Page 17 of Falling for the Billionaire Best Man

7

DORIE

Isighed heavily and wiped the sweat from my brow. The bakery was finally closed for the day, and I was exhausted. Saturdays were always a marathon. Today had been no exception. The ovens had been running nonstop, the display cases emptied faster than I could refill them, and my feet were screaming at me to sit down.

But it was over now. We were closed. I had Sunday and Monday off to recover. Well, “off” in the loosest sense of the word. I still had two wedding cakes to finish next week, and Eliza still hadn’t confirmed the design for her dream wedding cake. Typical Eliza—procrastinating until the last minute and leaving everyone else to panic.

I knew what the problem was. I had given her too many options. I was going to have to narrow it down for her. I would probably end up being the one to pick the cake. She wanted big and grand. I was thinking seven tiers of pure indulgence, each layer a masterpiece in its own right. The bottom tier would be a rich, dark chocolate ganache, adorned with hand-painted gold leaf accents. I wanted to give the wedding guests a real extravaganza with all the flavors. It was going to be pure decadence. And I didn’t care if Kaisen thought it was too much.

It was a wedding. Not just any wedding—Eliza’s wedding. They were already going all out. The cake couldn’t just be okay.

I untied my apron, the fabric stiff with flour and sugar, and tossed it into the laundry bin in the corner. I glanced around the kitchen, surveying the aftermath of the day. Mixing bowls piled high in the sink, trays scattered across the countertops, and crumbs dusting every surface like a fine snowfall. It was chaos.

I grabbed a sponge and started scrubbing the bowls. The typical routine was almost meditative, giving my mind a chance to wander. Not that it went far. Kaisen’s face kept popping into my thoughts—his smug grin, his stupidly perfect jawline, that look he’d given me last night when he’d asked me out for a drink.

Why in the world would he ask me out? There was nothing that said he actually wanted to spend time with me. My hands stilled in the soapy water, a scowl forming on my face. I didn’t understand him. Didn’t understand what game he was playing. He’d made it perfectly clear from the moment he arrived in town that he thought he was too good for me. And yet, there he was, standing on the sidewalk, looking at me like he actually wanted to be there. Like he actually wanted me to say yes.

I shook my head. It wasn’t worth thinking about. Kaisen didn’t really want to have a drink with me. It was probably some kind of joke, or worse—some weird power play.

I finished cleaning up, so ready to go home, take my shoes off, and maybe have a glass of wine. I collected my things and walked out. I locked the door behind me and turned to find Mrs. Henderson, the owner of the boutique next door, waving at me from her shop. I forced a smile and walked over, trying to shake off the fatigue.

“Hey, Dorie,” she said. I could tell by the look on her face something was wrong. I wasn’t sure I had the energy to deal with whatever that was. “Did you hear about the building a few shops down? They sold out to that firm.”

My stomach dropped. “No, I hadn’t heard. When did that happen?”

“Just this morning,” she said, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “I got another offer today, too. They’re getting more aggressive. I don’t know what to do.”

I nodded, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in my chest. “Yeah, I’ve been getting the same letters. It’s unsettling, but I’m not going to sell. They can keep offering and trying to intimidate me, but they won’t win.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m worried they’re going to try some legal tactic. Can they get eminent domain? I heard someone mention that.”

I shook my head quickly, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “No, they can’t do that here. This isn’t some massive infrastructure project—it’s just a developer looking to make a profit. They’re banking on us getting scared enough to sell cheap.”

Mrs. Henderson sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I hope you’re right, Dorie. This place is all I have left.” I could see the fear in her eyes—the same fear that had been gnawing at me for weeks now.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said with more determination than I felt. “We’re not going to let them push us out without a fight.”

“I’m not sure how much fight I have left,” she said.

“Let me know if you hear anything else,” I told her.

I started the walk back to my place. My mind was racing with genuine fear we may not be able to win. The predatory nature of the offers was getting harder to ignore. I’d said no multiple times, but how long could I hold out? And what would happen if I did? My business license was fine. The health department always praised my cleanliness standards. But the building was old. What if they managed to get the building condemned? Then the offer would be dramatically reduced.

By the time I reached my condo, I was mentally and physically drained. I walked inside, greeted by the familiar sight of Rick lounging on the couch. He blinked at me lazily, his tail flicking as I scratched behind his ears. “Hey, buddy,” I murmured, feeling some of the tension ease. “I hope you had a nice, easy day, because I did not.”

He stretched, hopped down, and curled his body around my ankles before trotting off toward the kitchen, clearly expecting dinner. I followed him, my shoes squeaking against the hardwood floor, and pushed the button to drop his food a little early.

“You know you’re spoiled, right?”

He ignored me, his face down as he gobbled up his food. His life was so rough with automatic feedings, clean water, and comfy beds spread all around the condo. I kicked off my tennis shoes and dropped my bag with my work clothes. I had a date with the washing machine, but that would be later.

I stripped out of my yoga clothes and headed for the shower. The hot water was a relief, washing away the layers of flour, sugar, and grime that had clung to me all day. I leaned against the tiled wall, letting the steam rise around me as my thoughts drifted back to the conversation with Mrs. Henderson. I couldn’t let them win—I wouldn’t. But the fear of losing my bakery was like a lead weight in my chest.

By the time I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel, I felt marginally better. I towel-dried my hair, throwing it up into a messy bun, and pulled on an old band T-shirt and a pair of sweats. Comfort food was calling my name. I padded into the kitchen, ignoring Rick’s judgmental stare as he lounged on the cat tree like he owned the place.

Before food, I grabbed the bottle of wine. I was about to open it when my phone rang.

“No,” I groaned.