline groaned, dropping the piping bag onto the counter. "Max, this is not funny! Why is it so hard to control?"

Max leaned against the counter, her smirk widening. "Oh, I don't know, Caroline. Maybe because you're treating it like it's your first time and you're way too excited?"

Caroline blinked, confused. "What are you even talking about?"

Max raised an eyebrow, her grin turning wicked. "You know. First time. All that pressure, no finesse, and then... Bam!... everything just… comes out at once."

It took a second for the implication to sink in. When it did, Caroline's face turned bright red. "MAX! That is not what's happening here!"

Max shrugged, clearly enjoying herself. "Hey, I'm just saying. You're acting like a virgin on prom night. You gotta relax. Take your time. Don't just go squeezing like your life depends on it."

Caroline groaned, covering her face as Max cackled like a gremlin who had just discovered fire. "Max," she whined. "Can you stop making everything sound like an inappropriate joke for two minutes?"

Max smirked, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. "Caroline, I have known you for years. Have I ever done that?"

Caroline sighed. "No."

Max beamed. "Exactly. Now, back to your tragic attempt at frosting." She picked up the piping bag and gave it a little shake. "The trick is pressure control, babe. You can't just go all in without thinking..."

Caroline cut her off. "Don't you dare make another metaphor."

Max pouted. "You're no fun."

Caroline grabbed another cupcake, inhaled deeply, and tried again. She gently squeezed the piping bag, carefully applying light pressure, and…

It actually worked.

A somewhat decent swirl of frosting formed on top of the cupcake. Not as perfect as Max's, but definitely not a crime against baking.

Caroline gasped. "I DID IT!"

Max blinked. "Okay, not bad. Not great, but not bad."

Caroline beamed. "It's an improvement!"

Max nodded. "Yeah, at least it doesn't look like a frosting landslide this time."

Caroline wiped a bit of frosting off her fingers and smirked. "Well, now that I have the technique, I bet I can do it better than you."

Max snorted. "Oh, Blondie. That's adorable." She grabbed another cupcake and effortlessly piped a swirl that belonged in a Martha Stewart magazine. "Wanna bet?"

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "Oh, it's on."

It started as a friendly competition.

It ended in chaos.

Caroline and Max went cupcake for cupcake, frosting each one with increasingly dramatic flair, determined to outdo the other.

Caroline: "Boom! Look at that swirl! Elegant. Sophisticated."

Max: "Cute. But this? This is Michelin-star artistry."

Caroline: "That's just showing off."

Max: "You say that like it's a bad thing."

But as the competition intensified, things took a turn.

Caroline, in her frosting-fueled determination, applied too much pressure again. The piping bag exploded.

SPLAT.

A huge glob of buttercream shot out and hit Max directly in the face.

Silence.

Max slowly wiped the frosting off her cheek. She stared at Caroline with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Caroline gulped. "Max."

Max licked a bit of frosting off her lips. "Caroline."

Caroline took a step back. "Let's be adults about this."

Max picked up a handful of frosting.

Caroline yelped. "MAX, WAIT...!!"

Too late.

Max smeared the frosting all over Caroline's face.

Caroline screamed.

And just like that, the Great Frosting War began.

Buttercream flew across the kitchen. Cupcakes became casualties. At one point, Max used a spatula like a catapult, launching a glob of frosting straight at Caroline's hair.

Caroline retaliated by grabbing a piping bag with both hands and squeezing it like a fire hose.

Max barely dodged in time. "YOU MANIAC!"

Caroline cackled. "I AM A FROSTING GODDESS!"

They were covered in frosting. The counter was a crime scene. Even the oven had buttercream battle scars.

Max stood at one end, breathing hard, her hair streaked with vanilla frosting like some kind of war paint and she even got some on her boobs and around the corner of her lips. Caroline, at the other end, was an absolute disaster. Her pastel sweater was now tie-dyed with buttercream, and her blonde hair had a thick dollop of frosting plastered to the side like an ill-conceived hair mask.

For a moment, all was silent except for the slow, sticky plop of frosting dripping from the ceiling.

Caroline wiped her face with a shaky hand, staring at the destruction around them. "Max."

Max, who was still holding an empty piping bag like a spent weapon, raised an eyebrow. "Caroline."

Caroline swallowed. "What… have we done?"

Max glanced around, surveying the carnage with a proud little smirk. "Oh, I don't know, Blondie. I'd say we took the term 'baking disaster' to a whole new level."

Caroline groaned, pulling at a section of her hair, which was now fused together with a thick glob of icing. "Ugh. My hair is ruined. It's so sticky."

Max's smirk widened.

Caroline noticed. Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

Max wiped a bit of frosting off her cheek with her finger and licked it off with a slow, exaggerated motion. Then she tilted her head, looking at Caroline's icing-drenched face, and grinned.

"Oh, nothing," Max said, voice dripping with mock innocence. "I'm just saying… I've seen some sticky situations before, but this one? This one takes the cake."

Caroline groaned. "Don't."

Max licked another bit of frosting off her finger. "I mean, the sheer volume... impressive. The consistency? Thick and… persistent."

Caroline clenched her jaw. "Max."

Max waved a hand at Caroline's face. "And that glazed look? Very familiar."

Caroline let out a strangled noise. "MAX, STOP."

Max ignored her, stepping forward with a wicked grin. "Just saying, sweetheart, if I had a dollar for every time I heard a girl complain about how crusty it gets after a while..."

Caroline screamed and hurled a cupcake at Max's head.

Max ducked just in time, cackling like a gremlin as the cupcake smacked against the fridge and slid down in slow, tragic defeat.

Caroline wiped at her face furiously, still gagging. "You are a literal menace to society."

Max waggled her eyebrows. "And yet, here you are. Covered. Drenched. Absolutely dripping in..."

Caroline grabbed the nearest thing, a frosting-coated whisk, and pointed it at Max like a weapon. "I swear to God, if you finish that sentence, I will end you."

Max held up her hands, laughing. "Okay, okay! I'll behave."

A beat of silence.

Then Max glanced down at the sticky mess on her own hands, her smirk returning.

"…But seriously, do you need a towel or a cigarette?"

Caroline let out a shriek and lunged. Max dodged, laughing, as Caroline chased her around the kitchen, wielding the whisk like a woman possessed.

Their cupcakes? Ruined. Their kitchen? A disaster zone.

But their war? Worth it.

....

It took three whole days of trial, error, and emotional damage, but Caroline finally learned how to bake cupcakes.

Not perfectly.

Not efficiently.

But passably.

She could mix batter without looking like she started a flour war. She could measure ingredients without eyeballing it like some kind of chaotic potion-maker. And most importantly? She could crack an egg without shell fragments making a surprise guest appearance.

Progress.

Max, sitting on the counter like the gremlin she was, popped a stolen M&M into her mouth and watched as Caroline carefully scooped the batter into a tray.

"Wow," Max drawled. "Look at you, Blondie. Measuring. Pouring. Not burning the kitchen down. It's almost like you're a real baker."

Caroline wiped her forehead dramatically. "Max, I have suffered."

Max smirked. "Yeah, yeah. But you survived. And now, you're slightly less useless."

Caroline scoffed. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Max raised her coffee cup in a mock toast. "To character development."

Caroline rolled her eyes, but she was beaming.

Then Max clapped her hands. "Alright, training arc's over. You're officially allowed to bake, but frosting?" She shook her head. "Absolutely not. You're still a danger to society."

Caroline groaned. "Max, it was one frosting incident."

Max gave her a flat look. "Caroline, you managed to create a buttercream tsunami. You drowned that poor cupcake."

Caroline huffed. "Fine. You handle frosting. But I'm still calling that a creative flourish."

Max snorted. "Sure. Flourish. Massacre. Tomato, tomahto."

[One Night Before Delivery] [Rented Kitchen]

The rented kitchen was a war zone.

Flour covered the counters. Chocolate smears lined Max's apron. Caroline had three oven burns and zero sanity left.

And they were running on fumes. Or, more specifically... Max's 'Elf Juice.'

"Drink." Max shoved a tiny bottle into Caroline's hands.

Caroline eyed it warily. "What… is this?"

Max grinned. "9-hour energy shot."

Caroline frowned. "Nine? Not five?"

Max scoffed. "Please. Five-hour energy is for cowards. This? This is Elf Juice. It keeps you awake, gives you tunnel vision, and may or may not make you feel like you're transcending reality."

Caroline hesitated. "And… what's in it?"

Max waved a hand. "Oh, y'know. This and that. Who cares?"

Caroline's eye twitched. "I'll kill you if I die."

Max patted her shoulder. "Only if you're weak."

Caroline groaned, but at this point? Desperate times. She downed the shot. Her pupils dilated instantly. Her soul left her body. She felt every molecule of existence.

"…Max."

"Yes?"

"I can hear colors."

Max smirked. "Welcome to the speed force. Now get back to work."

With Elf Juice coursing through their veins, Max and Caroline became machines.

Batch after batch went into the ovens.

Cooling trays lined the counters.

Caroline mixed batter with the speed of a caffeinated cheetah.

Max frosted like a woman possessed, her hands moving in a blur, piping buttercream onto cupcakes with deadly precision.

The clock ticked.

2 AM.

4 AM.

6 AM.

Max downed her fourth shot of Elf Juice.

Caroline whispered, "I am one with the cupcakes."

Max nodded solemnly. "May the cupcakes be with you, my blonde padawan."

By 7 AM, they had done it.

1,000 cupcakes. Multi-flavored, plus Max's specials.

Complete.

Caroline collapsed onto a stool. "Oh my God. It's over."

Max wiped her forehead. "Holy shit. We're gods."

They sat in stunned silence, staring at their sugary masterpiece.

Then Caroline's eyes widened. "Wait. How are we delivering these?!"

Max blinked.

Silence.

Then Max sprinted to her phone.

"I'M CALLING A TRUCK."

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[8 advance chs] [All chs available for all tiers] 

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