Chapter 6
It was Fuego Azul’s release day, and the buzz had been nonstop since sunrise.
Social feeds flooded with posts, and influencers were lining up to toast with my newest flavor.
Smooth tequila infused with pineapple and just a hint of heat, which is exactly how I liked my drink: refined, bold, and a little dangerous.
Everything was running like a well-oiled machine.
Jamila and the team had been grinding all week, handling promotions, delivery orders, press conferences, and making sure every single detail hit right.
Hashtags were trending, orders were flying, and customers couldn’t stop talking about the new “Sweetest Temptation” tart Zanova created for the collaboration.
The mix of her desserts with my tequila was a whole vibe.
The sales were climbing, the event at Ryan’s cigar lounge was packed, and from the outside looking in, everything was perfect.
But while the cameras flashed, bottles popped, and people cheered, my mind wasn’t on the party.
It was on her. No matter how much I tried to focus on the party, that woman stayed at the front of my damn thoughts.
The stubborn, sharp-mouthed baker with the hands of an artist and a pussy just as sweet as her cakes.
I kept reminding myself that our deal was just business, and that she wasn’t any different from any other pussy I’d slid in.
But the truth was, she was different. She must’ve put some voodoo on a nigga or something.
She had to. Ain’t no way a nigga was in his feeling, like I was a bitch.
I turned around from my seat at the bar, and there was Jamila, one brow raised, a flute of champagne in her hand.
“What’s good, bro? How are you liking the outcome?” she asked.
“It’s dope. You did your thing, sis. Thank you.”
“Welcome. And I’m glad you agreed to the collaboration. Social media is eating it up! Did you see the line outside of Zanova’s bakery? She’s killing it with those tarts.”
“Nah, I haven’t. But I’m happy for her,” I lied.
I’ve been stalking Zanova’s social media handles since this morning, hoping to get a glimpse of her.
Since the night she kicked me out of her shop, I’ve been trying to contact her, but she never responds to any of my calls or messages.
I took a big risk agreeing on this project with her without even tasting the tart she created that night.
But I knew whatever she came up with, it was going to be a hit.
“Well, she had some of the tarts delivered here, and you should go taste one. They are good as hell! She’s definitely making my baby’s birthday cake for her party!” Jamila boosted. “All these people here… Let me go mingle.”
She kissed me on the cheek before strolling off through the crowd.
I tried to get my head together. However, I couldn’t.
While everyone else was clinking glasses to my success, I found myself behind the wheel of my Lambo, engine growling as I headed toward Zanova’s bakery.
It wasn’t part of the plan when I woke up this morning, but neither was she when her proposal landed in my hands.
When I turned onto the block where Zanova’s bakery was located, you could tell something major was happening.
Cars lined both sides of the street, people spilling out onto the sidewalk with pastry boxes and phones in hand.
I slowed my Lambo to a crawl, the deep purr of the engine turning heads instantly.
I wasn’t shocked to see that the line was wrapped around the corner. The people were laughing, snapping selfies in front of a sign that read “Try the new ‘Sweetest Temptation’ tart, infused with the newly released Fuego Azul Pineapple Tequila.”
My tequila. Her dessert. Our collaboration.
I parked my ride across the street. The second I stepped out, the crowd reacted. Whispers rippled through the line like wildfire.
“Yo, ain’t that Samir Carter! The tequila king!”
“Damn, he's even fine in person!”
Phones shot up, cameras flashing like fireworks. I tugged my suit jacket, slid on my shades, gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, and gave that cool smirk people expected from me. But inside, I was impressed. Hell, I was even proud of Zanova for her success today. Baby girl was making a killing.
Walking into the bakery felt like stepping into another world. The place was even alive inside. The laughter in the air was thick with the smell of sugar. Every table was packed, customers holding up half-eaten tarts for pictures like they’d just struck gold. And then I saw her.
Zanova was behind the counter, rocking an apron with her logo embroidered in gold thread, her hair pulled up into a slick bun that somehow still looked perfect.
She was glowing and smiling while talking with customers with her signature sass and charm.
I just stood there for a second, taking it in.
I can tell that she was in her element. Confident and commanding the entire room without even trying.
The same woman who’d rocked my world, not once, but twice, was now standing at the center of a crowd that adored her.
Something in my chest tightened, and it wasn’t just pride. This woman had turned a risky idea into something special. My tequila gave her the flavor, but she gave it soul.
Then, as if she felt me staring, her head turned, and our eyes met across the room.
It hit her instantly, and I could see the surprise flicker in her expression, that quick intake of breath before she tried to mask it with her usual cool composure.
She didn’t smile—just stared at me, like she was trying to decide if she wanted to kick me out or thank me.
Damn, this woman was sexy as fuck. The last time I’d seen her, I was knee deep in her pussy, flour on her cheek, and fire in her eyes. Now, she looked every bit the boss she was meant to be.
Finally, she broke the stare, handing off a box to a customer before excusing herself.
I watched her weave through the crowd, hips swaying just enough to make me forget where I was for a second.
When she stopped in front of me, the warmth of her perfume hit first. It smelled of something sweet with a hint of citrus, like compulsion in a bottle.
“Hey,” she said softly, barely above a whisper. She couldn’t even look me in the eye, and I wasn’t feeling that.
“I just wanted to stop by and see how things were going. I see it’s a success. Congratulations, Nova baby.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t be giving me a nickname. You don’t know me like that,” she said with a little laugh, trying to play it off like she wasn’t nervous.
I chuckled, glancing around the packed shop. “Just came to see the woman who turned my tequila into the talk of the city. Had to see it for myself.”
Her gaze softened for a split second, then she caught herself, pulling her professional mask right back on. “Well, you’ve seen it. You can go now.”
I let out a low laugh. “You really gon’ kick a nigga out… The man whose brand helped make this all possible?”
Zanova rolled her eyes, but the attitude didn’t match her tone. “You helped, sure. But I did the work.”
“And you killed it, love,” I said, leaning closer. “I’m proud of you, baby.”
I could see the shock in her eyes. I don’t know if it was from me telling her that I was proud, or from me calling her baby.
Her breath hitched just enough for me to notice before she shook her head, stepping back like she needed distance to breathe. “Don’t start, Samir. I got customers to feed.”
“Do your thing, boss lady. And look… you’re right.
What happened between us shouldn’t have happened.
I only regret it ’cause we doing business now.
” I paused, letting my eyes linger on hers.
“But don’t get it twisted, I don’t regret it happening.
Not one damn bit. Still, from here on out, I’ll respect your space. ”
She froze for half a second, then nodded, lips pressed tight. “Of course you don’t,” she finally said, her tone flat but her eyes giving her away.
“Nope. And I ain’t leaving. I’ll just be over here enjoying the view.” I raised my hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at my lips.
She shot me a look over her shoulder that was pure warning, but the curve of her mouth told me she didn’t really mind.
A few minutes passed, and I stayed off to the side, hands in my pockets, watching her move.
She was a natural—smiling and talking to customers while sliding fresh trays to the front as if she were born for this.
Every motion had rhythm, purpose, and grace.
Then she turned and walked towards me again, a small white plate in her hand.
The golden crust of the tart glowed under the light, a drizzle of mango glaze catching every eye in the room.
“This one’s fresh. I’m not sure if you had some of the ones I sent over to the lounge,” she said, stopping right in front of me.
“You might as well taste it since you came all this way, causing a whole ruckus in my shop. The women can hardly keep their eyes off you.” She rolled her eyes, but that little smirk gave her away.
I chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “Oh, so now you’re jealous?”
She scoffed. “Please. Ain’t nobody jealous. You ain’t my man. Just stating facts.”
“Mm-hm.” I took the small dessert plate from her hand, brushing her fingers just enough to make her breath hitch. “You say you ain’t jealous, but that tone says otherwise, ma.”
Her eyes cut to mine, heat flickering in them before she looked away. “Just eat the damn tart, Samir.”
“Say less,” I said, taking a slow bite, keeping my eyes on her the whole time. “Damn… you really outdid yourself with this one. Sweet, bold, and got just the right amount of kick.”
“Sounds familiar, huh?” she replied, smirking this time.
“Yeah, real familiar.”
“Not that, Samir. I’m talking about what I said about the tart.”
“That too.” I winked.