Chapter 20
T he stupid smile won’t leave my face, and it’s all Damien Wolfe’s fault.
DAMIEN: You did great this weekend.
DAMIEN: I mean it.
A simple text. Nothing elaborate. Nothing flirtatious. But as I stare down at my phone, the warmth it spreads through me is anything but simple.
I lean back in the town car, tapping my reply as the driver navigates through the late-morning Manhattan traffic.
ELENA: You weren’t too bad yourself.
It’s light. Nonchalant. But still, I watch the screen, waiting, because the three little dots appear instantly.
DAMIEN:
A laugh escapes before I can help it.
The car rolls forward, heading toward the real estate office where I’ll be meeting my realtor, Nina. I’ve looked at the property sheet for the bakery a hundred times, memorized every detail, run through every scenario of how I’ll make it mine.
But today, it feels different. Like it’s finally happening.
This time next week, I’ll be signing my offer.
This time next month, the keys will be in my hands.
The idea makes my heart race, anticipation curling around me like a warm embrace.
ELENA: Okay… you were swell.
I imagine Damien rolling his eyes.
DAMIEN:
ELENA: Fine. You were incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. Stupendous… comes to mind. Magnificent, perhaps.
My grin widens.
DAMIEN: This is more like it.
DAMIEN: We should focus a few minutes on my magnificence.
ELENA: Ooh… would love to. Super busy, though.
DAMIEN: Doing?
Oh, why do you want to know, Mr. Wolfe?
ELENA: Things.
I watch the screen. The dots appear, disappear. Appear again. Then disappear once more.
Is he in a meeting, texting me under the table, hiding his phone and his smirk? Or is he alone in his office, leaning back in his chair, smiling as he types?
DAMIEN: Will those ‘things’ be over by five p.m.?
My brows pull together, and I swipe up, checking the schedule for our contract. There’s nothing planned until tomorrow.
His next message pops up at the top of my screen.
DAMIEN: It’s not on the schedule.
DAMIEN: I know you were just looking.
ELENA: Was not.
The dots flicker again. Then stop. Then start again.
I press my lips together, biting back a laugh.
DAMIEN: So… tonight?
All that for this?
ELENA: Depends.
ELENA: May I ask what we’ll be doing?
DAMIEN: We’ll be making a detailed presentation on all the qualities of my magnificence. It could take us all night.
I chuckle, shaking my head.
ELENA: That sounds riveting.
ELENA: What outfit would one wear for such an occasion?
I stare at the message, my stomach flipping as I hit send.
The back-and-forth is too easy. Too effortless.
And I shouldn’t like it.
Shouldn’t like the way my pulse kicks up every time my phone buzzes with his name. Shouldn’t like the way my fingers hover over the screen, thinking too long about what to say next.
But I do.
I like it too much.
DAMIEN: Let me take care of that.
My breath catches.
My mind betrays me instantly, flashing back to last night’s rainstorm. The almost kiss. The tension so thick between us it could have swallowed me whole.
And then, later—alone in the shower, the fantasy unfurling behind my closed eyes.
The way I imagined him finding me, watching me, stepping inside, pushing my hand away to take over.
His hands, his mouth, his beautiful fucking cock?—
I wouldn’t have been able to tell him no again.
If he had come to me one more time, I would have shattered my own rules.
And I can’t afford to do that.
Because we only have a few more days left.
One last outing—Mr. Calloway’s birthday dinner. Then the merger is complete, the deal signed.
Then, Damien and I will go our separate ways.
The thought burns more than I want to admit.
So I do the only thing I can.
I end the conversation.
ELENA: Then it’s a date.
A pause.
DAMIEN: I hope you have a good day, Elena.
It’s my name at the end of the sentence that pulls the knot in my stomach tighter. That makes it feel more intimate than it should.
I shouldn’t reply.
I do anyway.
ELENA: You too, Wolfie.
The dots appear immediately.
DAMIEN: I don’t think so.
ELENA: Too late.
DAMIEN: No.
ELENA: That’s your name now.
DAMIEN: Never.
ELENA: For all time.
ELENA: See you at five, Wolfe.
DAMIEN: See you… Trouble.
I let him have the last word.
Because I need to focus.
I’m meeting Nina at the real estate office, and after that, we’ll head over to the bakery to take another look.
I can’t stop smiling as I step out of the car, fully expecting the driver to pull away, but he stays put.
“Mr. Wolfe’s instructions,” he says before I can ask. “I’m at your service all day, Miss Moreau. Wherever you need to go.”
A warmth unfurls inside me, but I push it down.
I don’t have time to think about Damien Wolfe today.
I need to see to my future.
Walking into the building, energy is buzzing inside me as I step through the lobby. Nina is near the elevator, waiting, and my smile stretches wider.
“Nina!” I call out, waving.
She turns, but instead of smiling back, confusion flickers across her face.
“Elena…” she hesitates. “Did you see my text?”
A chill slithers down my spine.
I pull out my phone.
Two unread messages.
NINA: I’m not sure what happened, but someone purchased the bakery last week.
NINA: I’m so sorry, Elena. I know you had your heart set on this place, but we’ll find something else.
The words on the screen blur as I read them over again.
Someone purchased the bakery last week.
No. That’s not possible.
This was supposed to be mine.
I had a plan. I was so close.
I worked for this. Saved for this. Dreamed of this.
A numbness creeps up my spine, spreading through my limbs as my pulse pounds in my ears. My fingers tighten around my phone, my grip turning white.
This can’t be happening.
“Elena?” Nina’s voice is soft, cautious. “I’m so sorry.”
I blink, forcing myself to meet her gaze. Her brows are drawn together in concern, but I can’t focus on that.
Because my mind is racing.
Who bought it? Why now? Was there another buyer all along?
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat thick and heavy. My stomach churns, twisting into knots so tight they feel like they might strangle me from the inside out.
Nina’s voice filters in through the haze of my spiraling thoughts. “We’ll keep looking, okay? There are plenty of properties. I know this one was special, but?—”
But it won’t be the same.
She doesn’t say it, but we both know it.
Nothing will be the same.
This wasn’t just any building—it was the building. The one where I had worked, where I had been saved when I had nothing else.
The place that made me believe in more for myself.
The bakery where I had planned to build my future, to finally create something that belonged to me.
Another property won’t replace that.
Nina gives me another gentle look, squeezing my shoulder. “I really am sorry, Elena.”
I nod, but I don’t respond. Because if I do, I might break.
She checks her watch. “I have another appointment, but I’ll call you as soon as I have any updates, okay?”
I barely register her words before she turns to leave, heels clicking against the polished tile floor as she disappears into the elevator.
The lobby is quiet now, too empty, too hollow.
Like something was just ripped out of me, leaving nothing but an aching, gaping hole behind.
I step outside, needing air, but it does nothing to clear the fog pressing against my ribs.
The driver looks at me expectantly, waiting for my next instructions, but I shake my head.
“I just want to walk for a moment,” I murmur, voice barely above a whisper.
He nods and stays put as I take a few steps down the sidewalk.
The sounds of the city swirl around me—cars honking, people chatting, the distant hum of a street performer’s saxophone—but it all feels muted.
My head is too full. My chest too tight.
I was so close.
I had a plan. The money was coming. I was ready.
It was supposed to be mine.
But it’s not.
Someone else owns it now.
The weight of that realization sinks deep, wrapping around my ribs and pulling tighter, like a cruel, invisible vice.
I saw it. I imagined every detail—the display case that would showcase my cheesecakes, the espresso machine steaming behind the counter, the laughter of customers filling the air.
I pictured my name on the awning. My hands locking the doors at the end of the night, turning off the lights, knowing I had built something for myself.
I was ready to put down roots.
To have something stable, lasting.
To prove—to myself, to the world—that I was more than what I had been.
That I wasn’t just another girl passing through, making temporary plans in someone else’s life.
I feel stupid now, for letting myself believe it could all fall into place so easily.
That for once, something I wanted wouldn’t be just out of reach.
I let out a slow breath, pressing my fingers against my temples.
Crying won’t change anything.
Raging won’t get the building back.
I could call Nina, demand answers. Who bought it? Why now? But even if I knew, what would it change?
The contract with Damien is almost over. The money is coming. But it won’t come fast enough.
It’s done.
Over.
I lost.
The thought cuts deep, but there’s nothing I can do.
So, I won’t stand here on the sidewalk, looking like a lost little girl who just had her favorite toy snatched away.
No.
Instead, I’ll do the only thing that has ever comforted me.
An hour later, I’m in Damien’s kitchen.
Music playing.
Mixer on.
My best friend is on the phone, talking me down, and I’m blending a smooth and creamy cheesecake batter.
The scent of dark chocolate and espresso fills the kitchen, warm and rich, wrapping around me like a cocoon. The music plays softly in the background—something smooth, low-tempo jazz, the kind of music that would fill the air of an intimate café. The kind of place I wanted to build.
The kind of place that was supposed to be mine.
I push the thought down, focusing on the rhythm of my movements. Mix, pour, smooth, bake.
Baking has always been my escape, my therapy. There’s comfort in the precision, in the control. The way the right balance of ingredients, time, and temperature can transform something raw into something exquisite.
That’s what I do. I create.
And tonight, I need to create something extraordinary.
I think of the dessert Damien ordered that first night at Ember & Ash—the indulgent, over-the-top chocolate espresso mousse cake.
Of course, he would pick the most decadent thing on the menu.
A smirk tugs at my lips as I pour the glossy, dark chocolate filling into the crust, the aroma of coffee threading through the air.
A Dark Chocolate Espresso Cheesecake with a Salted Caramel Drizzle.
It’s not just dessert. It’s an experience.
Every element has a purpose—the bittersweet intensity of the chocolate, the bold, velvety espresso, the buttery, crisp crust, and the final touch… the caramel, slow-cooked with the perfect balance of sugar and sea salt, drizzled over the top in elegant swirls.
I know how to make people crave something they never even knew they needed.
And for the first time all day, I feel like I have control over something.
“It’s fine,” I say, feigning optimism. “It’s just a building, right? I’ll find something else.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Eve counters, her voice laced with knowing. “You wanted that place.”
I inhale sharply, my grip tightening on the spoon as I swirl another pass of caramel.
“Yeah,” I admit, my voice dropping, letting the truth slip through the cracks. “I did.”
There’s a pause on the other end, the quiet understanding only a best friend can give.
Then, softer, “I’m sorry, babe. That fucking sucks.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yeah. It does.”
But what else is there to say?
She doesn’t offer false optimism or try to sugarcoat it. She knows me too well for that.
Instead, she lets out a slow exhale. “So… you baking it out?”
A small smile touches my lips. “What else?”
“Cheesecake?”
“You know it.”
Eve hums approvingly. “That’s my girl. What kind?”
I glance down at the glossy surface, the delicate swirls of caramel gleaming in the warm kitchen light. “Dark chocolate espresso with salted caramel.”
Eve whistles low. “Damn. You’re pulling out the big guns.”
I scrape the last bit of batter into the pan, smoothing it to perfection before placing it in the oven. “Figured I’d make something indulgent enough to distract me from the soul-crushing disappointment of my life.”
Eve snorts. “That sounds dramatic.”
“It’s cheesecake, Eve. It demands drama.”
“Fair.”
A beat of silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable, just… there.
Then, she sighs. “I wish I could say something that would make you feel better.”
I lean against the counter, looking at the cheesecake sitting in the oven.
“You already did.”
lean against the counter, the oven’s warmth pressing against my legs.
“You already did.”
We sit in that quiet moment together, connected across the miles, until she finally says, “All right, well, I gotta go be a person or whatever. But keep me posted, okay?”
“I will.”
“Take care of you.”
Our mantra.
“Take care of you.”
We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, staring at the cheesecake through the oven window.
Golden edges. Perfect rise. It’ll need time to cool, but it’s already shaping up exactly how I imagined.
Maybe not everything is lost.
Maybe some things just take a little longer to rise.
With a deep breath, I push off the counter and head toward my bedroom.
The cheesecake will take time to set, which means I have time to take a shower.
And if I’m being honest… I’m more than a little curious about what Damien Wolfe has planned for tonight.