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 ofnian gaocooling 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.”
