The Turnover [EDITING]

Chapter 1

I had George Clooney on a leash as I led him past the doors of the bakery.

“I’m sorry,” I said to my supervisor, “but I had to bring the dog with me today.”

Eloisa Carreon gave George a pat on the head. “Hello, Georgie-Porgy,” she cooed, as he flicked his tiny shih tzu tongue over her hand. “Did you give Monica a lot of trouble at the vet?”

“Of course he did,” I answered. “He was barking like a beast as soon as he saw the needles. It took two assistants to hold him down, but at least he didn’t bite anyone.”

“Sounds like my brother,” she teased.

That was when I noticed that Paul was standing right behind her.

 “Eloisa, stop that,” he spoke dryly. “Monica, what possessed you to bring that animal to the bakery today?”

“His name is George Clooney,” Eloisa answered. “Today was his annual trip to the vet.”

“I don’t care,” Paul answered. “We were supposed to talk about the new ovens today, and you let your assistant bring a small animal into this bakery.”

Paul Carreon was only in his early thirties—not much older than Eloisa herself—but he carried himself with the sense of self-awareness that came from being the first and only person in the family to graduate with a business degree. With his chin held up in mid-air and his hands clasped in front of him, he seemed like a man who would rather be in a business suit than the polo shirts he wore as the head honcho for a family bakery.

It just so happened that this wasn’t his place—literally and figuratively—to speak to me like the master of the baked-goods universe. Eloisa was now the main supervisor for this new branch of Reyna Bakery, and Paul was only making his presence known as the representative of the main branch.

“Paul,” Eloisa asked, “shouldn’t you be back with Pappy at the old bakery right now?”

“Not until Eloisa and I resolve the issue with the ovens,” Paul answered. “I insist that you start your own baking at this branch so we can get the new ovens.”

“God, Kuya,” Eloisa burst out. “Our ovens aren’t cell phones that you can trade up when you get sick and tired of them.”

“You’re forgetting that we don’t just bake cakes at the bakery anymore,” Paul added. “What about the brownies and the empanadas?”

Just at that very moment, we were interrupted by the arrival of Eloisa’s boyfriend, Sean Alvarez, who had just walked into the kitchen from the restroom.

“Did somebody say empanadas?” Sean called out.

I hushed Sean and told him to step away from Eloisa and Paul.

“What’s this about?” Sean asked. 

 “Monica,” Paul called out. “Tell my sister over here that we need new ovens to keep up with the demands at the main branch.

This was the part of the conversation that I hated the most—the part when Paul would notice that I was in the same room, so he could ask me to take sides between him and his sister. He did not even notice that Sean was standing right next to me.

“Monica,” Eloisa shot back, “tell my brother how many orders we’ve received since the last big project.”

I gulped. “We’re getting orders of up to four months in advance. If we don’t open the store soon, we’d be backlogged.”

“I thought you were on my side,” said Eloisa.

Sometimes I wonder how those two have managed to live under the same roof without strangling each other. I sure wouldn’t be able to handle it if I had a brother who picked on me, like Paul always did.