Chapter 3 - The Numbers Beneath the Frosting
Denise Bellamy was polite, which somehow made the call harder.
Emily had prepared arguments against cruelty.
Reasonable people asking for money she genuinely owed were more difficult.
“We’ve accepted reduced monthly payments for seven months,” Denise said. “But the remaining balance needs a formal arrangement.”
“How much time?”
“We can hold further action for ten business days while you provide a proposal.”
Emily wrote the deadline on a flour-stained notepad.
“What records can you send me?”
“The final invoice and contract.”
“All the revisions too, please.”
Denise paused.
“There were several.”
Emily looked up.
“I only remember one.”
“I’ll send the full file.”
That evening, Nicole arrived with takeout.
This time, Emily paid for half without being asked.
Nicole noticed.
She wisely said nothing.
They sat at a bakery table surrounded by bank statements.
The refrigerator repair had cost more than expected. Ingredient prices had risen. The bakery’s card-processing fees seemed to multiply when nobody watched.
Emily tapped a column.
“I’m working six days a week to get further behind.”
Nicole examined the figures.
“You’re selling some things at almost no margin.”
“My father’s prices.”
“Your father bought butter in a different decade.”
Emily rubbed her forehead.
Changing the bakery felt like erasing him.
Keeping it unchanged was becoming another way to lose it.
They began with the breakfast muffins.
By midnight, they had identified three products that barely covered ingredients and none of the labor required to make them.
Emily stared at the screen.
“I thought working harder was the answer.”
“Sometimes,” Nicole said. “Sometimes the answer is charging enough for a croissant.”
The next morning, Emily posted modest price increases with a straightforward explanation.
One customer complained.
Seven said they had wondered how she kept prices so low.
A retired teacher bought two extra muffins and told her not to look apologetic.
At ten, Adrian arrived.
“One coffee. One cinnamon roll.”
“Anything else?”
“An honest answer, if you’re willing.”
Emily raised an eyebrow.
He took out a business card.
“Our local hotel is reviewing breakfast suppliers. Would you consider asking for the bid information?”
Her expression closed.
“No.”
He nodded.
“All right.”
That irritated her.
“You’re not going to explain why I’m being unreasonable?”
“You haven’t asked.”
She folded her arms.
“Fine. Explain.”
Adrian glanced toward the display case.
“The current supplier contract expires in six weeks. Procurement is collecting samples from several bakeries. Your products are good.”
“And you own the hotel.”
“Yes. Which is why I would disclose that we know each other and stay out of the evaluation.”
“We barely know each other.”
“Then the disclosure will be short.”
She almost smiled.
Then she thought of Ryan praising her independence while quietly arranging everything in a way that made his money unavoidable.
“What happens if your team doesn’t like my prices?”
“They don’t choose you.”
“And if they do choose me?”
“You get a contract you should have someone review.”
Emily studied him.
“You make this sound very normal.”
“It should be.”
He placed the card beside his coffee payment.
“Ask for the information. You can still decline.”
After he left, Rosa picked up the card.
“A request for information isn’t a wedding vow.”
“Thank you for that distinction.”
“Happy to help.”
At noon, the rental company’s records arrived.
Emily opened the original contract.
Then the revisions.
Her stomach tightened.
The first change increased the guest count from eighty to one hundred forty.
She remembered agreeing to that after Ryan insisted several business associates had to attend.
The second added premium glassware.
She vaguely remembered that too.
The third arrived four days before he abandoned her.
Extra furnishings. Additional service equipment. A late change fee.
The approval email came from an address that looked almost exactly like hers.
Almost.
Emily enlarged it.
There was an extra letter in the surname.
Her hands went cold.
Nicole read the screen over her shoulder.
“Did you send that?”
“No.”
“Did you authorize Ryan to make changes?”
Emily swallowed.
“Some. Early on.”
“Then we need someone who knows what these contracts mean.”
Emily closed the laptop.
For eight months, she had treated the invoice as one enormous punishment.
For the first time, she saw separate decisions.
May you like
Some were hers.
Some might not be.
