Chapter 19
Nineteen
Alice and I make it to her flat just past eight. The moment she unlocks the door, the heavenly scent of caramelized sugar and cinnamon hits us. My knees buckle a little on the welcome mat. Think the smell you’d encounter walking past a Cinnabon, only ten times better.
Alice tosses her keys on the entry table next to a massive bouquet of pink hydrangeas. We toe off our shoes and head straight for the kitchen at the end of the hallway, following our noses to the scene of the crime.
Art is hunched over the oven, his focus so absolute, he doesn’t even look up as we walk in.
He’s still in his police uniform shirt, sleeves rolled back to his elbows, but he’s sporting an apron that says CAT DADDY in bold pink letters above a cartoon tabby.
I make a mental note to ask Alice about that the second we’re alone.
“Welcome home, ladies,” he says, straightening just enough to tap the oven glass. “The cinnamon-cardamom pull-apart bread with brown-butter glaze will be ready in approximately two minutes. I’ll remind you now not to crowd the chef.”
I turn to Alice, mouthing, “You are so lucky.”
She mouths back, “I know,” with a smug wink.
When Alice says Art is a gifted baker, she means it.
The man was actually shortlisted for The British Baking Championship—passed the interviews, the grueling test bakes, the screen tests, the whole lot.
And then he turned down the spot because he’d just accepted the job as Alice’s protection officer.
A soft ding from the oven cuts through the air.
Art checks the bread with a toothpick, nods once to himself, and slides the tray onto a cooling rack.
He wipes his hands on his apron and crosses the kitchen to Alice, pulling her into his space for a warm, unhurried kiss on her temple. “Dinner go all right?”
“Yes,” she says, holding on to him for a moment longer than usual. “But we need dessert and heavy emotional counsel.”
Art nods, like this is a normal request. “I’ll plate three, then.”
Alice tugs me to the sofa. I pull an oversized knitted throw across my knees. She folds into the seat beside me. “How was work?” she asks Art.
“Same old. Same old.” He sets down the plates and sinks down beside her, letting out a long sigh.
“I started the morning mucking out the stables. Then I spent two hours posing for tourists who wanted selfies with the horse. Then it was back to the stables for paperwork and more mucking out.” He nudges Alice’s knee with a tired grin.
“Not quite as glamorous as I bet your day was.”
“You’d lose that wager,” she says, reaching for a piece of bread.
“In my Structural Analysis module today, the professor spent forty minutes insisting that the derivation of Euler buckling was inspiring. I seriously considered having security show up and tell him my father needed me for an emergency.”
I laugh. “Sounds just like my Mechanical Structures class last semester.”
Art blinks, looking back and forth between the two of us. “I have absolutely no idea what you two are talking about, but I’m very proud of you both anyway.”
“And we’re proud of you,” Alice says, pecking him on the cheek. “Actually, Art . . .” Her tone shifts, becoming softer, more intentional. “Kaori needs our advice. Tactical advice.”
Art’s posture changes instantly. His shoulders square. His focus sharpens. He turns to me. “What’s on your mind?”
“I have some problems at work,” I begin.
I give him the abbreviated version, sticking to the facts. Alice, who’s already heard the gory details, focuses on her dessert while Art listens the way only a professional can—intensely focused, offering no interruptions or knee-jerk reactions that might derail the narrative.
When I finally finish, he carefully sets his fork down. “Threatening to expose your identity to force cooperation crosses a significant legal line. In plain English, Kaori? It’s blackmail.”
My heart gives an uncomfortable lurch. The word “blackmail” hits harder when it’s spoken by a man who knows the law.
“What should I do? Mr. Harris has made it clear he’ll ruin Theo and me if I don’t follow through with his demands.” My voice cracks. “I don’t see any way to escape this. No matter what I do, I lose.”
Art doesn’t offer any pity. He simply nods, acknowledging the gravity of the situation.
“That’s a fair assessment,” he says slowly.
“But you’re wrong about one thing—you’re not trapped.
There are protections in place. If this becomes a criminal matter, his ability to speak publicly about you or this situation becomes severely restricted.
He knows that, which is exactly why he’s trying to keep you isolated and panicked. ”
I blink. I hadn’t considered the criminal element.
“Do you have anyone you can trust inside the company? Someone in HR, perhaps?” Art asks.
Ela’s face immediately comes to mind. We haven’t spent much time together outside of trivia nights, but I know I can count on her integrity.
After Mr. Harris cornered me, I gave her a call and spoke to her about a hypothetical “friend” in a complicated dating situation with a superior, testing the waters to see how HR would react.
She didn’t pry or judge. She just offered me advice on how to disclose it properly to protect both parties. It gave me hope.
Theo should immediately pull me from Vortex Rise, but for now, we agreed—okay, I haven’t actually said anything to him, but Ela and I have discussed the implications. In theory.
I explained the situation to her with as much professional carefully-worded vagueness as I could muster, and thankfully, she’s an expert at reading between the lines.
She didn’t push for names, and I didn’t offer them.
We just both stood there, acknowledging the elephant in the room without actually pointing at it.
—For the moment, I’m operating in a gray zone. I can stay on the project until I’m back in Orlando. After that, however, I’ll be pulled to avoid the conflict of interest. That’s the price I’m willing to pay.
“I have somebody.”
“That’s your first step,” Art says, tone firm but gentle. “Talk to her hypothetically. See what she recommends—how to protect yourself, how to document the threat—without putting anything on record or exposing yourself.”
I nod. I can do that.
“The second thing,” he continues, leaning forward, “is that I can help you dig into Mr. Harris. Odds are, you’re not his first victim. Men like that don’t usually start with blackmail; they build up to it. If he’s crossed the line before, there will be a trail.”
“What about Theo?” Alice asks.
“I need to feel him out. Despite how awful a father he’s been, I think Theo still hopes there’s something worth saving there.”
Art nods. “Speaking of Theo, if you haven’t already told him the stunt his father is pulling, make sure you tell him the truth before the situation escalates.”
“I know.” The words scrape their way out. “And I need to tell him about my family too. There’s no more putting it off.” I attempt a smile. “I just need to, as you Brits say, crack on with it.”
Alice’s face brightens instantly. “That’s the spirit!
And from everything you’ve told me, he doesn’t sound like the type of man who scares easily.
” She bumps her shoulder into mine, her voice dropping into a comforting hum.
“But tomorrow’s problem is tomorrow’s problem.
Tonight, we are going to eat Art’s latest, greatest invention, watch some Baking Championship, and mercilessly mock every contestant who messes up their sponges. ”
“Which, frankly, is most of them,” Art says, returning to the sofa with the steaming plates.
“If your sponge is dense, it’s an automatic fail.
I don’t understand how that’s still a surprise to people in the tenth season.
” He places a plate in front of me with a flicker of mock arrogance.
“This one won’t be dense. Mine has the correct aeration. ”
Alice giggles.
“You two are adorable.”
“We know,” they say in perfect unison.
I take my first bite. The pull-apart is still warm. A little caramel goo squirts out and onto my tongue. It’s so sweet, but perfectly balanced out by whatever spices are in this thing.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell Theo the truth. The whole truth. I know there’s a chance he’ll want nothing more to do with me after that, but like Alice said, that’s tomorrow’s problem. For the moment, all I want is a second, third, and maybe fourth helping of this dessert.