Page 72 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

Not that it was a sure thing even after Acme withdrew their bid. We had plenty of stiff competition in the form of other businesses, some of them more well-connected than us, and others with resources to rival Jonathon’s.

But the one thing they didn’t have was nostalgia, and the fact that Breadcetera had become a fixture in Greenwich Village. Some of our customers had literally been coming to our store for as long as they’d been alive.

The drama dragged on for weeks and weeks. It seemed like the zoning board was deliberately stalling, though I knew that notion was ridiculous.

Finally, the day of the announcement came. I put on the same pantsuit Jonathon had bought me, and headed to the zoning board meeting. Had I known it was going to take three hours of tedious business before they even got around to announcing who would be given the corner lot.

In the end, they gave me their answer, and then I headed to the bakery to spread the word.

They all knew that I had gone to the zoning board meeting. As I entered Breadcetera, I kept my coat pulled tight around me, my shoulders slightly slumped, and my lips in a thin, tight line.

Sascha looked up at me, her eyes full of hope and also dread. Pedro peered through the kitchen window, trying to see if I would offer up any details. Yerkov was surprisingly still hanging around though normally he’d have been gone by that point of the day.

I approached Sascha and spoke to her in quiet tones. “Sascha, can you go and get my aunt and bring her to the kitchen, please?”

She nodded, her mouth opening and closing. She couldn’t bring herself to ask how the zoning board council meeting went. I walked past both Yerkov and Pedro without even looking at them and went into the office to close the door.

I remained in the office until I heard my aunt’s wheelchair motor whirring through the door. Then I came out, still wearing my long coat.

“Guys?” I said in a dejected tone. “I just wanted to say that, you really pulled together as a team, and sacrificed every bit of blood, sweat, and tears that I did to win the bid for the corner lot. I really appreciate it.”

“We didn’t get it, did we?” Pedro blurted, unable to contain himself any longer. “I mean, that’s what you’re getting at, right?”

Yerkov started cursing in Russian. Sascha threw her hands up in the air and declared she was quitting. My aunt tried to smile, though I could tell she was disappointed.

“Oh well, we’ll be just fine where we are.”

“No we won’t.” I said.

Pedro glared. “Hey, don’t make this harder for us than it is already, hey? Try to be a grown-up about losing.”

“Whoever said anything about losing?” I opened my coat and produced a bottle of champagne, cinematically popping it open to gush foam out onto the bakery kitchen floor. “We won!”

After a split second to process the information, they all broke into ragged cheers. My aunt sniffled, smiling through her tears. Sascha almost collapsed with relief. Yerkov glared at me and then burst into laughter.

“Is good rib, boss lady.”

“I’m so glad I have your seal of approval, Yerkov.”

I went to the door and locked it. “We’re closing early for a celebration party. Food’s on its way, and everyone is still getting paid until closing time.”

I hugged my aunt and kissed her on top of the head. “Congratulations, Aunt Petunia. After forty years in the bakery biz, Breadcetera is getting bigger.”

“I’m so happy.” She smiled and squeezed my hand. “You did good, honey. You did good.”

I really didn’t need any further endorsement than that.

The food arrived, and soon we were all chowing down on Thai cuisine. I was curious to try the pizza with cucumbers on it, but they were sliced really thin and tasted great with the hot, spicy chili sauce. Pedro and I were discussing exactly how we might be able to weaponize our discovery into a new bakery offering when my aunt rolled up to me on her chair and peered up at me.

“Hey, sunshine,” she said with a knowing grin that made me instantly suspicious. “Will you run to the corner grocer and get some double-A batteries?”

“Um, actually, I think I have some of those in my desk drawer—”

“Not double-A batteries, I’m sorry. I meant to say triple-A.”

I frowned. “Well, I know for sure that I don’t have any of those.”

“Will you get them for me? Now?”

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