12. Chapter 12
Gigi
I’m humming “Party in the USA” and piping tiny frosting roses onto a tray of red velvet cupcakes when my phone buzzes on the counter.
It’s barely seven AM, but I’ve been up since five—baking on a high of sugar, adrenaline, and residual fireworks-kiss giddiness.
My lips still feel tingly, and I can’t stop thinking about the way Phoenix looked at me last night, like I was the only person on that hillside.
Maybe the only person in the whole world.
This is what happiness feels like. Slightly sleep-deprived, maybe, but giddy and glowing and very, very kissed.
I expect to see Ella’s name—she’s already texted three times asking for details I haven’t been ready to share. But the contact photo lighting up my screen isn’t Ella.
It’s my mom.
Catherine Hart doesn’t call before sunrise unless someone’s died or she’s planning a business coup. Since I’m guessing no one’s dead, it must be the latter.
I consider ignoring it. But ignoring my mother never works—not when she has “something important” to discuss. She’ll just call again. And again. And probably follow up with a calendar invite.
With a resigned sigh, I answer. “Morning, Mom.”
“Georgina,” she says briskly. “I hope I’m not catching you too early.”
You are. “Not at all. I’m already in the kitchen.”
“Of course you are. I just wanted to check in. It’s been a few days since Phoenix got to town, and I was hoping to hear that you’d given our offer some consideration by now.”
I freeze, piping bag halfway to a cupcake. “What offer?”
“The CEO position. Didn’t Phoenix tell you?”
My hand goes slack. “He said you wanted to talk about my future. He didn’t say anything about being CEO.”
There’s a pause. “That’s disappointing,” she says coolly. “I expected him to make more of an effort.”
What on Earth is she talking about?
“We’re serious about this,” she continues. “Your father and I are ready to step back, but we want the business we’ve built to stay in the family. It’s time for you to take the reins.”
“No. I’m sorry, but no.”
Mom sighs. “For the size of the bonus we’re paying him, I’d hoped Phoenix would be more successful in getting you to come around on this.”
The piping bag slips from my hand, splattering red frosting across the counter.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “Did you say you paid Phoenix to talk to me?”
“Your hackles rise any time we try to talk to you about Hart Health. So, we thought having a mediator of sorts might help. Phoenix is young and charming, and we thought he could help you see what an amazing opportunity this is for you. Fifty thousand dollars isn’t a small sum, but we thought it was worth it if it brought you to the table. ”
I grip the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. Bonus. Fifty thousand dollars. To talk to me.
Showing up in my bakery and raving about my cupcakes. Helping me at the festival. Laughing with kids, complimenting my cookies, kissing me like I was something rare and worth keeping.
All part of the job.
Mom’s voice buzzes through the static in my head. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” I say, even though everything inside me feels far away.
“Please tell me you’ll at least consider our offer. We’ve built an empire, Georgina. It should stay in the family.”
“Okay,” I say agree, just to end the conversation.
“Excellent.” She sounds pleased. “When should we expect to hear your decision?”
I stare at the half-frosted cupcakes in front of me, each one suddenly redolent of shame. I thought I was falling for someone who saw me. Who chose me.
Turns out I was just part of his paycheck.
“Soon,” I manage.
“I’m proud of you, Georgina,” she says. “It shows real maturity, finally thinking about your future.”
She hangs up.
I stand there, phone in hand, while the frosting slowly hardens on the counter. Outside the bakery window, Honeysuckle Ridge is waking up—Mr. Hendricks is unlocking the hardware store, and Mrs. Patterson is out walking her dog in her patriotic sun visor like it’s any other day.
But it’s not any other day.
Because I just found out the man I kissed under a sky full of fireworks was being paid to manipulate me all along.
The festival, the late-night cake, the way he looked at me like I was worth something —all of it, staged.
A performance.
I think about his hands on my face, the softness in his voice when he said he was glad I showed up. The firework finale blooming behind him. The way it felt like the world had stopped for us.
It was never real.
My chest tightens, my throat burns. I grab my phone and call Ella.
She picks up immediately. “Please tell me this is a post-kiss debrief, because—"
“Can you come to the bakery?” I interrupt. “I just… I need you here.”
She’s silent for half a beat. “I’m on my way.”
I hang up and set the phone gently beside the piping bag. My hands shake as I turn back to the cupcakes.
I keep decorating. One swirl at a time. Because that’s what I do—I bake, I build, I keep going.
Even when everything I thought was safe shatters around me.
Even when I realize the man I trusted most was only here because of a bonus clause.
Even when I know I should’ve seen it coming.
Because that’s the thing about heartbreak—it doesn’t care how smart you are. It doesn’t care how guarded you’ve been. It just walks right in, says all the right things, and leaves you in the wreckage.
And me?
I was a job assignment .
And like always, I’m the one left cleaning up the mess.