Page 72 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

Chapter twenty-two

Radio Silence

Maya

Wednesday passed without word from Ethan, which was fine. Totally fine. He was busy with ethics interviews and prosecutor meetings and probably fighting off journalists with a stick. I was a mature, independent woman who didn't need constant contact to feel secure in her relationship.

"You're doing it again," Tessa said, catching me mid-phone-check while I was supposed to be shaping croissants.

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you pretend you're casually checking the time but you're actually seeing if Ethan texted." She grabbed my phone and held it hostage. "He's fine. He's probably just inmeetings where phones aren't allowed. You know, like normal professional situations where people can't text their girlfriends every five minutes?"

"It's been forty-eight hours."

"So?"

"So forty-eight hours ago he was texting me about job offers and coming home and figuring out our future. Now it's complete radio silence. That's concerning, right? That's not just me being clingy?"

Tessa considered this while boxing up an order of heart-shaped pastéis de nata. "Okay, it's a little concerning. But there are approximately seven thousand innocent explanations before we jump to 'he's ghosting you after declaring his love.’ Besides, I really don’t think he’s in the proper headspace to be picking up babes right now.”

"I wasn't thinking he's ghosting me." I was absolutely thinking he might be ghosting me.

"Liar. You have your panicked face on. The one that says you're catastrophizing about seventeen different worst-case scenarios." She handed back my phone. "Text him if you're worried."

I did. "How are you doing? Everything okay?"

The message showed delivered but not read, which somehow felt worse than no response at all. Like his phone was on but he was deliberately ignoring me. Or dead in a ditch. Or—stop it, Maya, you're catastrophizing.

"See? Not even read," I showed Tessa.

"Which means his phone is off or he's in a meeting or literally any explanation that isn't 'he's abandoned you for a life of crime.'" She grabbed my phone again. "You're not allowed to check this for at least two hours. Focus on Sweetheart Week. Make pretty pastries. Stop spiraling."

I tried. I really did. But Sweetheart Week—normally my favorite time of year—felt like torture when I was trying not to panic about my boyfriend vanishing in Seattle while facing potential disbarment.

Boyfriend. Was that even the right word? We'd said "I love you" and made plans and he'd promised to come home, but we hadn't exactly defined terms. Maybe I was spiraling over someone who was technically just my fake-dating-turned-real-but-still-undefined situation.

God, I needed therapy.

Friday morning brought a FedEx delivery that immediately sent my anxiety into overdrive. Official legal documents in a thick envelope with a Seattle law firm's return address. My hands were actually shaking as I signed for it.

"Please be something boring like tax forms," I muttered, opening the envelope. "Please be literally anything except—oh, you have got to be kidding me."

Notice of Civil Action: Campbell v. Caldwell

"What is it?" Tessa appeared at my shoulder.

"A lawsuit. Marcus Campbell is suing Ethan for—" I flipped pages, catching phrases that made my stomach drop. "Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars for theft of trade secrets and breach of fiduciary duty."

"That's insane—"

"Oh, it gets better." I found my name buried in paragraph seventeen. "He's suing me too. For conspiracy and joint liability because apparently I'm a co-conspirator in exposing the fraud that they committed."

Tessa grabbed the documents, reading rapidly. Her expression went from concerned to furious. "They're claiming you orchestrated a media campaign? You've barely said anything publicly!"

"Doesn't matter. They're saying Ethan and I coordinated to damage their business relationships, and now we're both liable for three-quarters of a million dollars I definitely don't have." I sank onto a stool, suddenly dizzy. "This is fine. Everything's fine. I'm just being sued for more money than I'll earn in my entire life for the crime of—checks notes: having my bakery saved from fraud."

"Can they even do this?"