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How to bake a scandal

Chapter 5 The man behind the mask

Word Count: 987    |    Released on: 26/02/2025

Sutt

"Not the worst," he said, not a hair out of place. "For s

s. Sweat stung my eyes, blurring his stupid

ow arched

hat's next? A Himalayan trek? Stock market domination? D

the corner of his mouth. "

st the doorframe. "Final

-

me resent him more. No buttered toast, just avocado arrange

his is your daily 'I'm

dy. His thumb tapped the ceramic once

d at the avocado.

riti

s healt

eyes didn't laugh, but his t

t go. F

out-Ethan as a teen, grinning beside a woman with his same stubbo

-

ad been measured just that morning. We drove to Chase Tech in

hat could double as a runway, the city stretched below like a circ

already open. "

damp from my run-drenched back. "Just.

ms that could've been ema

I don't know, superv

rt. "Just f

CEO superpower: making spread

-

erns grilled, coffee brands dissected. Everyone leaned in when h

a spreadsheet rant,

ing once, fast as a flicked lighter. Barely there,

had knocked

flashed-**Miranda Hartley**-before he

. The woman who'd thr

ce smoothing into CEO blankne

nda in his i

-

ncil in his trash. Two jagged ha

lawless a

k pocket, right next to "avocado trau

een glare. Ethan hadn't moved, his

g flowcharts as evil lair blue

look up. "

m. "The emails. The eggs.

oze. "It's

pped out, sharp and raw.

ired, mouth softer. Then he stood, straig

stayed, staring at the fa

I sank into her secondhand couch, springs creaking under me, and held out my phon

ell me I'm not im

h administration-and squinted. *"'Avery, my office. Noon. We need to

ng. The case was cracked from that time I'd dropped it i

faded *Radiohead* tee wrinkled at the

ek. She replied,

stress ball across the room. It hit a stack of *Natio

l my palm ached. "What if she's s

ted. "Miranda still calls IT when her mous

one b

nda**:

ed at J

lips pressed

-

own a gas station taquito an

Greg from HR microwaved his daily tuna casserole, the stench

noc

n.

lowing at the edges, a mahogany desk scarred by decades of stile

t look up

d. The seat cushion sighed, releasing a puff

pen-*click, click, click*-against a stack of

ore than i

ifted, cold

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