6. An Unlikely Offer
Chapter six
An Unlikely Offer
Maya
The knock at the back door made me freeze.
Nobody came to the back door this early. Tessa had her own key. Deliveries usually came later in the morning. And the only people who knew I'd still be here working were the ones who knew me well enough to know I processed stress by organizing, planning, strategizing.
I grabbed my phone, finger hovering over the keypad to call 911, and approached the door.
"Maya?" A man's voice, muffled through the door. "I know it's early. I just... I need to talk to you."
I knew that voice. I'd heard it just hours ago, explaining to a room full of islanders why selling our businesses to his investment group would be good for us.
Ethan Caldwell.
Every instinct told me not to open the door. To tell him to go away, to make an appointment through proper channels, to maintain the distance that kept me safe and him firmly in the "enemy" category.
But curiosity—and maybe something else I didn't want to examine too closely—made me unlock the door.
Ethan stood in the harsh glow of the back-alley security light, and I noticed details I'd missed at the meeting.
He was tall—at least 6'2"—with light brown hair that looked like he'd been running his hands through it since he got up.
His expensive suit jacket was gone, his white dress shirt rumpled and untucked slightly, his tie loosened.
Those light blue eyes that I remembered from twenty years ago looked tired now, almost vulnerable, before his professional mask slid back into place.
"I know you don't want to see me," he said, his voice measured.
I crossed my arms over my flour-dusted apron, studying him with the same assessment I'd use for evaluating a questionable ingredient. "That's an understatement."
He looked uncomfortable standing there, like he'd rather be anywhere else but had forced himself to come anyway. Good. He should be uncomfortable.
"But I can help with your permit issues." The words came out rushed, like he was afraid I'd slam the door before he could finish.
I laughed—sharp and humorless. "Help? You're working for the people trying to steal my bakery."
His jaw clenched. I noticed he did that when he was holding something back, some emotion he didn't want to show. Had been noticing it since I was fourteen and I hate that I still remember that look.
"I know how this looks, but the legal mess you're in? It's fixable. I can untangle it."
"Get out!"
"Please Maya, let me help."
"Why would you?" I kept my voice cool, analytical. This was a negotiation, and I'd learned in Seattle restaurant kitchens never to show weakness. "You spent last evening explaining why buying out struggling businesses is actually doing us a favor. Why would you help me keep mine?"
He paused, and something shifted in those blue eyes—something that looked almost like regret. "Your grandfather gave me a second chance when I didn't deserve it. Let me repay that."
The mention of my grandfather hit harder than I wanted to admit. I kept my expression neutral, but my hands tightened on my crossed arms. "Vov? gave you a second chance twenty years ago. You repaid him by leaving without even saying goodbye face to face. Why should I trust you now?"
Ethan flinched, like I'd hit him. "You're right.
I should have thanked him properly. I should have...
" He ran his hand through his hair—that nervous habit he'd had at eighteen, apparently still present at thirty-eight.
"I was eighteen and ashamed and I ran. But I never forgot what he did for me. Never forgot what he taught me."
"And what was that?"
"That it’s better to build than to destroy." His voice was quiet, but unwavering. "That the man you become is a choice. And that sometimes people deserve a second chance—even when they haven’t earned one, yet."
I studied him, looking for the angle, the manipulation, the strategy behind this sudden offer of help.
CIA had taught me technical precision, but four years in competitive restaurant kitchens had taught me to read people.
To spot when someone was lying, when they were sincere, when they were playing games.
Ethan looked... conflicted. Tired. Maybe even genuinely remorseful.
Which made him dangerous in a different way.
"Why my bakery specifically?" I kept my voice level, professional. "There are other businesses on that island facing problems. Why are you here at 5:00am offering to help me?"
"Because your grandfather was the man who changed my life.
" Ethan met my eyes directly. "Because I looked into your permit issues today, really studied them, and realized they're not the result of poor management.
They're manufactured. Someone has been deliberately creating legal problems to make you vulnerable. "
"Someone." I raised an eyebrow. "You mean your investment group."
"Yes."
The simple admission surprised me. I'd expected corporate double-speak, plausible deniability, the careful language lawyers used to avoid liability. Instead, he'd just confirmed what Tessa had uncovered.
"So, you're here to fix the problems your own people created?" I couldn't keep the skepticism from my voice. "That's very noble. What's in it for you?"
Ethan's jaw clenched again. "A clear conscience. The knowledge that I'm not becoming my father."
"Your father?"
"Left when I was eighteen. I wasn’t even done with high school yet, cleaned out the bank accounts and disappeared with another woman.
Left my mother with three jobs and me with a lot of anger.
" His voice was matter-of-fact, like he was reciting someone else's story.
"Your grandfather was the first man who showed me that men could build things instead of destroying them.
That they could stay instead of leaving.
That integrity mattered more than self-interest."
I processed this information, filing it away. It explained the angry eighteen-year-old, but it didn't explain the corporate lawyer in an expensive suit working for predatory investors.
"If that's what Vov? taught you," I said carefully, "why are you working for people who do exactly what your father did? Take everything worth taking and leave people with nothing?"
The words hit him like a physical blow. I watched him absorb the impact, watched something crack in his carefully controlled expression.
"That's a fair question," he said finally.
"And I don't have a good answer except that I've spent twenty years confusing success with integrity.
I thought if I made enough money, helped enough clients, built a successful enough career, I'd prove I was different from him.
But tonight, standing in that community meeting, listening to you translate my corporate speak...
" He shook his head. "You were right. I'm just a better-dressed version of the same predatory behavior. "
I wanted to stay angry. Anger was safer than whatever this complicated feeling was—this mix of old crush remnants, current suspicion, and unwanted sympathy.
"So what?" I kept my voice sharp. "You had an epiphany and now you want to make amends? That's great for your conscience, but it doesn't help me. I need actual solutions, not guilt-driven grand gestures that'll disappear when you go back to Seattle."
"I know." Ethan straightened, and I saw a glimpse of the successful attorney—the one who closed deals and won cases and didn't back down. "That's why I'm offering you a deal."
And there it was. The catch. I'd known it was coming.
"What kind of deal?" I kept my arms crossed, my posture defensive.
"I'll fix your legal issues. All of them. I'll untangle the property dispute, resolve the permit complications, and create protections to prevent future manipulation. I'll do it pro bono—no charges, no strings attached to the legal work itself."
"That's a lot of expensive lawyer hours for free. What's the catch?"
Ethan hesitated, and I saw something like regret flash across his face. "There is one condition."
Of course there was. There was always a condition.
"Let me guess," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I sell to your investment group at a 'fair' price, you get to look like the good guy who helped me, and everyone wins except me because I lose my family's legacy?"
"No." He said it firmly. "The exact opposite. I want to help you keep the bakery. But I need something from you that has nothing to do with real estate."
I waited, watching him struggle with whatever he was about to ask.
"The investment group expects me to be on this island for at least a week, maybe two, finalizing assessments and building relationships with business owners.
" He was choosing his words carefully now, lawyer-precise.
"Richard Sterling and the island council already think I'm just another corporate vulture.
If I'm going to be effective—if I'm going to help you and potentially other business owners who are being targeted—I need to change that perception. "
"And how do I factor into your image rehabilitation?"
"I need people to see me as someone invested in the community. Someone who cares about Lopez Island's future, not just its real estate values." He took a breath. "I need them to see me as someone who belongs here."
I stared at him, my mind racing through the implications. "You want me to vouch for you? Tell people you're trustworthy? After you spent the evening pitching acquisitions to the community?"
"Not exactly." Ethan met my eyes, and I saw determination there. "I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend."
For a moment, I thought I'd misheard him. "I'm sorry, what?"
"For a week, maybe two. Just while I'm on the island. We'd need to be seen together, look like we're... involved. Dating. People would assume we reconnected, that I came back and realized what I'd been missing, that I have personal reasons to care about Lopez Island beyond business."
I couldn't help it—I laughed. Actually laughed, the sound harsh and disbelieving in the quiet bakery. "You're insane."