5. Ander
ANDER
Gideon has a spreadsheet.
Of course he has a spreadsheet. I’m genuinely convinced that somewhere in the universe there’s a server farm dedicated entirely to Gideon Sawyer’s contingency planning.
And this server hums along quietly, whether or not he’s awake, cross-referencing variables and running probability assessments about the weather and the stock market.
And now, apparently, a five-foot-nothing baker.
He’s going through it line by line. Supplier contracts. Lease terms. Health permits. Code compliance windows. The name of every regulatory body with a pulse and jurisdiction over a small local bakery. Color-coded.
Theo is nodding.
I’m on the couch in Theo’s penthouse with my feet on the coffee table until Theo looks at them and I move.
“The health inspection was recoverable,” Gideon says. “We were too easy on her.”
“She created a fucking promotion around it.” I chuckle. “She made money from what was supposed to help ruin her.”
Gideon is not chuckling with me. “We need to adjust.”
Theo hasn’t said much. He’s on his second coffee, standing at the window, watching the city.
He’s been watching the city since I got here. He does this when he’s thinking about something he doesn’t want to say out loud, which is most things.
Which is why I’m usually the one who says things out loud.
“I’ll go in.” I stand, which gets both of their attention. “To the bakery. In person. Nobody has actually looked her in the eye since the gala.” I grab my jacket off the back of the couch. “Send me in. I’ll figure out where she’s actually soft.”
Theo turns from the window. “No fucking way.”
“Have some faith in me, brother.” I pull the jacket on. “I’m charming.”
Theo doesn’t hesitate. “You’re a liability.”
“People love me.”
He turns back to the window. “People survive you.”
Gideon’s mouth quirks up.
“See? Gideon laughed. Mark the calendar!”
“I didn’t,” Gideon responds. The smirk is gone.
“You did internally.”
Theo moves toward the espresso machine. “This is not a joke.”
“I know.” I drop back onto the couch arm. “That’s why I should go. She already hates you. Gideon terrifies people on a cellular level. I’m the least threatening option.”
“The least threatening?” Gideon questions.
“Okay, physically that’s inaccurate. I guess we all come off threatening. That’s just genetics.” I concede. “But emotionally? Golden retriever energy.”
“You’re banned from three casinos in Vegas.” Gideon doesn’t look up from his laptop.
“Sensitive casino owners.”
“You got punched by a prince in Ibiza.” He’s still not looking up.
“He started it.”
Theo pinches the bridge of his nose.
Thirty years of being his brother means I catch it in the small stuff. The fourth coffee. The way he hasn’t checked his phone once.
“You can’t stop thinking about her.” I lean back on the couch arm.
Theo points at me without turning around. “Whatever that face means, stop it.”
“Oh, Theo. Wow.” He has it bad.
“Don’t,” he says through clenched teeth.
“You’re fascinated by her.” I put my feet back on the coffee table. “It’s beautiful, actually.”
The mug hits the counter harder than necessary.
Gideon closes the laptop. Soft click. “Ander’s right about one thing.”
Theo mutters, “God help us all.”
“She won’t open up to either of us.” Gideon buttons his jacket. “She might talk to him.”
I place a hand over my heart. “You guys trust me. This is huge.”
“No.” Gideon shakes his head. “I trust Bianca Donovan to underestimate you.”
Rude. Accurate. But rude.
“Fine.” Theo turns from the window. “Go in. Figure out what she’s actually scared of. There’s something under all that sunshine. Find it.” He points at me. “And remember whose side you’re on.”
“Relax. I’ll be subtle.”
Gideon and Theo stare at me.
“Unlikely,” Theo finally responds.
Harsh.
The driver drops me half a block down from the building, and I get out and walk the remaining distance.
Sugar Bloom Bakery has a line.
It’s a Tuesday. The line goes past the flower shop next door and wraps around the corner.
One woman has a tote bag in the same handwriting as the sign above the door.
A teenager walks out, hugging a pastry box against her chest. An older couple shares a cookie on the bench outside. Two women take photos under the sign.
The place has appeal. I’ll give her that. It’s not trendy or flashy, just warm.
I shove my hands in my pockets, cross the street, and get in line.
When I finally enter, the bell over the door rings.
The bakery is packed. Customers are shoulder to shoulder with coffee cups and pastry boxes while indie music crackles overhead. And the perfect inspection score is framed in the window at eye level, with an image of a mop-shaped cake below it.
Fuck. She’s funny.
And in the center of everything is Bianca Donovan.
She’s pretty in a way that sneaks up on you. Brown hair, hazel eyes, freckles across her nose that you wouldn’t catch unless you were close. Yellow sweater under a white apron, frosting on one wrist she hasn’t noticed.
She’s laughing at something the woman at the register said, like it’s genuinely the best thing she’s heard all week.
I get to the front. She’s behind the display case, already looking at me.
Half a second, and she’s figured out who I am.
Then she’s calling to someone over her shoulder. “Eliza, can you handle the register?”
She leans both forearms on top of the case. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here.” Her words don’t match the warmth in her voice.
“In my defense, your cinnamon rolls are addictive.”
“Really?” she raises her brow, and she catches her lower lip in her teeth. “You’ve never had one.”
“I’m here to fix that.” I give her a wink.
“Bold strategy.” She looks me over once. “So, are you here to send more regulatory agencies after me? Or are you here to threaten me personally this time?” she asks. “Did the board vote for a more hands-on approach?”
I point to the cinnamon roll I want. “I only came to buy pastries.”
“Don’t you have people for that?”
“Yes.” My eyes scan the other treats she has in the display case. “But none of them flirt with me.”
“Oh, honey.” She tilts her head. “This isn’t flirting. If I were flirting with you, you’d know.”
I should have a comeback for that. I have a comeback for everything. I don’t.
She leans against the display case like she already knows she’s winning this conversation. “You okay there?”
“Yeah. Never better.” I clear my throat. “What do you recommend?”
“Depends.” She pulls a box from under the counter. “Are you here to apologize on behalf of your brother?”
“Nope.” I eye some lemon curd tarts.
“Then I recommend some stale biscotti.”
I bark a laugh. “No, thanks. But I definitely want a cinnamon roll,” I say. “And whatever else you think I’d enjoy.”
She puts a cinnamon roll in the box. “That sounds dangerously close to trust.”
“Maybe I’m reckless.”
“The internet confirms that.” She’s already pulling the roll out, already boxing it. She adds two cupcakes. Then another pastry wrapped in paper. I watch the pile grow.
But I’m still focusing on what she said—that the internet confirms that I’m reckless. It’s not a lie, of course. “Bianca Donovan, have you been stalking me online?”
Her cheeks go red, but she quickly recovers. “Please. You’re the one who showed up here. Seems to me like you’re the stalker.”
The thought of her looking me up online pleases me more than it should.
Then I remember what Theo said. Remember whose side you’re on.
She adds a lemon curd tart, and then she closes the box. “No charge. I want you to have these.”
Why is she being so nice? I definitely don’t deserve her kindness.
“I can’t eat all of that,” I tell her.
She doesn’t look up. “There’s enough for your brothers, too.”
I go still. “Do you always give pastries to your enemies?”
She ties the string around the box and finally looks up. “Only the cute ones.”
I reach for the pastries. “Are you sure you’re not flirting?”
“Positive.” She taps the box once with one pink-painted nail. “Give Theo the honey lavender cupcake. Honey for sweetness, lavender to calm him down. Tell him I said it’s not poisoned.” A smile forms on her lips. “Probably.”
She’s making it really hard to hate her.
“Thanks.”
She turns to help another customer.
I stand at the counter for a half-second longer than I should before I pull it together. Then I head for the door. The bell rings overhead.
Right before it swings shut behind me, I catch her watching me leave.
My driver is at the curb. I get in and put the box on the seat.
“Back to the office?”
“Yeah.”
I look out the window. The line is still there.
Gideon is going to ask what I found.
What I found is that she’s not scared, and she’s nice, like really nice.
That’s the whole problem.
I open the box and eat the honey lavender cupcake before we hit the first light.
It’s for Theo, and he definitely doesn’t deserve it.