I nodded, too surprised to speak.
He exhaled, a sound of genuine relief.
“I’ve been trying to meet you for 6 months. I’m Jonathan Reed. I own the Atlas Hotel Group. We exclusively contract with your bakery for our VIP suites. Your brioche is the only reason our Paris location has a five-star breakfast rating.”
He glanced briefly at Haley, then back at me.
“When I heard your family was having a crisis with the caterer this morning, your father called my assistant looking for vendor recommendations, I realized this might be my only chance to finally meet you in person and find out why you’ve been ignoring my partnership offers.”
My mother made a choking sound. My father looked like someone had hit him with a brick. Haley stood frozen, her arms still half raised.
“You… you know her.” Haley’s voice trembled.
Jonathan turned slowly, as if he’d forgotten she was there.
“Know her? Haley, this woman is a genius. I told you I only agreed to meet your family because I saw the last name and hoped you were related to the owner of the Gilded Crumb.”
The air left the room.
Jonathan turned back to me, his expression shifting to confusion.
“I sent you five emails, Abigail. My team sent contracts. We wanted to partner with you to open a flagship location in our new Tokyo hotel. Why didn’t you respond? We thought you weren’t interested.”
I frowned, wiping my hands again.
“I never got any emails. I checked my inbox every night. I would never ignore an offer like that.”
He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen before turning it to face me. The email chain was there, but the reply address wasn’t mine. It was forwarded to my father’s personal email, the one he’d set up when he helped me configure the domain 5 years ago.
I looked up at Brian. He was pale, sweating.
Jonathan followed my gaze, his eyes narrowing as he understood.
“He intercepted them,” I said quietly. “Dad has access to the server.”
My father backed up against the mixer, stammering.
“I was protecting you, Abby. You’re not ready for that kind of pressure. Tokyo, it’s too far. We need you here. Who would help your mother? Who would help Haley? I was just trying to keep the family together.”
Jonathan let out a short, humorless laugh.
“You blocked a multi-million dollar partnership because you wanted her available to run errands.”
Haley grabbed Jonathan’s arm desperately.
“Babe, it doesn’t matter. It was a misunderstanding. Look, we’re here now. Abigail can just bake the pastries for tonight and we can talk business later. Family first, right?”
Jonathan looked at her hand on his arm like it was something foreign. Then he looked at my parents, shrinking in the corner, then at me.
“I don’t think there are going to be any pastries,” he said.
“Actually,” I cut in, “there’s something you should know about the pastries.”
My mother looked hopeful for half a second.
“You have some in the back?”
“No,” I said. “The midnight cronuts sell out 3 months in advance. There’s a waiting list. And the batch I made this morning, the ones you wanted, I already donated them.”
“Donated them?” Haley shrieked. “To who?”
“To the women’s shelter on Fourth Street. I drop them off every Friday at 9:00 a.m. The cupboard is bare, Haley. There’s nothing here for you. Not a crumb.”
Haley’s face crumpled. The polished influencer mask finally slipped, revealing the spoiled child underneath.
She screamed, not words, just a raw sound of frustration.
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