Page 12 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

“You sharpen. Yes, yes, I know.”

"Remember Blake?"

"The Seattle chef who thought he was God's gift to the culinary world? That Blake?"

"He told me I was wasting my career running a 'small-town bakery' when I could be back in Seattle working in 'real restaurants.'" I pulled up my business financial records, comparing revenue from then until now. "Said I gave up on my potential to play house with nostalgia."

"Blake was an insecure line cook who got promoted above his competence level," Tessa said fiercely. "You were senior pastry chef at Canlis. He was a sous at a mediocre bistro. He couldn't handle that you were more accomplished than him."

"I know that now. Took me two years to figure it out." I found what I was looking for—a three-hundred-percent revenue increase since I'd taken over. Not bad for someone supposedly wasting her education. But his words had stuck because they hit a sore spot. “But it does make me worried that I gave up a career a decade in the making just to come home and make my grandfather's recipes."

"You didn't give up anything. You chose differently."

"That's what I keep telling myself." I opened a new document, starting a timeline of events. "But sometimes I wonder if people like Blake and Ethan Caldwell are right. If I'm hiding behindfamily obligation instead of admitting I was too scared to keep competing at that level."

"Stop. You're not hiding. You're building. There's a difference." Tessa's voice was firm. "You tripled the bakery's revenue. You've created partnerships across the San Juan Islands. You teach workshops that people wait-list for. That's not hiding. That's success on your own terms."

I wanted to believe it. Most days I did. But tonight, with Ethan Caldwell's dismissive words about "proper permits" and "legal issues" still ringing in my ears, the old doubts crept back in.

"I need to go," I said. "I've got research to do."

"Okay. But Maya? Don't let him make you small. You're a fierce businesswoman who's about to wipe the floor with him."

After we hung up, I sat in the quiet of my office, staring at the files spread across my desk.

Tessa was right, but she didn’t know how much he had hurt me already. God, I'd been so stupid back then. Building Ethan Caldwell into some romantic figure, the troubled boy who just needed understanding. I'd watched my grandfather show him kindness, watched him work off his debt in the bakery, and I'd created this whole fantasy about him being misunderstood and good deep down.

Then he'd left without even saying goodbye to the man who'd saved him from a criminal record.

That should have told fourteen-year-old me everything I needed to know: Ethan Caldwell took what he needed and left. He always had. He probably always would.

Twenty years later, he was doing exactly the same thing. Taking what he needed—assessment of Lopez Island properties for his corporate masters—and he'd leave the moment the job was done.

But this time would be different. This time, I wouldn’t let him get away with it.

My phone buzzed. Tessa again, but this time a text:"Did some digging. Ethan's law firm? Same one that's representing the company Gerald Hutchins used to file your property dispute. They're literally on both sides of this."

My blood went cold, then hot. I pulled up the property dispute paperwork, looking at the legal representation listed. Sure enough—Caldwell & Associates, the firm Ethan had co-founded five years ago.

He wasn't just representing the investment group. His firm was actively creating the problems that made me vulnerable to acquisition.

This wasn't business. This was warfare.

And Ethan Caldwell had just made the mistake of thinking I'd be an easy casualty.

I opened my laptop and started typing an email to my lawyer—the one I could barely afford but desperately needed. Subject line: "Urgent: Conflict of Interest in Property Dispute."

Then I opened a new browser window and searched: "Ethan Caldwell attorney Seattle."

The results populated quickly. Harvard Law graduate. Partner at Caldwell & Associates. Specialization in real estate acquisitions and development. A professional photo showed him in a suit, looking polished and successful, with those same sky-blue eyes that gave nothing away.

I clicked through to his firm's website. "We help clients identify and acquire undervalued properties in high-growth markets."

Undervalued. That's what they thought Honey & Hearth was.

My jaw clenched. I'd show them undervalued.

I spent the next hour documenting everything: the timeline of Gerald's property dispute, the connection to Ethan's firm, the suspicious timing of permit complications, the investment group's inquiries. I cross-referenced public records, businessfilings, anything that might show a pattern of predatory behavior.