Page 170 of A Very Merry Enemy
Lucas wraps his arms around me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I manage. “Holy shit.”
My dad is already on his phone, probably calling a lawyer. Mom looks torn between being proud and horrified. Tricia is filming everything on her phone.
“Don’t worry about me!” Sammy calls out as they lead him away. “Worth it!”
Somehow, through this disaster, I laugh because that’s Sammy. He’s always had my best interests in mind.
The crowd erupts again—this time in support of my brother. People are yelling his name. Someone starts a “Free Sammy” chant, and half the tent joins in.
Mayor Thompson looks completely overwhelmed. “Let’s…let’s get back to celebrating our winners, shall we?”
The energy shifts back to us. People congratulate us again, though now everyone wants to talk about Sammy punching Dominic. The local news is having a field day.
Lucas keeps me close, his arm around my waist. “Your brother is scary sometimes.”
“I know. But he’s not wrong.”
“No, he’s definitely not wrong.”
“Did you see how Dominic flinched?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Pussy.”
Laughter falls from my mouth.
After twenty minutes, Mary Carter catches my eye from across the tent and gestures toward a quiet corner. I excuse myself from Lucas and make my way over to her.
“First,” she says when I reach her, “is your brother going to be okay?”
“Yeah. My dad left to bail him out. Sammy knew what he was doing.”
“Good.” She glances around to make sure no one’s listening. “I don’t want to add to an already overwhelming day, but I have a time-sensitive opportunity I’d like to discuss with you.”
My heart starts beating faster. “Okay.”
“I’m opening a new bakery in Nashville in February. It’s going to be a flagship location. Very upscale, innovative, and focused on elevating southern baking traditions.” She looks at me intently. “I want you to be my partner.”
The words don’t register at first. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Partner. Equal ownership. Your recipes, your creative control, your name on the door alongside mine at Adorable Bakery.” She pulls out a folder from her bag. “I’ve been following your career since Paris. I knew Dominic was taking credit for your work—everyone in the industry knew, but no one wanted to call him out. When I heard you were competing today, I had to see you in action. Everyone here did.”
I stare at her, unable to form words.
“Your technical skill is exceptional,” she continues. “But more than that, you have heart. You understand what makes people connect with food. That’srare. And now that the truth about Dominic is out there? Your reputation is going to skyrocket. People are going to want to support you, to taste your real work. This is perfect timing.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll think about it.” She hands me the folder. “Everything’s in here. Salary, ownership percentage, creative control, along with timelines. It’s a substantial offer, Holiday. This could launch you into a completely new level of yourcareer. Your own bakery, your own recipes, in a major market. Nashville is exploding right now.”
I take the folder with numb fingers. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
“I need to know by Christmas Eve,” Mary says apologetically. “I have interviews scheduled the week after Christmas, and I don’t want to waste anyone’s time if you’re interested in teaming up with me. If you have questions, call me. My number’s in there.”
“Christmas Eve,” I repeat. That’s ten days away.
“I know it’s fast. And I understand today has been…a lot.” She squeezes my arm gently. “But this is real, Holiday. This is your shot. Everything you’ve worked for. Think about it carefully.”
