CHAPTER 1: THE EVICTION NOTICE
The only thing that could make a bad day bearable for Clara was the ovens being on. Vanilla, butter, and sugar would burn just slightly at the edges, and that aroma always made the rest of the city feel a little more distant.
That day, though, it wasn't helping.
On the counter sat a white envelope that was far too white. Far too official. She didn't want to touch it with flour on her hands, but she did anyway.
EVICTION NOTICE - VACATE WITHIN 30 DAYS.
At the bottom of the page was a name in block letters. Vance Holdings.
The Golden Whisk had stood on 4th for 62 years of her life; her grandparents opened it, her parents kept it running, and now she did. It was never meant to be large. Just a bakery that people happened to remember.
And now some development company wanted to level the entire block to build another glass tower.
She looked at the letter, then grabbed her coat. She still had flour on her cheek. She didn't wipe it off.
Vance Holdings was twenty minutes away by train, yet it felt like a foreign country. Marble floors and soft-spoken receptionists. Everyone looked like they were running late for something important.
"I need to speak with Julian Vance," she told the woman at the desk.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No. It concerns the 4th avenue block. He issued evictions today."
The receptionist gave her a certain look. The polite kind. As though she were sizing her up from coat to boots. "Mr. Vance is in a board meeting. He doesn't take walk-ins."
"Then I'll wait."
She never got the chance to wait. The private elevator opened behind her and a few men in ties stepped out, talking. In the center was the man she had seen in the photos online.
Julian Vance looked younger in person. She estimated him to be around 32. He wore a sharp suit, his hair was combed back, and his eyes looked tired. He was listening to his assistant, but only barely.
Clara approached him before she could talk herself out of it.
"Mr. Vance!"
Two security guards approached her, but he lifted a hand and they halted.
He turned his gaze to her. For a moment his eyes rested on the flour dusting her cheek.
"Who are you?"
"Clara Montgomery. The Golden Whisk is mine. You had an eviction notice sent to us this morning."
Everyone around them went quiet. His assistants broke off in the middle of what they were saying.
"Miss Montgomery," he said. His voice was deeper than she had anticipated. "Your lease ran out three months ago. You're on a month-to-month arrangement. The land has been sold. It's just business."
"It's my family's life. You can't just tear down a whole block because you want another high-rise."
"I can," he said, without malice, but with a flat certainty. "It's already done. If you need help finding a new location, my office can -"
"I don't need any assistance in finding a new spot. I just need you to leave my bakery standing."
For a moment, something shifted behind his eyes. It wasn't sympathy. It was closer to curiosity. As if he wasn't accustomed to people refusing him without raising their voices.
Then it vanished.
"Security will escort you out," he said, and headed for the revolving door. A black car sat waiting.
Clara stayed put while the lobby returned to its usual bustle around her.
She had failed.
What escaped her notice was Julian in the back of that car, opening his tablet. His grandfather's e-mail sat at the top of his screen.
_Board vote tomorrow. No engagement, no shares. You have until midnight, Julian. Don't disappoint me._
He stared at it and rubbed his temples. Twelve hours to find a fiancée or lose the company.
And for some reason, he kept picturing the girl with flour on her cheeks who wasn't afraid of him.
He grabbed his phone and spoke into it, "Get me everything on Clara Montgomery. The Golden Whisk, located on 4th. And cancel my flight.
