Chapter 18
Gwen
My mom was right from the day I was born. I would lose my head if it were not screwed on.
I realize this as I pat my pockets for my phone and come up empty for the fourth time in thirty seconds.
“Goddammit,” I mutter, standing alone in my apartment.
I left it at the bakery.
Of course I did.
I grab my laptop off the couch and message Tess. You still here? Forgot my phone like an idiot.
TESS: Sorry, I left, and so did Leo.
I sigh. I am annoyed at myself, but mostly relieved that Tess went home. She has been pulling brutal hours on top of everything else, weighing on her.
I had unzipped my jacket earlier, but I zip it back up before turning toward the door.
Twenty minutes later, my feet are killing me. The bakery looks ready for a new day. I definitely am not.
The mop bucket is still out, so I nudge it back into place by the wall, careful not to trip over it later. I line the handle up neatly, because future me deserves at least one small kindness.
That is when I see it.
Leo’s jacket.
Still hanging on the hook by the prep room door like it belongs there.
Guess I am not the only forgetful one in this place.
I stare at it.
It is black and sleek and aggressively expensive, with too many zippers and that subtle technical sheen that screams engineered in Switzerland by men named Klaus. It looks like it costs more than my rent and absolutely does not belong next to spare aprons and an emergency rain poncho.
It does not belong here.
“Rookie,” I mutter as I yank it off the hook, the mop handle clattering softly against the wall. “You do not leave your coat behind in a kitchen. Rule number one.”
I sniff it without thinking, because apparently this is who I am now.
It smells like clean laundry, faint espresso, and Tess’s cardamom soap. My jaw tightens.
“Probably costs more than my car,” I whisper, because saying it out loud makes me feel better.
I am about to shove it into the lost and found, which is really just a milk crate labeled MISC in Sharpie, when I feel something heavy in the inside pocket.
I freeze.
Every instinct in my body lights up at once. The kind you get right before you touch something hot.
I slide my hand into the pocket and pull out Leo’s tablet. Slim. Leather-bound. Minimalist in that aggressively expensive way that pretends it doesn’t matter how much it costs. The screen is on. No password.
I stare at it for a long second.
“Rich people,” I mutter to the empty bakery. “Just raw-dogging the concept of consequences.”
I pick it up to turn it off because I am a good person and because I absolutely do not want to know what lives inside a billionaire’s brain. But the screen is still bright. White. Text-heavy.
It’s open to his email inbox.
My stomach drops so hard I feel it in my knees.
At the very top, flagged in red and marked HIGH IMPORTANCE, is an email he’s clearly just opened.
FROM: Rex Chen
TO: Leo Ashford
SUBJECT: SIGNED: Sunrise & Soul LOI - Contingent
The world goes quiet.
Not bakery-quiet. Not end-of-day quiet where you can still hear the hum of the fridges and the city breathing outside.
The kind of quiet that comes right before something explodes.
My blood runs cold. Then hot. Then cold again, like my body can’t decide which panic response it wants.
I tap the email before I can talk myself out of it.
I scan.
And then I read.
Pleased to have this locked in…
Moving to Phase 2…
Franchising agreements…
Exclusivity…
Licensing…
My knees wobble. I grab the edge of the stainless counter to steady myself, fingers digging in as the words rearrange themselves into meaning.
Franchising.
Licensing.
Exclusivity.
Rex.
Fucking.
Chen.
The floor drops out from under me.
“Oh,” I whisper. “Oh, you absolute piece of…”
I stop myself, breathing through my nose, because if I start screaming now, I may not stop.
My hands are shaking, but not with fear. With rage. Cold, focused, surgical rage.
This isn’t an accident. This isn’t Leo being clueless or overenthusiastic. This isn’t him stepping on a landmine because he doesn’t know how kitchens work.
This is a move. Contracts. Phases. A Letter of Intent.
He didn’t just mess up.
He sold us.
I drop the tablet onto the stainless counter like it’s radioactive. Like it might infect the place if I hold it too long. I don’t trust myself not to throw it through the window.
My hands shake as I grab my phone and punch Tess’s number from memory.
She picks up on the third ring.
“Hey, G,” she says, small and tired. “I’m almost home from the store…”
My throat tightens.
“Boss,” I say, my voice so quiet it scares even me. “You need to come back to the bakery. Right now.”
There’s a pause. Traffic hums in the background. Her footsteps.
“Gwen… what is it?” she asks. “Did I forget…”
“You need to come back,” I repeat, my voice cracking straight through the steel. “Because that, because that son of a bitch…”
I swallow hard, forcing the words past the fury clawing up my chest.
“That billionaire intern of yours,” I finish, each syllable sharp enough to cut glass, “just sold us.”
The line goes silent.
I picture her face. The way her jaw sets when something precious is threatened. The way she goes very still before she goes nuclear.
“Send me a photo,” she says quietly.
I do. Hands still shaking.
“Don’t touch anything else,” she adds. “I’m coming back.”
The call ends.
I lean against the counter and close my eyes. For the first time since Leo Ashford walked into our bakery in an Armani tracksuit, I’m not worried about croissants, tourists, Yelp reviews, or surviving another week of influencer bullshit.
I’m worried about Tess.
Because I know that look she gets when someone threatens the soul of this place. I’ve seen it before, vendors cutting corners, landlords getting greedy, suits sniffing around, asking how fast we can “grow.”
And Rex Chen?
Rex Chen didn’t just sniff. He planted a flag.
And Leo, sweet, stupid, earnest Leo, handed him the map.
I stare at the tablet on the counter, its screen still glowing faintly, and something settles deep in my bones.
This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
And if Leo Ashford thinks he just signed a deal…
He has no idea what kind of war he just started.
The bell over the front door jingles.
I don’t jump. I don’t turn immediately. I already know it’s her. I’d know the sound of Tess Bennett’s footsteps anywhere.
She stops just inside the doorway. I can feel her taking in the room, the tablet on the counter, Leo’s jacket draped over the chair, my posture coiled tight and ready to strike.
“How bad?” she asks. Her voice is steady. That scares me more than if she were yelling.
I turn slowly. “He signed an LOI. With Rex Chen. Franchising. Exclusivity. The whole nightmare package.”
She closes the door behind her with careful precision. The lock clicks. Final.
She walks to the counter and looks at the tablet. She doesn’t touch it. She just stares at the screen, as if it personally betrayed her.
For a long second, she doesn’t say anything.
Then she lets out a breath. Slow. Controlled. Measured.
“Ok,” she says.
That’s it. Just ok.
I step closer instinctively, like I might need to catch her. “Tess…”
“I said ok,” she repeats, sharper now. Not angry yet. Focused. “I’m processing.”
She presses her palms flat on the stainless steel. I recognize the posture. It’s the same one she uses when a batch goes wrong, and she has to decide whether to salvage it or throw it out.
“What exactly does it say?” she asks.
“Enough,” I say. “Enough that Rex thinks he owns a future version of this place.”
Her jaw tightens. I watch the muscle jump. “And Leo?”
I hesitate. That tells her everything.
“He signed it,” I say quietly. “I don’t know if he understands what Rex actually is. Or maybe he does… and thought he could control it.”
She laughs once. Short. Humorless. “Control,” she repeats.
She straightens and finally looks at me. Really looks.
“Thank you,” she says.
I blink. “For what?”
“For calling me,” she says. She glances at Leo’s jacket, still sitting there like it has the audacity to belong.
“Did he leave this?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Guess billionaires forget things too.”
Her mouth twitches despite herself. Then it flattens again.
“I trusted him,” she says quietly. Not accusing. Just stating a fact.
I step closer, shoulder to shoulder now. “You trusted him because he earned it. Until he didn’t.”
She nods once. “That’s the part that hurts.”
Silence settles between us. Not awkward. Familiar. The kind built over years of early mornings, burnt batches, and shared victories no one else ever sees.
“I won’t let him take this from us,” I say finally.
She looks at me, eyes fierce now. “He won’t.”
“And Rex?” I add.
Her gaze hardens into something sharp enough to draw blood. “Rex Chen picked the wrong bakery.”
A slow, feral smile curves her mouth. “And the wrong women.”
That’s my girl.
She reaches out and flips the tablet face down, snuffing the glow like a candle.
“We deal with this tomorrow,” she says. “Tonight, I’m going home. I’m going to shower. I’m going to sleep.”
I nod. “I’ll be here at four.”
“Of course you will,” she says.
She pauses at the door, hand on the handle. “Gwen?”
“Yeah, boss?”
Her shoulders lift with a steadying breath.
“If I lose my shit tomorrow…”
“I’ll be right there,” I say instantly.
She smiles then. Small. Tired. Real. “I know.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
I let the silence settle for a beat, the bakery breathing around me, our bakery. The flour dust suspended in the light, the scars in the counters, the quiet strength humming under everything.
I glance once more at Leo’s jacket.
“War it is,” I mutter.