4. Zane
Chapter 4
Zane
T he bakery smells like sugar, coffee, and temptation—three things I typically avoid at all costs. But as I follow Asher through the door, something else catches my attention. Something familiar.
Dark chocolate espresso cookies. My weakness, even after all these years.
"Well?" Asher mutters under his breath. "Planning to stand here all day or actually walk through the doorway?"
I shoot him a glare, but my attention is immediately drawn to Tessa. She's standing behind a makeshift desk, looking professional in a black pencil skirt and cream blouse. But there's a smudge of chocolate on her cheek that makes something twist in my chest.
"Mr. Mercer," she says formally, "thank you for coming."
"Miss Marlow." I keep my voice cool, professional. "I assume you have those projections ready?"
She straightens, reaching for a binder that's color-coded within an inch of its life. "Everything's here. Five-year growth strategy, market analysis, projected revenue streams?—"
"And why exactly should I care about any of that? About any of this?” I glance around the space again. “Besides what my brother may or may not see in all this.”
Her eyes narrow. It’s clear my curt response shocks her but she doesn’t let it stop her. She squares her shoulders. "Because despite what you might think, this isn't just some cute little bakery project. We've done our homework."
"Have you?" I step closer, close enough to catch the vanilla scent of her perfume. "Show me."
She opens the binder, launching into a detailed analysis that actually catches me off guard. Her numbers are solid. Her projections, conservative but promising. And the way she walks me through their strategy…
"Impressed?" she asks, catching my surprised look when she breaks down their debt-to-equity ratios.
"You've clearly been studying."
"Some of us actually paid attention in business school, Mr. Mercer. We weren't all too busy getting kicked out."
I feel my lips twitch. "Careful, Miss Marlow. Your claws are showing."
"Better than my desperation to prove you wrong."
"Is that what this is about?" I lean against her desk, watching her flush. "Proving me wrong?"
"No." She meets my gaze steadily. "It's about building something real. Something that matters. The fact that it might make you eat your words about 'cute little projects' is just a bonus."
From across the room, Ivy calls out, "Fresh batch coming out!"
The scent of chocolate and coffee intensifies. Tessa's eyes flick to the kitchen, then back to me. "Can I offer you a sample? Since you're here to evaluate everything."
"Including your baking skills?"
"Oh no," she says with a small laugh. "Those aren't mine. I stick to spreadsheets these days. Ivy handles the actual baking; I’d burn the place down."
Something about her admission—the slight vulnerability in it—makes me pause. "Smart division of labor. Playing to your strengths."
"Was that… almost a compliment, Mr. Mercer?"
"Don't let it go to your head." But I accept the cookie she offers, taking a bite that immediately transports me back to high school. To stolen moments in empty classrooms, watching a certain cheerleader who somehow saw past my carefully constructed walls.
"Well?" she asks softly. "Up to your standards?"
I meet her eyes over the cookie. "Better."
The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning. She's standing close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her blue eyes, the slight tremble in her lower lip.
"Zane," Asher calls from across the room, breaking the moment. "We should review those supplier contracts."
Right. Business. That's why we're here.
"The contracts," I say roughly, stepping back. "Show me."
"Of course." Tessa reaches for another folder, but her fingers brush mine in the process. The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. "Everything's organized by?—"
"Date, cost, and terms of agreement," I finish, scanning the impeccably arranged documents. "Impressive."
"You sound surprised."
"I am." I look up at her. "You're full of surprises lately, Miss Marlow."
"Good ones, I hope?"
The hopeful note in her voice does something to my chest. "We'll see."
"Always so guarded," she murmurs, more to herself than me. Louder, she says, "Well, Mr. Mercer, since you're here to evaluate everything…" She reaches for another cookie. "Might as well be thorough."
I accept it, watching as she pulls out more reports. She's good at this—the subtle challenge wrapped in professionalism. The way she meets my questions with data and determination.
"You've thought of everything," I admit finally, hours later.
"Almost like I know what I'm doing." Her smile is sweet but her eyes glitter with triumph. "Despite being just another 'lost cause' for your brother to save."
I wince at having my words thrown back at me. "I may have been… hasty in that assessment."
"May have been?"
"Don't push it, Marlow."
She laughs, the sound doing dangerous things to my resolve. "Wouldn't dream of it. Though I have to say, watching you admit you're wrong might be the highlight of my year."
"Careful," I warn softly. "Or I might start thinking you're enjoying this a little too much."
"Would that be so terrible?" She steps closer, close enough that I can see the light dusting of freckles across her nose. "Enjoying things? Living a little?"
"Dangerous territory, Miss Marlow."
"Good thing I'm not afraid of a little danger." She holds my gaze. "Are you?"
The question hits harder than she probably intends. Because yes, I am afraid. Afraid of how she makes me feel. Afraid of how much I want to close this distance between us. Afraid of what might happen if I finally let someone in.
"I should go," I say roughly, gathering my papers. "I'll have my assessment to you by Monday."
"Running away again?" The softness in her voice stops me. "You're good at that, you know."
I turn back slowly. "Excuse me?"
"Every time someone gets too close to the truth, you shut down. Pull back. Run."
I laugh. “You think you have me all figured out after a few jabs at a holiday party? Try harder, Miss Marlow.”
She shakes her head, a flirty grin tugging at her lips like she’s hiding a secret. "You can't keep everyone at arm's length forever, Zane."
"Watch me," I mutter, but even as I say it, I know she's right. And that terrifies me more than anything.
"Fine." She straightens up, but there's a determined glint in her eye that makes me nervous. Like she knows the truth, like she sees through all the false bravado and bullshit after all this time. "But just so you know? I'm not giving up on you that easily."
"Why not?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
She smiles, soft and genuine. "Because I think you're worth the effort. Even if you don't believe it yourself."
I'm out the door before she can see how much her words affect me. But as I stride toward my car, her voice follows me, settling into the cracks of my carefully built defenses.
Because maybe she's right. Maybe I am running.
The question is, what am I running from? The possibility of getting hurt again? Or the possibility that she might actually be able to break through all my walls?
Either way, I'm not sure I'm ready to find out the answer.
"You're brooding again," Asher says, catching up to me as we walk to our cars. "More than usual, which is saying something."
"I don't brood."
"Right. And you definitely weren't just mentally undressing Tessa Marlow in there."
I stop short, fixing him with a glare. "Careful."
"Or what? You'll deny that there's clearly something between you two?" He leans against his Range Rover, crossing his arms. "Come on, Zane. I saw the way you looked at her when she was breaking down those numbers."
"I was evaluating their business plan."
"Sure. And the way your jaw clenched every time she bit her lip while explaining profit margins? That was just professional interest? I know whenever I’m talking ROI I get all hot and bothered too." He laughs, making no attempt to hide his amusement in all of this.
"Their projections are solid," I say instead of engaging with his teasing. "Conservative even. They've done their research."
"They have. Impressive, isn't it?" There's something soft in his voice when he talks about the business. About Ivy.
"Speaking of impressive…" I turn the tables. "You and Miss Calloway seem rather cozy."
His face lights up at her name. Amateur. "She's incredible, isn't she? The way she transformed those basic cookie recipes into something unique. And her mind for innovation?—"
"You've got it bad, little brother."
"Maybe." He shrugs, not even trying to deny it. "But at least I'm not fighting it."
The jab lands. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I see the way you look at Tessa when you think no one's watching. You’ve never looked at anyone else that way."
I lean against my car, suddenly exhausted. "What do you want me to say, Ash?"
"How about the truth? That you've wanted her since you were seventeen but were too scared to do anything about it?"
"I wasn't scared," I snap. "She was too young. Too… good."
"And now?"
"Now she's…" I trail off, remembering the fire in her eyes when she defended their business model. The way she challenges me without fear. "Different."
"Different good or different bad?"
"Just different." I run a hand through my hair. "More confident. More…"
"More of a challenge?"
I glare at him. "When did you get so insightful?"
"Around the same time you got so obvious." He pushes off his car. "Look, I'm not telling you what to do. But Tessa's special. She sees past all your walls and defense mechanisms. And for some inexplicable reason, she actually seems to like what she sees."
"That's her mistake."
"No, Zane. Your mistake is pushing away the one person who might actually be worth letting in."
I start to argue but my phone buzzes. A text from Tessa.
Tessa
Just so you know, those projections you were skeptical about? They're actually conservative. I can walk you through the raw data if you need convincing. Over coffee maybe?
"Speaking of obvious," Asher says, reading over my shoulder. "She's not subtle."
"Never has been." The words come out softer than I intend.
"So? Are you going to take her up on it?"
I stare at my phone, thumb hovering over the keys.
Me
Coffee won't convince me of anything.
Her response is immediate.
Tessa
No? What would it take, then?
"Oh, man." Asher laughs. "She's good."
"Would you get the fuck back?" I shove him away so he can no longer read my messages but I'm fighting a smile as I type my response.
Me
You're playing with fire, Miss Marlow.
Tessa
Good thing I've always liked the heat. Ball's in your court, Mr. Mercer.
"You know what your problem is?" Asher says as I pocket my phone.
"Please, enlighten me."
"You're so afraid of getting burned that you're missing out on the warmth." He opens his car door with a huge goofy grin, that same one that had every single girl tripping over their own feet in high school. "Think about it."
I watch him drive away, his words echoing in my head.
I get in my car and sit for longer than I care to admit, staring at our text exchange. Her boldness both thrills and terrifies me. The Tessa I remember from high school would never have been so direct, so challenging. But this version of her—confident, successful, unafraid to go after what she wants—is infinitely more dangerous to my carefully constructed walls.
My phone buzzes again.
Tessa
By the way, you have a little chocolate on your tie. Might want to handle that before your next meeting.
I glance down at my tie and sure enough, there's a small smudge of chocolate near the bottom. I must have gotten it when I was sampling those damn cookies—the ones I used to sneak between classes just to have an excuse to walk past her classroom.
Me
Trying to micromanage my wardrobe now, Miss Marlow?
Her response is immediate.
Tessa
Someone has to. Though I have to admit, a slightly disheveled Zane Mercer is quite… interesting.
"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. Every interaction with her feels like playing with fire, and I'm starting to forget why I was so determined not to get burned.
My phone lights up one more time.
Tessa
Still thinking about those raw numbers if you change your mind about coffee. I'll be here late, going over the final contractor estimates.
The image of her working late, probably still with that smudge of chocolate on her cheek, makes something twist in my chest. Before I can talk myself out of it, I respond.
Me
Don't stay too late. The neighborhood's not safe after dark.
Tessa
Is that concern I detect, Mr. Mercer?
Me
Professional courtesy. Can't have anything happening to my investment.
Tessa
Our numbers must have impressed you more than you let on if you're already thinking of us as your investment.
I start to type several responses, deleting each one. Finally, I settle on one.
Me
We'll see. Have those raw numbers ready in case I change my mind.
Her reply makes me grip my steering wheel tighter.
Tessa
Yes, sir. Anything else you'd like me to have ready?
The suggestive undertone is impossible to miss.
I should ignore it.
I should maintain professional distance.
Should…
Me
Just the numbers… and you. And maybe wear those glasses again. They make the numbers easier to focus on.
"What the hell am I doing?" I ask my empty car the second I hit send, but I'm already thinking about the possibility of this meeting. About how she'll look in those glasses, breaking down profit margins with that fire in her eyes.
Asher's right—I am obvious. And maybe that's what scares me most. Not that Tessa might break through my walls, but that she already has, without even trying.
I finally start my car, loosening my tie where it suddenly feels too tight. As I pull away from the bakery, I catch one last glimpse of her through the window, bent over what I assume are those contractor estimates. She's tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing the curve of her neck, and I have to force myself to look away.
Because some temptations are too dangerous to indulge.
Even if they taste like dark chocolate and coffee.
Even if they come with blue eyes and reading glasses and the power to bring every defense I've built crashing down.