Page 33 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

Richard stood when we entered, his silver hair catching the morning light from the windows. He looked between us with sharp, assessing eyes.

"Maya. Ethan. I hear you have something urgent to discuss." He gestured to the chairs across from his desk. "Please, sit."

Ethan pulled out his tablet and launched into an explanation of what he'd found: the falsified survey, the payments to Hutchins, the email chain proving my firm had orchestrated the entire campaign. He presented each piece of evidence methodically, building the case layer by layer.

I watched Richard's face shift from curiosity to shock to cold fury.

"They falsified a legal survey," Richard said quietly when Ethan finished. "And used it to extort a sale."

"Yes." Ethan pulled up the motion to dismiss. "This motion lays out the fraud, includes the evidence, and requests dismissal with prejudice. But I need your signature as attorney of record."

Richard was silent for a long moment, studying the documents on the tablet. Then he looked at me.

"Maya, I have to ask. Are you certain you want to pursue this? If we file this motion, we're accusing a mainland law firm and a local landowner of criminal fraud. It will get ugly. There will be depositions, maybe a criminal investigation. Are you prepared for that fight?"

"Yes." My voice came out steady, certain. "They tried to steal my family's legacy. I'm prepared to fight."

Richard studied me, and I saw something flicker in his expression—doubt, maybe. Or concern.

"You understand this isn't just about being angry," he said carefully. "This requires strategy, careful planning, emotional control. Business litigation is complex, and opposing counsel will use every tool they have to discredit you. They'll paint you as an emotional small-town girl who’s in over her head, someone who doesn't understand modern business realities—"

"Excuse me?" The words came out sharper than I intended. "I graduated top of my class from CIA. I was senior pastry chef at Canlis by age twenty-seven. I've tripled this bakery's revenue in seven years while navigating permit issues, property disputes, and every obstacle your generation of lawyers has thrown at me. I'm not some emotional little girl, Mr. Sterling. I'm a businesswoman who knows exactly what she's doing."

Richard blinked, clearly surprised by the outburst. "I didn't mean to suggest—"

"Yes, you did." I stood, my hands clenched at my sides. "You looked at me and saw someone too emotional to handle business litigation. Because I'm young, or because I'm a woman, or because I bake bread instead of practicing law. But I'm not asking for your permission to fight for my bakery. I'm asking you to do your job and sign the motion."

Ethan stood, moving to stand beside me. "She's not emotional. She's strategic. She's not in over her head. She's been swimming in deeper waters than this for years. And she's not someone who needs protection. She's someone who deserves respect."

My throat tightened. I'd defended my own credentials a thousand times—to my mother, to Marcus in Seattle, to every person who'd questioned my decision to come home. But no one had ever defended me with such fierce certainty.

He saw me. Completely. And he valued what he saw.

Richard's expression had shifted from surprise to something that looked like shame. "You're absolutely right. Both of you. I apologize, Maya. That was condescending and inappropriate."

He picked up a pen and signed the motion with a swift, decisive stroke.

“Let’s file this and take them down.”

The county clerk's office was busy —property transfers, business licenses, permit applications. We stood in line for twenty minutes, Ethan holding the motion documents with care.

When we finally reached the counter, the clerk—a middle-aged woman with reading glasses on a chain—reviewed the motion with practiced efficiency.

"Motion to dismiss with prejudice, alleging fraud and extortion." She stamped it with official finality. "This will be sent to the judge for review. You should hear back within five business days."

"Five days?" My voice rose slightly. "But the sale deadline is in less than three weeks—"

"Maya." Ethan's hand touched my elbow gently. "Five days is actually fast for the court system. We'll be fine."

Outside the county building, I let myself breathe for the first time in hours. The motion was filed. The evidence was submitted. The fight was official.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "For what you said to Richard. You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did." Ethan's blue eyes met mine. "He was dismissing you. And you deserve better than that. You deserve to be seen for who you actually are."

“So, you meant all that? You weren’t just saying it so he’d take the case more seriously?”

“Of course not. You’ve built something remarkable despite every obstacle thrown at you. You're exactly the kind of person who succeeds, not because things are easy, but because you refuse to give up even when they're impossible."