Epilogue #4
"It doesn’t matter what you believe me or not. Truth is, your father owes me. And now that he's dead, I've come to collect. From you."
The air in the room shifts. Becomes heavier. Charged.
I feel this sudden urge to laugh, but manage to control myself. Man’s clearly delusional. My sweet, loyal father. He’s not capable of whatever this man is accusing him of.
"I see." I lean forward slightly. "And you thought the best way to 'collect' was to stalk me?"
"I prefer the term 'strategic positioning.'" His mouth curves into something that's not quite a smile. "I wanted to see what kind of woman inherited Richard Whittington's empire before I made my move."
"And?" I raise an eyebrow. "What's your assessment?"
His eyes rake over me. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he's cataloging every detail.
"You're sharper than I expected." He leans back in the chair, somehow making the movement look both casual and predatory. "More observant. Less…"
"Stupid?" I finish for him. "Less na?ve? Less like the pampered princess you assumed I'd be?"
"Yes."
At least, he's honest.
"Well, Mr. Hamilton." I stand, moving around my desk until I'm leaning against the front of it. Closer to him now. Close enough to see the gold flecks in his eyes. "Now that you've made your 'assessment,' let me give you mine."
I cross my arms.
"You're angry. You have a legitimate grudge—I don't know the details yet, but I will.
You're methodical. Patient. You've been planning this for a while.
" I pause. "And you're arrogant enough to walk into my office after following me through the street because you think I'm going to be easy to manipulate. "
His eyes narrow.
"Am I close?"
He stands, and suddenly, he's towering over me again. All that height and muscle and barely contained intensity. "You missed one thing."
"What's that?"
He leans down and slaps his hands on the desk, bracketing me. His scent wafts over me, something dark and expensive. He’s so close, his body heat washes over me. I feel like I’m standing in front of a wood fire. He smells woodsy. The sparks in his eyes like those in a hearth.
Once more, I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
"I don't think you'll be easy to manipulate." His voice drops lower. "I think you'll be a worthy opponent. Which is exactly why this is going to be interesting."
Heat floods my face. From anger or attraction, I genuinely can't tell.
"Get out of my office."
"Gladly." He straightens, adjusting his suit jacket. "But I'll be back. We have unfinished business, you and I."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise." He heads toward the door, then pauses. He looks back over his shoulder. "Oh, and Ms. Whittington, consider this your first and last warning. I am coming for your firm, and I will not stop until I own it."
To find out what happens next, read Tristan and Opal’s story in an Age Gap, father’s best friend, christmas romance - The Frosty Fiancée here
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Read an excerpt from Nathan and Skylar’s story in the Unwanted Wife
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 life savings.
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.
The Fearless Kitten 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 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.
“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. Or the one I prefer, she who leaves a trail of glitter is never forgotten."
"Eh?" I stare. "What does that have to do with my situation?"
"Nothing, but it did cheer you up."
I roll my eyes, then can’t stop myself from chuckling.
"That’s my girl." He pats my shoulder.
Yep, that’s my brother. The ever-cheerful, never-surrender person. “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 bro.”
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, took care of me and never let me feel the loss of my father. And when my mother passed away, he took a leave of absence and came home and stayed with me, until he was assured I was ready to pick myself up and move on. He’s the most important person in the world, in my life, in so many ways. And the fact that he fights wars so I can be safe is a source of the utmost pride for me. It’s one of the reasons I feel terrible about being on the verge of bankruptcy. I want Ben to be proud of me.
“This is my last chance to get things right. If I can’t find a way to pay off my debts, I’ll have no choice but to shut down.
" I hear my words and realize I’m being negative.
The exact opposite of my brother. I expect him to tell me off, but there’s no answer.
I turn to find he’s left the shop. Not that I blame him.
He 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. If only my every decision didn’t impact Hugo.
If only I weren’t running out of money to keep him in the care home that provides round-the-clock attention for him.
If I can't pay next month’s fees—no, I’m not going there.
I will not contemplate the repercussions of what would happen if I didn’t come up with the money, and fast.
With a last tug at the neckline of my blouse, which dips a little too low in the front, and which I wore to try and cheer myself up—big fail, there—I march out of the kitchen and go behind the counter. And all the air whooshes out of my lungs.
The man standing in the middle of the bakery is so big, he seems to occupy all of the space in my little bakery.
He’s so tall, I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
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.