Page 15 of Merry Fake Bride

“What about the rent?” Donald leans back into the table and tries to catch my eye. “We can raise it again citing the age of the property. Will you present the low offer?”

“I don’t know, Donald.” My tone turns snippy and I still avoid his gaze. “You lot have had a year to get this bakery sold, but tell me, have any of you gone to speak to the owner face to face?”

“Like I said—” Erin starts to say, but I cut her off.

“No. I mean you.” I point at her, then everyone else around the table. “Have any of you spoken to them personally? Or did you all send lawyers and assistants?”

“So what if we did?” Trent, a relatively silent board member near Harvey, suddenly speaks. “What does it matter? These people only listen to money and threats. And who runs a bakery these days? Everyone is baking at home, microwave cupcakes and shit. People like us don’t talk to people like them. One wrong word and you have a lawsuit on your hands.”

It’s like my father suddenly spawned in the boardroom and is talking directly to me.

My stomach tightens, and a cramp spreads low down to my waist with an anxious flutter.

“I’ll speak to them,” is my last comment on the matter before I leave them all to their quiet debates and squabbles.

I’ve spent years treating these people as nothing more than names on a page.

Maybe the trick to getting this deal wrapped up by New Year’s is the personal touch every asshole in there lacks.

The bakery is located on the main street of a small town, a minute’s drive from New York City.

I admire the beauty of the place as I enter.

I had no idea that this much beauty and nature existed so close to New York.

Having lived my entire life in the city or on the various jets my parents would cart me around in, small gems like this little town have never been on my radar beyond the names stamped on the contracts of my father’s latest business deals.

I pass trees lining streets covered in colorful flags, parks filled with happy, laughing children, small craft shops, cafes, and even an antiques shop with lights glittering in the windows.

Then we turn onto a quiet street.

Empty.

Void of life.

The hardware store on the corner is the only place showing signs of activity, but a closing-down-sale sign sits outside the open front door.

The next three stores are dark and empty.

One was a beauty salon, one was a toy shop, and another looked like it was some kind of jewelry store.

There’s a closed-down clothing store, a restaurant, and then we drive past the bakery.

Just A Sweet Thing.

My world slows as we drive past.

Warm, orange light fills the shop with life.

The main window is decorated in orange, red, and yellow leaves falling from a decaying tree with a couple of pumpkins and skeletons lining the bottom, left over from last week's Halloween, no doubt.

Glitter coats the window as a young woman leans close from the inside and sticks her tongue out as she smooths her hand over a freshly-applied turkey decal above the pumpkin.

Behind her, an elderly woman tips her head back and laughs while handing change to a grinning customer balancing a box of cakes on one arm.

And in a second, my glimpse of life into that bakery is gone as the driver continues.

“Pull over here, Martin.”