Page 13 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

By midnight, I had a file thick with evidence of the coordinated attack.

My email pinged. A message from the county clerk's office, automated notification: "Final Notice—Property Dispute Hearing Scheduled. Failure to resolve will result in operational suspension pending resolution."

I read the email three times, my mind calculating implications. If my business operations were suspended, even temporarily, I'd lose the Sweetheart Week vendor contract. I'd lose revenue during the island's busiest season. I'd lose everything I'd fought for.

I forwarded the email to my lawyer. Then to my business insurance company. Then, after a moment's consideration, to the San Juan Islands Weekly newspaper with a note: "Local business targeted by coordinated legal pressure from mainland investment firm. Notes attached."

If they wanted to play dirty, I would play public. And maybe a little dirty, too.

I stood, pacing my small office, my mind racing. I needed better legal representation than I could afford. I needed to untangle permit issues I didn't have the expertise to navigate. I needed to fight on a battlefield where my opponents had every advantage.

But I wasn't giving up. I'd survived brutal restaurant kitchens where executive chefs threw plates and screamed criticism. I'd worked my way up from pastry commis to senior pastry chef through sheer competence and refusal to quit. I'd left Canlis—a position most chefs would kill for—because family mattered more than fame.

I'd sacrificed too much to let some corporate lawyer take it all away.

I walked to the living room, where a framed photo of my grandfather sat on the bookshelf. Manuel Romano in his baker's apron, his weathered hands dusted with flour, his kind eyes—the same light brown as mine—smiling at the camera. The photo was taken the day I'd graduated from CIA, and he'd flown out to New York to surprise me.

"You did it,minha netinha," he'd said, tears in his eyes. "You made the Romano name known beyond this island. Your great-great-grandfather would be so proud."

"I learned from the best," I'd replied.

I picked up my phone and opened my notes app. Started a new note: Strategy - Caldwell & Investment Group. Underneath that I made a list.

Research all of Ethan Caldwell's closed deals. Find patterns. Find weaknesses.

Connect with other business owners. Build coalition. Strength in numbers.

Document everything. Make this public. Force accountability.

I wasn't just defending my bakery anymore. I was going to war.

I looked at the clock: 12:47 AM. I should sleep. I had to be at the bakery in three hours.

But first, I had one more email to send.

I opened my laptop and composed a message to Richard Sterling.

"Mr. Sterling, I'd like to discuss legal representation for Honey & Hearth Bakery. I believe there may be conflicts of interest and unethical practices involved in my current property dispute. I have documentation. Are you available to meet?"

I hit send before I could second-guess myself.

Richard Sterling had been Ethan's mentor in Seattle. But he'd also been born on Lopez Island, and had lived here for the last ten years protecting this community. The question was, whose side would he choose?

I shut down my laptop, turned off the lights, and headed to bed.

Chapter five