Chapter 6 Lila #2
We’re at school, sitting on a sun-warmed bench. Ben’s shoulders slump, his usual confidence replaced by a shy, almost embarrassed look.
“I forgot my lunch,” he mutters, kicking at the gravel beneath his feet.
I dig into my bag and pull out a small container. My mum’s nian gao, still warm.
“Here,” I offer, holding it out to him.
He looks at it, then at me, brow furrowed. “What’s that?”
“Nian gao. It’s sticky rice cake. My mum made it this morning.”
He hesitates for a second, then takes it, breaking off a piece and popping it into his mouth. His eyes light up.
“Damn, that’s good,” he says around a mouthful.
I laugh, relief flooding through me, until I hear the snickers from behind us.
“Gross,” someone mutters. “Weird Asian food.”
My stomach twists, heat rising in my cheeks, but before I can say anything, Ben turns to them, his jaw set.
“Shut the hell up,” he says, his voice sharp and confident again. “It’s better than whatever crap you’re eating.”
They go quiet, walking away with annoyed glances, and I suddenly like him even more than I already did.
That was the beginning.
Now, it’s the end.
I snap back to the present, blinking at the bowl of batter in front of me. My chest tightens, the weight of everything pressing down on me. I pour the batter into a pan and slide it into the oven, taking a deep breath to steady myself.
Footsteps shuffle behind me.
“Mum,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “You should finish early. I’ll close up.”
She frowns. “Are you sure, love? I don’t mind staying.”
“I’m sure,” I say, giving her a small smile. “You’ve been on your feet all day. Go home, get some rest.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Okay. But don’t stay too late.”
“I won’t.”
She grabs her coat and leaves, the door closing softly behind her.
I glance toward the ceiling. The flat above the cafe is everything to us—affordable, convenient, and close enough that my mum doesn’t have to travel far. We can’t lose this place. We wouldn’t find anything else like it in this area, not with our budget and Ben wants to take it away.
I feel sick just thinking about it. I grab a cloth and start wiping down the counter, scrubbing harder than necessary, hoping to burn off the frustration bubbling inside me.
The bell above the door chimes.
“We’re closed,” I call out without looking up.
“I’m not here for coffee.”
The air shifts. Charged and heavy, I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him.
Still, I turn slowly, already bracing myself.
Ben stands just inside the door, his tall frame soaking up space like he owns it, hands shoved casually into his pockets.
“I smelled something… familiar,” he says, his gaze flicking to the tray of nian gao cooling on the counter. “Thought I’d drop in.” He says it like it’s nothing, but I catch the flicker in his eyes. I shove it down before it can soften me.
I raise an eyebrow. “As I said, we’re closed and these aren’t for sale.”
Ben pulls out his wallet, casually sliding a ￡10 note onto the counter. “One slice.”
“No.”
He takes a step closer. “Come on, Lila. Just one slice.”
He adds another ￡10 note on top of the first. His voice is calm, deliberate.
I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. “You think throwing money around is going to change my mind?”
“￡50,” he counters smoothly, placing the note like a chess move. “You’re running a business. Seems like a smart deal.”
“It’s not about the money,” I say, my jaw tightening.
His lips twitch into a smirk. “It always is.”
“Not to me,” I snap.
“￡100,” he says, his voice dropping dangerously low. He leans on the counter, closing the space between us. “For one slice.”
My heart races at his proximity, but I stand my ground, refusing to let him see how much he’s affecting me.
“Offer me a thousand, it’s still no.” I say, stepping back. His eyes darken with something that looks suspiciously like respect, or maybe it’s something else entirely.
“Money can’t buy everything, Ben.”
A beat of silence stretches between us, thick with tension. He tucks the money back into his wallet, that smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “You’ve always been stubborn.”
“I prefer determined,” I say, my voice steady.
He chuckles softly, backing toward the door. “I’ll be back,” he says, his voice a low promise. “You’ve got something I want.”
“The buyout is a joke so you can save your breath. The answer’s still no.”
He stops at the door, his fingers resting lightly on the frame, a wicked glint sparking in his gaze. “I’m not talking about the buyout.”
My breath catches, heat spreading through my chest, my pulse thrumming in my ears. I’m caught in the weight of his stare, my mind spinning in directions it shouldn’t.
What the hell is he talking about?
I blink, snapping myself out of it, my voice sharper than I intend. “Whatever it is, you’re not getting that either.”
His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. “We’ll see.”
Just like that, he’s gone. The door swinging shut behind him, leaving me slightly breathless.
The cafe feels too warm, my skin still buzzing. His aftershave, dark, warm, mixed with coffee lingers like a goddamn invitation. It shouldn’t affect me. But it does. What the hell was that?
He’s trying to charm me. The fucker is trying to woo me into changing my mind. Dirty tactics, pure and simple.
I clench my jaw, my pulse spiking again, but this time from anger. If he thinks I’m that easy to manipulate, he’s in for a rude awakening.
I hate him. I really do.
But my body?
It hasn’t gotten the memo.
Business, my ass.