Most bakers in the area know about Clair.
Claire Watkins.
She had a reputation for late-night demands, last-minute wild changes, and, without fail, a conveniently invented “problem” with the final product, just in time to haggle the price down.
In fact, she’d gotten free desserts from every bakery in town.
But, when she called my shop, I knew she wouldn’t be making me work for nothing.
The “emergency” this time was her daughter’s tenth birthday. “It’s going to be her special day!” she chirped, a little too cheerfully. “And no one can do what you do.”
She layered on compliments like frosting, hoping I wouldn’t notice the cracks underneath.
I agreed, with one condition: she’d sign my contract first.
She flippantly agreed, but little did she know, the cake wouldn’t be the only thing served with layers.
Baking Trouble: When Claire Calls, Chaos Follows
The day Claire dropped by my bakery was one of those chaotic mornings where the to-do list seemed to double every time I blinked.
Orders for weddings, baby showers, and anniversaries were stacked like layers on a towering cake.
And then she walked in, all glossy hair and designer handbag, as if the world should pause just for her.
“Layla!” she exclaimed, her arms outstretched like we were old friends. “I knew I could count on you.”
I barely had time to look up from icing a tray of cupcakes. “Claire,” I said evenly, glancing at the clock. “You’re lucky I had a cancellation this week.”
She ignored the pointed tone. “Oh, thank goodness! You’re saving my life. You know how it is, being so busy.”
She laughed, a hollow sound that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I’ll keep it simple, I promise.”
I almost laughed.
Claire’s idea of “simple” would make an architect weep.
Sure enough, by the time she finished explaining, her “simple” cake had morphed into a multi-tiered extravaganza with hand-painted flowers, edible glitter, and—because why not?—a hidden compartment for surprise candies.
“And the topper,” she added with a dramatic pause, “has to be a unicorn. But not just any unicorn. It needs to match her favorite stuffed animal exactly. I’ll text you a photo.”
“Of course,” I replied, keeping my tone professional. Inside, though, I was gritting my teeth.
But this wasn’t my first rodeo.
I’d already sent her the contract that morning, outlining every possible charge and contingency.
Claire was the queen of sneaky requests, but I’d spent years perfecting my system.
Let her play her game—I’d be ready.
Layered Demands and Hidden Agendas
By midweek, Claire had sent me no fewer than seven emails and four text messages. Each one came with some tweak or “brilliant” new idea.
“Can we make the frosting sparkle more?”
“What if the cake lights up when we cut it?”
“Do you think it’s possible to include a live butterfly release?”
I didn’t even blink.
Every absurd request went straight into the contract addendum, each addition raising the final price.
By the end of it, Claire’s cake was not just a centerpiece; it was an engineering marvel.
I would’ve admired it if I hadn’t been so exhausted.
The night before the party, I finally finished.
The cake stood tall and glorious in my kitchen, the culmination of sleepless nights and painstaking work.
The unicorn topper gleamed with a hand-painted sheen, its glassy eyes an exact replica of her daughter’s stuffed animal. Even Claire couldn’t find a flaw with this one.
Or so I thought.
The next morning, I delivered the cake to Claire’s sprawling backyard.
The place was decked out like a mini carnival, with balloon arches, a petting zoo, and a cotton candy stand.
Claire greeted me with her usual over-the-top charm, but her eyes darted to the cake as if searching for something to nitpick.
“Looks lovely,” she said, her voice a little too neutral. “But maybe we could go over a few details after the party? You’ll stay, won’t you?”
I hesitated.
I’d planned to drop off the cake and head home for some much-needed rest, but her tone had that oily edge I’d learned not to trust.
“Of course,” I said. Better to handle whatever she had up her sleeve on the spot.
The party went off without a hitch—or so it seemed.
The kids squealed with delight when the candy-filled compartment spilled open. Parents snapped photos of the unicorn topper, gushing about how stunning it was.
For a moment, I almost believed the nightmare was over.
But Claire wasn’t done yet.
As the party wound down, she sidled up to me, her smile too wide to be genuine.
“Layla, do you have a minute? There’s just something I’d like to discuss…”
I followed her to a quiet corner of the yard, already bracing myself.
Claire was a master of these moments, her voice dripping with faux concern as she leaned in.
“You know, the cake was lovely,” she began, her tone laced with hesitation. “But there were a couple of… things. Tiny issues, really.”
And just like that, I knew the real game was about to begin.
Glitter, Grievances, and a Crumbling Scheme
Claire’s tone was as smooth as buttercream, but her words were sharpened knives.
“Don’t get me wrong, Layla. The cake was beautiful—truly—but the colors of the unicorn’s mane? They weren’t quite as vibrant as I imagined. And the glitter? It was… a little sparse.”
I stared at her, keeping my expression neutral.
Behind her, the remnants of the cake sat on the dessert table, a masterpiece reduced to crumbs and smears of frosting. The kids had devoured it, and the adults had practically lined up for seconds.
Sparse glitter, my foot.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied evenly, folding my hands. “But as you know, the cake met every specification in the signed contract.”
Claire’s smile faltered, just a flicker, but it was enough to fuel me.
“Of course, of course,” she said, waving a hand. “It’s just that these little issues—well, they’ve been bothering me. I was thinking… maybe we could adjust the final price?”
And there it was: the moment I’d been waiting for.
Claire’s voice was dripping with faux concern, but her eyes gleamed with the confidence of someone who’d pulled this stunt a dozen times before.
But today, she was playing a different game—one she couldn’t win.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the contract, neatly folded and ready.
“Claire, I completely understand your concerns,” I said, keeping my tone polite but firm. “That’s why every detail was agreed upon beforehand. You’ll see here,” I pointed to the relevant section, “that all changes were accounted for, and the final design was approved in writing.”
Her face flushed, a hint of panic seeping through her carefully curated composure. “Well,” she began, faltering, “it’s not about the contract, really. It’s about… customer satisfaction.”
“Which is why I always deliver exactly what’s promised,” I countered. “And as you can see, your guests were thrilled.”
At that moment, a pair of nearby parents, overhearing the exchange, chimed in.
“Thrilled is an understatement,” one said, holding a plate of cake crumbs. “This was the best cake I’ve ever had. Layla, do you have a card? My sister’s wedding is coming up.”
Claire froze, her fake smile cracking as the truth of the situation hit her. She was cornered, and everyone knew it.
Her attempt to manipulate me had backfired, and now her guests were witness to her little scheme.
“I… I suppose it’s fine,” she stammered, reaching for her purse. “You’ve done a wonderful job, really.”
Begrudgingly, she handed me the full payment.
I tucked the money into my bag, feeling a quiet triumph bloom in my chest. “Thank you, Claire. I’m glad I could make your daughter’s day special.”
Sweet Karma: The Baker Always Rises
Word travels fast in small communities, and Claire’s antics at the party were no exception.
Within days, bakers across town were sharing the story—how she’d tried to scam me, only to walk away empty-handed and humiliated.
Claire’s name, once whispered in warning, now sparked laughter.
No one would take her orders anymore. Her reputation as the queen of complaints had finally caught up with her.
Meanwhile, my business flourished.
The parents at the party had spread the word about my work, and soon I was fielding calls for weddings, anniversaries, and baby showers.
Each order came with one resounding theme: trust.
I went back to my kitchen, ready to bake the next masterpiece.
Because no matter how many Claire’s there were in the world, I’d learned one thing: integrity always rises to the top, like cream in a cake.