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“You keep fucking her!”
“She’sreallygood!” I pursed my lips. “Um… let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”
“I will genuinely be doing everything in my power to do just that.” She rubbed her forehead, waving me off. “Please. Just go. Go find Harper and do not, I beg you, let me know what happens next.”
Ugh. What a jerk. I was wasted on her. And just because I liked to have sex every now and then! As if it was a crime to top Harper!
I fumed the whole way out of the park, in between sips of my shandy until I finished it off not far from Harper’s house, and I spotted the light on in her bedroom. I went around to the back and hiked up my sleeves and tucked my shirt into my shorts before I climbed up the tree behind the house, the bark rough against my fingers as I hoisted myself up to the rooftop terrace. With a grunt, I swung myself over the railing and stumbled a little on the tiles, my shoes clicking, and I kicked my shoes off before I opened the door and headed down the stairs and into the living room.
I paused at the door to her bedroom before I thought better of it. I turned first to the kitchen and helped myself through her fridge—it was always safest to go in with a food-based bribe—but I paused halfway through assembling a cheese tray when I noticed a cake she didn’t make.
It was a small thing, square, black with elegant white piping, one quarter taken out to show a marble cake with a dense crumb. The shimmery silver tray it was on had a distinctive design around the edges, and one corner readFONTAINE SQUAREin curling letters.
That was weird.
I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and looked it up, and I only had more questions the longer I looked. For one, theywere based in New York, which was, in fact, not here. For two—it was apparently some kind of ultra-luxe company doing cakes and pastry catering for super-high-profile events. I got pictures of the two directors, David Fontaine and Susanna Holcomb, alongside celebrities and everything.
I knew Harps had taken a trip to New York over the winter, but I didn’t know she’d gone to any super-fancy events. And it was too long ago to have brought back a cake. And who brought an entire cake home from an event, anyway? I mean, aside from me.
Something was shady. She had said she was talking with some interesting people lately. If she was working with a high-class catering firm to create the ultimate party in Bayview, I needed to be in on things. So—it was probably only fair that I read her mail.
I snuck carefully downstairs, into the bakery, where all the lights were shut off, and I slipped into the back office, where her desktop computer was on a flimsy wooden desk. I woke it up, and when it asked for a PIN, I tried the one Harper gave me for the door lock one time, 5571.
Hi, Harper.
Girl sucked at cybersecurity. She had this coming to her.
I pulled up her web browser and checked her email—it was open to her business email, which was all I was really concerned with. Mostly updates from her suppliers, orders, a newsletter subscription she’d clearly signed up for accidentally with her work email instead of her regular email, updates from the property manager, the like.
It took a bit of scrolling before I found the one from Susanna Holcomb, and I almost scrolled past it before I remembered the name. I clicked on it, an email exchange coming up on the screen, and I scrolled to the top.
Hey Harper,
It’s Susanna, from Fontaine. I wanted to reach out and say thanks again for visiting us! It was such a pleasure to meet you, and we’re really excited to discuss what happens next.
I’ve attached the PDF with all the information for our partners. Look through it and try to let me know soon what you think, all right?
Message me if you have any questions!
Partners. I frowned, a heavy weight settling in my stomach, as I scrolled through.
Partners.Harper’s replies, and her conversation going through the intricacies of the work, made an ugly picture take crystal clarity.
Harper wasn’t visiting fancy events and getting luxury catering for a bomb-ass event or something. Harper was ditching Crystal Lights Bakery to go work for Fontaine Square instead.
And she was leaving Bayview at the end of April to do it.
And she hadn’ttoldme.
Behind me, the sound of someone clearing her throat made me jump, and I whirled back on where Harper leaned in the door to the office, her arms folded, glaring at me.
“Paisley,” she said.
“Shh. Not now. I’m reading.” I turned back to the computer.
“Hm. Indeed you are.”
It only hit me when I got to the end of the email exchange that it was Harper behind me, watching me read her emails. I whirled back on her again, my heart jumping, and I shot her a withering look.
