Quinn shoots me a look that promises retribution, but I notice she doesn't correct me. Just lets the implication hang there while the woman cackles and buys three pounds of ribs and a dozen macarons.
By five o'clock, we're both running low on inventory and the crowd has started to thin. Quinn is leaning against her side of the table, looking pleasantly exhausted, surveying the afternoon's success with something approaching satisfaction.
"We did pretty well," she admits grudgingly.
"We made a good team," I counter, deliberately using the word she rejected this morning.
She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue. Progress.
I'm about to push my luck and suggest we grab dinner together when a presence appears at Quinn's side of the booth. A human man, tall by human standards but still a full head shorter than me, wearing an expensive suit that screams corporate money. His smile is all teeth and no warmth, and I dislike him instantly.
Quinn straightens slightly, her customer-service mask clicking into place, but I can see the tension returning to her shoulders. "Can I help you?"
"Quinn Hayes?" His voice is smooth, practiced. The kind of tone that comes from years of talking people into bad decisions.
"Yes?"
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folded document, slapping it down on her table hard enough to make her remaining macarons rattle in their display. "Dane Corrigan, Corrigan Development Group. I'm your new landlord."
I watch Quinn's face go pale, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.
"What?" Her voice is barely a whisper.
"I purchased the building housing Flour and Fancy last week. Closed yesterday." He taps the document with one manicured finger. "That's your updated lease agreement. You'll notice the monthly rent has been adjusted to reflect current market values."
Quinn's hands are shaking when she picks up the papers, and this time it has nothing to do with low blood sugar. I move without conscious thought, crossing the boundary line and coming to stand directly behind her as our bodies are nearly touching. This Corrigan bastard has to acknowledge my presence.
He does, his gaze flicking up to me with barely concealed disdain before dismissing me entirely and returning his attention to Quinn.
She's reading the document, her face getting progressively whiter with each line. "This is double my current rent."
"Market rate," Corrigan says with a shrug that suggests he couldn't care less. "The neighborhood is gentrifying. Property values are increasing. Surely you understand basic economics."
"This is predatory," Quinn's voice shakes with barely suppressed rage. "You can't?—"
"I can, actually. It's all perfectly legal." He smiles that awful, empty smile again. "Of course, if you can't afford the new terms, I'm happy to discuss buyout options for your business. I have several interested parties looking to open more... upscale establishments in the area."
The threat is clear. Pay the impossible rent or get forced out so he can replace her with something more profitable.
I feel my hands curling into fists, my jaw clenching so hard my tusks ache. The urge to reach across the table and physically remove this smug corporate vulture from Quinn's presence is nearly overwhelming, but I stay still, to stay quiet, to let Quinn handle this her way.
She needs to fight her own battles. But that doesn't mean I can't stand right here behind her, a wall of solid muscle and barely restrained violence, making it clear that she doesn't fight alone.
Quinn's chin comes up, and her spine stiffens with that same fierce determination I've seen a hundred times before. "I'll need time to review this with a lawyer."
"Of course. You have thirty days." Corrigan straightens his already-perfect tie. "But I should mention that several other tenants in the building have already accepted buyout offers. You might want to consider your options carefully."
He turns to leave, then pauses, glancing back at our shared booth setup with theatrical disdain. "Though I suppose if the bakery thing doesn't work out, you could always pursue this... quaint partnership full-time. I'm sure there's a market for novelty food somewhere."
The dismissive condescension in his tone, the way he looks at Quinn like she's already defeated, like her business and her dreams are nothing more than an amusing inconvenience to be swept aside—something in me snaps.
I move forward half a step, letting my full size become apparent, letting him see what kind of Orc stands behind this woman he's trying to intimidate.
"Leave," I say quietly. Just the one word, but I let every ounce of possessive fury I'm feeling color my voice, let it rumble up from somewhere deep and primal.
Corrigan's eyes widen fractionally. Good. He should be scared.
"Now," I add when he doesn't immediately move.
