Chapter 78
A week later
Mira
"What made you decide you wanted to be with him?" Summer peers through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows at the snowflakes that float down to the ground. It’s been snowing since the morning, enough to cover the trees with white and disrupt the trains in the city. Enough for the weather people to predict that this will be the heaviest snowfall in the last fifty years, or something like that. Truth is, I’m happy to snuggle up on the couch in the living room and watch the snow from here. I’m happy for my husband to wait hand and foot on me. He insists on carrying me everywhere in the house, and on bathing me and feeding me. He’s given the housekeeper—who I finally managed to meet and say 'hi' to—the week off so he can tend to me alone.
He also hasn't gone to work; hasn't even checked his phone. So much so, Nathan finally called me and asked to speak to him. He must have invited himself over because, a few hours ago, he arrived at our doorstep. Summer was right behind him. I convinced Edward I’d be fine with her for company for a few hours. He told Summer to keep an eye on me and retreated to his study with Nathan to catch up on his office related matters, but only after I insisted he leave us.
She turns to me. "He does seem cray-cray about you."
"He is." I nod.
"And you’re sure you want to do this?" She waves in the direction of the doorway he disappeared through.
I nod again.
"What made you decide to forgive him?"
"It wasn’t just one thing." I wind a strand of hair around my fingers. "Or maybe, it was the way he knew I was resistant to Penicillin, something I tend to forget."
"But he remembered?"
"He did…when the doctor asked. If he hadn’t, I’m sure he’d have recommended Penicillin for me, and that wouldn’t have any impact. Frankly, that shook me a little. That he knew it and had the presence of mind to bring it up to the doctor, when"—I swallow—"when my own father doesn’t know that about it."
"Oh, honey." She walks over and sits down on the couch next to me. "I’m so sorry."
"Of course, he seems to be coming around. He did stand up for me at Arthur’s New Year party."
"The one where the Witches of Eastwick were kicked out of?"
I laugh. "The same. And he came to my rescue when they were horrible to me, too."
She nods.
"No one has been in my corner for so long. All those years growing up and feeling on my own, trying to win my stepmother’s approval. It’s only after meeting Eddie that I realized I was looking for a place to call my own. I was looking for…" I glance about the living room with its elegant, yet comfortable couch; the deep armchairs; the fireplace he lit earlier; the Christmas tree up in the corner, which he hasn’t taken down yet, at my request; the windows that look out on the garden; the floor lamps lit at intervals; the lush carpeting on the floor—all of it is so Eddie and yet, also, so me. If I'd picked out the furniture for the place, I’d have probably ended up with the same look. "Home. I was looking for somewhere to belong to, but meeting Eddie made me realize home is wherever he is."
"You realized all this while you were away?"
I nod. "I know it should have taken me much longer, but for that small accident I had. It shook me, and all I wanted was Eddie by my side, holding my hand and telling me it would all be okay."
She smiles a little. "And you’ve forgiven everything he did?”
“Do I forgive him for spying on me without my permission and for replacing my contraceptive pills?” And for almost taking the life of a man who was responsible for what happened to him and his friends. A man whose actions emotionally scarred a twelve-year-old boy for life? I shake back my hair. "I do.”
Besides, who’s to say what's right and wrong. Aren’t these rules made by man, after all?
She begins to speak, and I hold up my hand. "All I know is, good or bad, he’s mine. He stalked me because he wanted me. He replaced my birth-control pills because he thought he was tainted by the incident. He was sure if I found out what he’d been through, I’d never want to be the mother of his child.”
"And now?" She tilts her head.
"Now, I believe he loves me enough to never do anything to hurt me again."
She looks into my features and her smile broadens. "I’m so happy you and Ed found each other. I always worried about him. Of all the Seven, he’s the one the incident affected the most. He’s the one who seemed to carry the most secrets. He’s also the most sensitive, though he never showed it. I always hoped he’d find a woman who’d love him as he is and you, my dear friend, are the perfect foil for him."
She throws her arms about me, and I hug her back. When the doorbell rings, she sniffs and breaks away. "I invited Gio and the girls. I hope you don’t mind. It felt like the right time to celebrate."
She walks away and opens the door, and when my friends join me, I can’t stop myself from smiling widely. I’ve found my tribe, and my man, and oh my god, it’s everything I hoped for, and more.
"Is there a party in progress?" My husband walks past Gio, sprawled in one of the armchairs, and Penny, in the other. Both are holding glasses of champagne. Summer and Abby are in the kitchen, getting us all some snacks. He approaches me, leans a hip on the arm of the couch, then leans in and kisses my forehead. "How’s my wife doing?"
"I’m perfect." I beam up at him.
He holds my gaze, and when that tiny divot appears in his cheek, I fall for him all over again. He leans in and kisses me. I allow myself to sink into his embrace, to draw in his scent and curl my fingers around that rock-like bicep of his, when the sound of someone clearing their throat infiltrates my subconscious. My husband softens the kiss, surveys my flushed features, and a smirk curls his lips.
"I’m off then, Ed," Nathan rumbles from his position in the doorway of the living room.
"Don’t forget the site visit tomorrow," my husband says without taking his gaze from my face.
"Site visit?" Nathan frowns.
"It’s one of Arthur’s new pet projects. A bakery he’s set on acquiring."
"A bakery?" Nathan stiffens. "The fuck does he want to do that?"
"You know the old man," Eddie manages to tear his gaze from mine and train it on Nathan. "Once has his mind set on something, he’s not going to veer from it."
Nathan snorts, "More like, he’s going senile."
"And his befuddled image is just that." My husband raises a shoulder." A front. He’s a canny bastard who knows what he wants."
"Which is to get his grandchildren married off," Nathan says in a bitter tone.
"Not that I’m complaining." Eddie pulls me closer.
Nathan looks between us, and a strange look crosses his face. A mixture of longing and jealousy, if I’m interpreting it correctly. "You’re a lucky wanker—sorry about the swearing ladies." He apologizes to my friends.
"We’ve heard worse." Gio waves a regal hand. "We’re married to men who were all growly-faces like you at one point?—"
"Then they fell for the right woman and reformed," Summer says with a sunny smile.
Nathan squares his shoulders, and his expression morphs into one of resolution, like he’s making up his mind. "You mean, they’re hooked to the ol’ ball and chain?" He coughs.
"We heard that," Abby sings out as she and Penny enter the room with a bowl of popcorn, another of nachos, and a third one with salsa.
"A fate I intend to avoid at any cost," he growls.
My husband and I share a quiet smile. Gio and Penny, on the other hand, have no qualms, bursting into laughter.
"Poor man." I shake my head. "I feel sorry for what's coming."
"Something I’m missing?" Nathan frowns.
"No, nothing." Eddie stifles a grin. "Just as long as you make it to the bakery tomorrow."
Nathan drags his fingers through his hair. "Feels like a waste of my time. What do I know about the bakery business, anyway?"
To find out what happens next read Nathan and Skylar’s story HERE
Read an excerpt :
Skylar
"I can’t do this." I lock my fingers together and narrow my gaze at my reflection. I’m in the tiny bathroom adjoining my office at the back of my bakery—my baby, my enterprise into which I’ve poured my lifesavings. And now, it’s going to shut down. Unless I find the money for the rent next month, and for the utilities to keep the lights on so the sign on the shopfront continues to be lit up in pink and yellow neon, and for the supplies I need to continue baking. Etcetera. Etcetera. Cutie Pie is more than my dream; it’s my whole life. What I've worked toward since I was sixteen and knew I was going to become the most phenomenal baker in the world. And now, I'm going to lose it.
“Sure, you can.” My brother encourages me from the doorway. He grins. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”
“That’s what I used to think. It’s why I started this pastry shop.” That was six months ago. Followed by weeks of working eighteen-hour days and barely getting any sleep in my little apartment over the shop. Days of churning out my favorite cakes and pastries, showcasing the best ones on social media, and in short, doing everything possible to get my business off the ground. All, to no avail.
“Don’t give up. You have to believe this can take off,” Ben murmurs.
“Oh, trust me, I want to believe. But blind faith in yourself can only take you so far, apparently.” Despite having viral posts take off on social media and having a surge of customers over the past month, I'm still not making enough to salvage my business.
“Success is what’s beyond the dark night of the soul,” my brother, ever the wise one between the two of us, remarks.
“Is that a saying among you Royal Marines?” I scoff.
“It’s—"
The bell over the door at the front of the shop tinkles.
“—your destiny.” His lips curve in a smile.
“What?” I blink.
“The bell—it’s your future calling.”
I roll my eyes. “If you say so.”
“Go on, your customer is waiting.” My brother walks over and kisses my forehead. “Good luck. Remember, when one door closes another one opens.”
“If only I still believed that.” I make a rude noise.
He steps back and wags a finger under my nose. “You’ll see; it will work out.” He turns me around and points me in the direction of the doorway leading to the shop.” Go on, now.”
“Whatever you say, big brother.” I was ten when my father passed, and Ben became the de facto father figure in my life. I'm fifteen years younger than him, an "oops baby," born when my mother was in her early forties. I hero-worshipped Ben who, in turn, allowed me to tag along to all of the activities teenaged boys indulge in. He stepped into my father’s shoes. He took care of me and never let me feel the loss of my father. “If I don’t find a way to pay off my debts today, I’m shutting down,” I insist.
There’s no answer. I turn to find my brother has left the shop. Not that I blame him. He only has a two-week break before he has to ship out again. I suspect he’s gone to meet his current squeeze. Ben never lacks female companionship.
As for me? I need to face whatever's in my destiny. Ben's right about that much. With a last tug at the neckline of the blouse which dips a little too low in the front, and which I wore to try and cheer myself—big fail there—I march out behind the counter, and all the air whooshes out of my lungs.
The man standing on the other side is so big, he seems to take up all of the space in my little bakery. He’s tall enough, his head almost grazes the ceiling. And his shoulders—those shoulders I once held onto—are wider than I remember. They’re broad enough to block out the view of the rest of the space.
His biceps stretch the sleeves of his suit, which must cost my entire annual rent to buy, given its tailor-made finish. He’s wearing a black silk tie, and his jacket is black. A suit? I’ve never seen him in a suit before, but OMG, does he do it justice. I take in that lean waist, and those massive thighs, which seem ready to burst the seams of his pants, and between them, the tent that was the object of my obsession for so long.
"There was no one at the counter when I walked in. No wonder, you need a cash infusion," a familiar voice growls.
What the—? How dare he say that! I tear my gaze from the part of him that has always turned my insides to mush, and train my gaze on his face, and all remaining thoughts in my head drain away. I was prepared to give him a piece of my mind, but all of the pieces have scattered.
Those eyes. One piercing blue, the other an amber brown. Those heterochromatic eyes, which have always had the effect of reducing me to a mindless blob of need, stare into mine. My entire body hurts. My shoulder muscles turn into cement blocks. My stomach twists. It feels like I’ve run into a wall. Frissons of shock reverberate down my spine, and when he rakes his gaze down to my chest, his entire body seems to tense. He brings his gaze back to my face, and it feels like I’ve been punched in the guts. Again.
“What are you doing here?” I manage to croak around the ball of emotion in my throat.
“I might ask you the same question.” His jaw tics, a muscle spasms at his jaw, and he curls his fingers into his sides. There’s so much tension radiating from him, I feel faint. Apparently, he doesn’t like what he sees.
That makes two of us. Nathan-fucking-Davenport. My brother’s best friend. The man I’ve had a crush on for more than half of my life. The man who turned me down when I threw myself at him the day of my eighteenth birthday party. Not before he kissed me, though.
He hauled me to him, thrust his tongue in between my lips, and ravaged my mouth. He squeezed my ample butt and drew me against him, and I felt every inch of what he was packing. The kiss seemed to go on and on. My head spun. My knees gave way underneath me. I stumbled, and he straightened me. Only to tear his mouth from mine and stare into my face. His chest heaving, his breath coming in gusts that seemed to swell his shoulders. He raked his gaze across my features, like he was seeing me for the first time. Like he wanted to throw me down and mount me right there.
“Nate…” I breathed his name, and he released me and jumped back.
A look of confusion, then regret, then anger swept over his features. I felt his rejection even before he blanked all expression from his face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He turned on his heel and walked out of my birthday celebration, and our house. And my life.
That was it; he cut off all communication with me. I never saw him again. Over the last five years, I've heard about his progress in the navy from my brother, but I never set eyes on him. Until today.
“You’re the last person I want to speak to.” I cross my arms over my chest, thereby pushing my breasts up higher. His eyes move down before he forces them back to my face. It's not that I want to flaunt my double-D tits. Okay, okay, maybe I do. Maybe, I want to make him realize what he's been missing. I’m proud of my assets. I might be a size sixteen, but I’ve never tried to conceal my full figure. So, what if I want to turn and hide right now?
“The feeling’s mutual,” he growls.
He actually growls. I draw myself up to my full height. Not that it helps, considering I’m only five feet four inches tall, and he’s a good foot taller than me. Still, this is my space. “This is my shop, and you need to leave.”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I had any other option.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“You’re looking for a bailout.”
“Excuse me?” I gape at him.
“Your business is in trouble. You need money to pay off your debts.”
My flush intensifies. Heat crawls up my cheeks, all the way to the roots of hair, followed closely by anger. How dare he walk in and throw my failure in my face? How dare he not talk to me all these years, only to reappear at the worst possible moment? And right after my brother told me it was my destiny come a-calling when the bell to the shop rang.
“Wait, did Ben put you up this?”
“Eh?” He stares at my lips. His gaze is so intent that frisson of awareness, which has crackled up my spine since he arrived, flares into a full-blown shiver. I shake my head, ignoring the buzz of electricity that has always hummed between us. “Are you here because Ben asked you come by and help me out?”
A weird look comes into his eyes. He rubs at his temple. “I’m here because my grandfather is the chairman of the Davenport group of companies, and he thinks your bakery would make for a good investment.”
“He does?”
“I’m yet to be convinced,” he sneers.
So that’s how it's gonna be, eh?
He glances toward the counter, taking in the various desserts on display, and his frown deepens. I follow his gaze and take in the tray of cupcakes displayed: Sp1cy Scene, Red Room, Velvet Ties, Purple Patches, Cave Wonder, The Vanilla Vajayjay, The Earth Moved. You have to admit, they’re innovative names for the treats.
I named the first one in jest, but it proved to be a hot topic of discussion among fellow spicy book readers like me. Before I knew it, I ended up naming all my desserts in a similar vein.
In fact, the dessert shaped like the backside of a woman and called Spanking New keeps selling out. And then my other hit, a chocolate cake shaped like a vibrator and called C1itasaurus. Yep, they loved that one. Also, another raspberry-infused one in the shape of a fig called Moist Goodness. And finally, the doughnut-shaped treat called—you guessed it—A1phah0le, which is always a hit when I cater at book events.
"Is this a joke?" He stabs his forefinger at the display.
A-n-d that was the absolutely wrong thing to say. No one insults my baby—my bakery, my dream—and expects to get away unscathed.
"I can assure you; they are popular amongst my customers."
He turns those searing eyes on me, and it feels like I’m looking into the coldest depths of a frozen lake. The surface seems able to bear my weight, but one wrong step, and I’m going to fall right through and never find myself again. I try to breathe, but all of the oxygen in the room has been sucked out by his presence. My pulse crashes in my ears, and my nerve endings are so tightly stretched, I fear they’ll snap any second. And when he stabs a hand in his pocket, pulling the fabric of his pants taut over that bulge between his legs, a slow thud flares to life between mine.
I cannot find him attractive. Cannot risk acknowledging this chemistry that thickens the air between us. Not when I need his help to save my business. Not when I know who he is, and he’s definitely out of bounds. Forbidden. Sirens go off in my mind. Back away. It’s not worth taking on the humungous backlog of complications that’re going to come with having anything to do with him.
Then a look of boredom crosses his face. He yawns, and my pulse rate shoots up.
Strike out everything I felt earlier. It’s definitely worth taking on every challenge that comes with getting him to cough up money, because by god, he needs to realize the world doesn’t revolve around him. How can anyone be this full of himself? This insensitive.
Anger squeezes my chest. Adrenaline laces my blood. And how dare he turn the most important meeting of my life into…into…something that doesn’t merit even a few seconds of his attention?
"I’ve seen everything I need to see. Goodbye." He turns to leave.
Think! You need to say something to stop him. You cannot afford to piss off the one guy who might be able to help save your bakery.
"Wait, don’t you want to taste my wares?" I burst out.
He freezes mid-step. His shoulders seem to swell. The planes of his back rise and fall, and the jacket pulls even tighter. Is he going to burst out of his skin and go all Hulk on me? I swallow. And when he turns slowly and makes a growling sound at the back of his throat, I have to stop the yelp that almost spills from my mouth. Every single cell in my body has woken up and is doing the hula. Stop that. You can’t feel this drawn to this…to this arrogant beast who rejected you.
But I also need his help. I have to save my business from going bust. And if that means swallowing my pride, then so be it. I tip up my chin and straighten my back. "I… I mean, maybe you want to taste my Honey Pot?" Ugh. Didn’t mean it to come out like that.
His left eyelid twitches, and he seems one step closer to either having a breakdown or walking away. Neither of which is desirable.
"Oh, shoot. What I meant to say is, you’ll definitely like the Purple Patches." I point to the range of cupcakes showcased under the counter. "Or of course, you could try The C1itasaurus?"
"The whatasaurus?" He tilts his head. His gaze is, once again, fixed on my mouth. My thighs clench, and moisture laces the flesh between my legs. I push away the burst of awareness which seems to have stuck its claws into my skin. No way am I going to give in to his magnetism, which has only multiplied in the years since I last saw him. Especially not when his jerkhole factor hasn’t reduced either.
It's always been a mystery to me why I found his arrogance such a turn on. Now, I’m also reminded of how he always managed to get on my nerves. Not that it stopped me from throwing myself at him. A mistake I’m not going to make again. When I named that particular cupcake, it seemed like a stroke of genius. Having to pronounce it aloud in front of the Hulk, however, negates any laughs I’ve had about it so far.
"Uh, you know what I mean?" The color of my cheeks deepens and spreads to my chest. My entire body seems like it’s on fire.
"No, I don’t," he says in a low, hard voice.
I shiver. "You know that…that… pink pastry between the blue cakes that looks like…" I glance around, then slide open the glass door to the under-counter area. I pull on a pair of gloves, reach in and, instead of the C!itasaurus, slide one of the fig-shaped desserts onto a plate. I place it on the counter. "Actually, I think you should eat my Moist Goodness, and everything will be clear to you, and?—"
I hear a gnashing sound, and when I dare to peek a glance at Mr. Grouchy Face, the muscles of his jaw ripple. Oh no, at this rate he’s going to crack a molar. Or two. I blink rapidly, “Maybe we should start afresh?”
“Start afresh?” he asks in a tone that implies he’d rather have never met me.
Yeah, me too. Unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury. “You know, pretend we don’t know each other. Pretend the last few minutes never happened?” Pretend that kiss is not seared into my brain, and into other parts of my body I’m not going to think about.
I hold out my hand. “Skylar Potter.” Then, because I hate my life and because, apparently, the connection between my brain and my mouth has been lost under the force of his glower, I smile. "No relation to Harry, as you’re aware."
"Harry?" He looks at my slim, pink-tipped fingers, then back at my face, and makes no move to shake my hand.
I set my jaw. Oh, my god, he’s so rude, I should slap one of the pies baking in my oven into his face; only, they’re too good to waste. Also, I can’t risk messing up a pie when I need every sale I can get. Every part of me wants to turn and run out of here. But I can’t. I owe it to myself, to my dream, to give this one last shot. I will not give up easily. I will not. I will stay polite, even if it kills me. I manage to bare my teeth in the resemblance of a smile. "You know, Harry Potter? Boy wizard? Evanesco. " I pretend to flick my wand in his direction.
His jaw hardens further.
He looks pissed. The tips of his ears have turned white. Also, the end of his nose. Also, the vanishing spell on him didn’t work. His Royal Dickness is still here, larger than life and glowering at me.
"I’m totally immersed in the Potterverse. Oh, and Taylor Swift. I love Taylor Swift.” I beam at him.
His frown deepens.
“I’m guessing you’re not a Swiftie?” I nod.
“What’s that?” he asks in a contemptuous tone.
“Those of us who love Taylor Swift call ourselves Swifties.”
“Sounds contagious,” he sneers.
I ignore his cantankerous attitude because I need to charm him. And because I do need him to fork over the money I need. “I love her songs, don’t you?" I chirrup.
His fingers curl into fists at his sides. Which is not a good sign. Then, because I love to go from the sublime to the surreal, I smile even wider. "Guess which Hogwarts’s house Taylor Swift belongs to?" I toss my hair over my shoulder.
“Hogwhat?" He seems like he’s about to have a cardiac event. Or like he went to sleep and woke up in an alternate reality. This is bad. So bad. And I have to go and put my foot in it by prompting him, "Hogwarts."
"Hogwhat?" he snaps again.
This time, the light goes on in my brain. "Oh, you haven’t heard of Hogwarts." I snicker. "That’s okay, I wasn’t alive when man landed on the moon." Don’t say it, don’t say it . "Unlike you."
He blinks slowly.
Zip your lips. Just shut up already. "Not that I'm implying you're old or anything. The grey in your hair adds to your distinguished appearance. Besides, you’re only fifteen years older than me." Oh shoot, I don’t think that makes it better.
The veins on his throat stand out in relief. I try to swallow, but my throat is so dry, it feels like sharp knives line my gullet. I flick out a tongue to wet my lip, and his eyes gleam. He watches my mouth with a predatory gaze. Every part of his body seems to have turned to stone, watching me with such intensity, he seems to have turned into a predator who’s planning every possible way to jump me.
The silence deepens. It doesn’t stop me from shaking a finger at him. "You, mister, need a crash course in pop culture. Although, I suppose I shouldn’t expect someone who has grey at his temples to have a sense of the zeitgeist."
"The fuck you talking about?" he bites out through gritted teeth.
"Whoa, hold on, no need to show me your horns now." Although, I’d love to see the one between your legs. "In fact, you look so angry, I'm expecting you to breathe fire at any moment." You can turn into a dragon and carry me away anytime. "And seriously, you should taste this." I push the plate with the moist, pink and purple, fig-shaped cake in his direction. It has a silver button between the lips and there’s glitter around it.
"My desserts are awesome; one bite, and you’ll be a convert." I nod.
He stares.
"Unless you’re worried, you’ll get addicted to my sweet bits." I tip up my chin.
Did I say my sweet bits? I did say my sweet bits. Somebody kill me. But he must see the challenge in my eyes, and alpha male that he is, of course, he doesn’t back down.
Without taking his gaze off of my face, he licks the cream from the hollow in the center. A thousand little fires flare to life under my skin. I swallow; my breath grows shallow. He bites down on one of the plump lips, and a shiver grips me. I clutch at the edge of the counter. The pulse at the base of my throat speeds up. And when he pops the other lip into his mouth, I gulp. He brings his thumb and forefinger to his mouth and sucks on them, and a breathy moan leaves my lips.
"Not bad." He shrugs.
I stare. "What do you mean, 'not bad'? That is my bestseller.”
"It was okay.” He looks down his nose from his superior height, “I admit, the names you give your baked goods are creative, but I’m not sure that’s enough for me to approve the takeover."
"Takeover?" I stiffen. "Who’s talking about a takeover?"
“It’s the only way I’d consider investing in your business.”
“I only need help,” I say through gritted teeth.
“That’s putting it mildly. I reached out to the bank you took the loan from?—”
“You reached out to my bank?” I burst out.
“You don’t think I’d be here without due diligence?—”
I cut in, “The terms of my deal with them are confidential.” I lock my fingers together.
“Not when you’re about to go bankrupt. When they realized the Davenport group was considering an acquisition?—”
“An investment; a loan; that’s all I’m looking for. Something to tide me over and buy me some time until I get back on my feet.”
“Keep fooling yourself. You might be a good baker?—”
“So you did like my dessert?” I declare in a triumphant voice.
“—but you’re not a businessperson, by any stretch of imagination.”
Oh, my god! What I wouldn’t give to wipe that smug look off his face.
“There are ups and downs in any business.” I lock my fingers together. “Things will bounce back.”
“There are ups and downs, and then, there are downs and more downs,” he drawls.
Anger thuds at my temples. I will not lose my temper. I will not.
He slides his hand into his pocket. “Not that I don’t understand your reluctance to sell out.”
“You do?”
“Of course. You’ve invested your sweat and blood, and likely, your entire savings into the venture. Too bad, you didn’t have a financial person advising you.”
Of course, he’d say that. Nate’s always been a numbers whiz. I heard that from Ben. It’s why, even when they were in the navy together, Nate was quickly put in charge of strategy. He was the person coming up with the game plan, while Ben was always on the front lines. And Nate’s sharp brain helped him always stay ahead of the enemy. He saved Ben’s life many times, or so my brother informed me over the years. Too bad, his best friend’s temperament leaves much to be desired.
“I would be willing to consider a merger instead of an acquisition of your little business.” His gaze flicks about the place and back at me.
“ Little business?” I curl my fingers into fists. Breathe, count back from ten. Do not give into the impulsive need to throw a pie in his face.
He wipes his thumb under his lip, a considering look in his eyes. “Of course, I don’t have to do anything. But given you’re Ben’s little sister, and he wouldn’t want me to leave you in the lurch, I might have a proposition that could help both of us.”
“Of course, you do.”
My sarcasm is lost on him, for he looks me up and down. “Marry me.”
To find out what happens next read Nathan and Skylar’s story in The Unwanted Wife
Want an exclusive bonus epilogue featuring Edward and Mira? Click HERE
Read an Excerpt from Nathan it’s my whole life. What I've worked toward since I was sixteen and knew I was going to become the most phenomenal baker in the world. And now, I'm going to lose it.
“Sure, you can do it.” My brother encourages me from the doorway. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”
“That’s what I used to think. It’s why I started this pastry shop.” I was twelve when I discovered I was good at baking. That, combined with my love for desserts, meant I knew what I wanted to do with my life.
Two years ago, I moved to London to work at a well-known patisserie. I began scouting for a location for my place while I saved every single penny I could.
A year ago, I found the perfect place, and my little artisan bakery with coffee shop seating was born. Of course, I work eighteen-hour workdays, which means I have almost no social life. I barely manage a few hours of sleep in my little apartment over the shop. But nothing can dampen my spirits. I’m spending my days churning out cakes and pastries. It’s what I’ve dreamed of for so long. Only issue?
I don’t have the money to advertise, and despite having a social media post go viral—which is when a lot of people look at your social media feed—and result in a surge of customers, I'm not making enough to salvage my business.
“Don’t give up. You have to believe this can take off.” Ben’s voice is confident. If only I shared his optimism.
“Oh, trust me, I want to believe. But blind faith in yourself only takes you so far.” I wish I could do better at spreading the word about the place and bringing in new customers. I seem to suck at everything outside of baking. It’s why my business is on the decline.
“Success is what’s beyond the dark night of the soul,” my brother, ever the wise one, remarks.
“Is that a saying among you Royal Marines?” I scoff.
“It’s—"
The bell over the door at the front of the shop tinkles.
“—your destiny.” His lips curve in a smile.
“What?” I blink.