Page 44 of Bake the Town Red

Oopsie poopsie. Look at me and my two left hands. You understand, Dahlia, right? Be a doll and give me a new one. I’d hate to cause a scene and tell everyone here that you’re mistreating a sick woman.

If Miss Cunt over here would’ve had some sort of medical condition that caused this, I wouldn’t have peeped. I would’ve given her three cupcakes on the fucking house, just in case one or two would’ve fallen on the way.

Except that’s not the case.

After the millionth incident, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I had her checked. A few Bitcoin transactions on the dark web gave me access to her medical records.

The woman is healthier than I’ve ever been.

And she’s rich. Flaunts around with her Birkin bag and wears clothes that cost thousands of dollars. Yet here she is, conning me out of two and a half dollars.

Off to my October hitlist she went.

When I return her gaze, she smiles. Thinks she’s winning this round.

Ha.

“That we are.” She lifts on her tiptoes, eyeing the baking room behind me. Searching for the source of the sweet, delicious scents. “My feelings are still hurt, though. You yelled at me in front of everyone, Dahlia. Humiliated me. Falsely accused me of trying to con you.”

She’s not the only actress between the two of us. I did that intentionally. Told her off and heard her tirade about how her friends would never visit my shop again.

Screw her and her rich friends. I didn’t need her two fifty times fuck-knows-how-much, either. I needed to set the stage to reel her in here. And I did exactly that.

My, my. I played her better than Chopin ever played the piano.

She would feel so dumb if she ever found out the truth. I wish I could pat myself on the back. I don’t, but I do hear the applause in my head.

And the Oscar goes to…

“I would never stoopthatlow.” Birdie blinks twice, forcing tears to the corners of her eyes. Cry me amotherfucking river. “My husband and the mayor play golf together, for heaven’s sake. That’s how rich we are. Why would I lie to get free cupcakes?”

Here’s a great answer to her question. Some behaviors can’t be explained, even by the world’s greatest psychiatrists.

Sure, people are nice. People are funny. People are sweet. People—Tyler, particularly—are dark and hot and possessive as fuck.

Others are simply born cruel and heartless. Al and my mom grew up in the same house, had the same loving parents. She turned up sweet and caring. He became an abusive psycho.

Birdie loves the power trip just because. Every time she threatens to make a scene in exchange for a freebie, she gloats.

But this isn’t the moment to enlighten her.

Soon.

“I don’t know how I haven’t thought about it sooner. Apologies.” Apologies, my ass. I step forward, hold the swinging door open for her. She comes in, naturally. Damn Birdie never stood a chance against my trickery. “Let me make this up to you. I have this new flavor in the works.”

“Tell me more,” she glees.

“I’d love for a worldly woman such as yourself to get the first taste. Tell me what you think.”

“You’ve found the right person to ask.” Birdie is ecstatic.

So ecstatic from humiliating me. From bending me to her will and forcing me to suck up to her. I bet the rest of the world does that. I bet the power trip gets to her head every single time.

It sure gets to her head now, that much is obvious.

She puffs her chest, searching for those new cupcakes I promised her. Distracted.

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