But Addison niggled at my mind. She knew. She knew about Brock and Natasha, and I wanted to know how. The only people who knew on my end were family and Kash. Of course, if one Bennet knew something, they all knew. But it wasn’t like Addison hung around the Longbourne water cooler for the latest gossip. And I had no friends at our office, just a host of acquaintances.

It bothered me in the elevator, then in the cab. I hadn’t seen Brock since I’d gone to pack a suitcase—when I went to really move my things out, he was gone, as requested. So how did Addison know? Had she seen some of my messages? Had I left something out that would have clued her in? I’d never ask, not willing to give her any more ammunition than she already had. Not willing to admit weakness to the one person I knew would exploit it without a second thought.

But I’d wonder.

In fact, I made it a point to obsess about it until the second I pulled open the door to the bakery and stepped inside.

The Femmes weren’t there yet, thankfully and as planned. I shook hands with the owner and the producer of the show, who showed me to the table they’d set up. Beautiful china sat delicately on raw wood, each plate set with slices of cake and little signs noted with each flavor. Tess had sent over small arrangements of peach cabbage roses—I knew them on sight now, thanks to Kash—and they sat on the table in small cut-glass vases, scattered around the creamy, lush cakes.

We barely had time to exchange the minimum before the Felix entourage arrived like a fleet of swans, beautiful and tall and squawking. Instantly, the shop was too small. The crew alone would have filled the bakery. Add in the rest, and there was barely room to turn around, but Jennifer Lawrence had used this bakery for her wedding, and so must Angelika, whether there was space to film a TV show or not.

Four Felix sisters, their matriarch, and Jesus Jordan made their way to me where we greeted each other politely and professionally, air-kissing cheeks. Except Natasha. She barely looked up from her phone, which was just as well.

My gaze caught on her screen, noting she was on Instagram. And that was when it hit me.

Natasha. Addison knew because Natasha was probably posting all about him. I’d immediately unfollowed him everywhere the night I caught them together. I didn’t follow Natasha because I had enough sense of self-worth not to torture myself. But I swear to God, I wanted to snatch her phone on the fucking spot and find out if I was right.