A Very Daddy Christmas (Lucky Lady Reverse Harems)

Chapter 2

2

Cora

T o my surprise and sheer delight, Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs keep their word. Toward the end of the fair’s first day, they come back. Dario looks content, holding a large teddy bear while dozing in Waylan’s strong arms. Smears of chocolate surround his mouth, a sure sign he got a few treats from Santa while visiting his workshop.

“How are you holding up?” Sebastian asks.

“I’m just about done for the day,” I say, putting the last of the cupcake boxes in the fridge, then locking each door and cupboard with their assigned keys before placing them in my purse. “I’ll need to bring a few more baked goods in tomorrow. We’ll see how the rest of the week goes.”

The knot in my stomach hasn’t gone away, the grief over potentially losing everything too much to bear. I’ve yet to come to terms with Orson’s decision. Hell, I’m ready to fight him with everything I’ve got, but how? He holds the ultimate power.

“You seem troubled,” Sebastian says. “Did we make a situation worse by leaving Dario in your care earlier?”

“Oh, no, on the contrary. You got my mind off some things,” I say, eager to reassure him. “I’m grateful.”

“No more than we are, trust me,” he replies. “Ready to go home?”

“I am, thank you.”

I double check to make sure everything is locked and secured, then grab my purse and coat and let the gentlemen escort me out.

The drive home is relatively quiet. Dario falls asleep in the backseat, flanked by Waylan and Riggs. As Sebastian drives, I find myself staring at my hands, both quivering slightly in my lap as I try to keep a clear mind, failing miserably at every turn.

“You’re definitely upset about something,” Sebastian notes as we advance up the main boulevard leading to the north side of Madison City. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Honestly, not really. It’s been a hard day,” I reply. “A really hard day. But tell me about your client meeting. What sort of campaign? What do you guys do for a living?”

He smiles subtly, and I spot a hint of a dimple in his cheek. It adds a touch of sweetness to his otherwise stoic profile. “We run a marketing firm. Well, it’s more of a corporation these days since we’ve acquired a few companies over the past six months. Most of them focus on social media marketing. We handle major advertising and online marketing campaigns for big brands. And today, we nailed a really good pitch for the client.”

“Who’s the client?” I ask.

“Haute Parkour. It’s a luxury streetwear brand. They have a flagship store in Parkside Mall.”

“Ugh.” The sound comes out naturally. Orson’s mall. Of course.

Sebastian gives me a curious look. “You don’t like them?”

“I don’t like the owner.”

“Of Haute Parkour?”

I shake my head. “No, of Parkside Mall.”

“Orson St. James? He’s a prick,” Waylan chuckles dryly. “But we’re not doing business with him. Just some of his clients.”

“More like… we’re stealing some of his clients,” Riggs adds.

“St. James is a property developer. How are you stealing his clients?” I ask.

Sebastian glances my way again. “He also has a share in UB Dynamic, a rival marketing corporation. Haute Parkour was unhappy with their results, so we poached them. We’re currently looking to get three more UB clients that are unhappy with what was delivered on board by spring.”

“You’re not fans of St. James either, eh?” I question, somewhat amused. I can’t hide the bitterness in my voice, though. “Sorry, it’s just… he’s not what he portrays himself to be, the type of person people are led to believe he is.”

“We suspected as much,” Sebastian says. “But what’s your deal with him?”

I take a deep breath. “He’s my landlord. Mine and my sister’s. He owns the building our bakery is in, and my sister and I have the apartments upstairs. Or, I should say, had. The whole building is under a lease.”

“Had?”

“It really doesn’t matter. I just can’t stand the guy. He ruins lives with too much ease. I think he actually enjoys it. And if it falls around the Christmas holidays, even better. For a church-going man, I’m guessing he’s got a penthouse suite reserved in Hell.”

Sebastian pulls up outside the bakery. The lights are still on inside, but the closed sign is turned over the French glass-pane door. I see Eva behind the counter, pulling the Z report out of the till. Most of the tables are cleared, and the baked good displays are empty. It looks like she did most of the work and there’s not much left for me to do, except give her the terrible news.

“God, can’t we just drive away somewhere and never come back?” I mutter mostly to myself as I stare at my sister.

“Would you like that?” Sebastian asks, his voice soft and low.

I give him a startled look. “Oh, shit, I said that out loud?”

“It’s okay,” he says as he starts to get out of the car. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“See you,” Riggs and Waylan say from the backseat.

Once I’m out of the car and the cool, early October air hits my lungs, I take a deep breath, feeling the prickliness in my lungs. It’ll snow soon.

“I’m partial to running away sometimes too,” Sebastian says. We move slowly, taking each step toward the bakery’s front door with heavy hesitation. Eva is carrying a box into the back room. My heart hurts as I think of how I’m going to tell her.

“Honestly, right now, I wouldn’t even flinch. I’d just jump in the car and go,” I reply, lowering my gaze. But Sebastian gently takes my chin between his thumb and index finger, leaving me breathless as he beckons me to look up at him.

He’s so close. I can feel his breath on my lips. He smells of coffee and nutmeg. “You were incredible today. A gift from St. Nick, I’ll wager.”

“Nonsense. I saw three people in need and figured I could help. That’s all.”

“Regardless, thank you. You definitely have a way with kids, I’ll give you that.”

My lips part as he lowers his head and kisses me. I melt as everything else falls away. All I can feel are his lips on mine, all I can taste is him. I revel in the warmth of his presence, the magnificence of his masculine frame. I want to disappear in the moment. I want time to stop. Maybe everything will go away if he keeps kissing me.

“I shouldn’t have done that, but I won’t apologize either,” he whispers, gently pulling back.

“No need to apologize.”

“Whatever is going on with you, Cora, it will be okay,” Sebastian says. “There’s something about you. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.”

My knees feel weak. My chest is filled with raging butterflies. Sebastian gives me one last smile before going back to his car. “I’ll see you again soon, Cora.”

“You will?”

“You bet those sweet lips of yours.”

All I can do is stare at him in disbelief. He gets behind the wheel as Waylan gets into the passenger seat. All three men meet my gaze, and I can see the hunger in their eyes. It mirrors the hunger swelling deep inside me. I noticed it when we first met. It was an instant chemical reaction, and it’s only getting stronger. I should be alarmed by this, but I’m not.

I’m curious and excited.

Wait, didn’t they want to talk to me about something?

I hear the bakery door unlock and open. “Hey, sis. What’s up? How’d the fair go?” Eva greets me.

I look at my sister and feel my heart breaking all over again. Tears burst from my eyes as I finally cave in. I throw my arms around her and let everything out. Eva takes me inside and locks the door.

She makes tea for both of us, adding a plate of pain au chocolat buns from today’s batch. I’m hungry and tired and in desperate need of comfort. The warm food and drink does the trick as I tell Eva about Orson’s visit and Clause 8B. I watch the light fade from her eyes as she listens, quiet and demure, carefully analyzing the situation.

I’m usually the first to focus on the solution instead of the problem, but tonight it’s Eva’s turn. She’s the older sister, making her in charge by default. But in the greater scheme of things, she also has a lot more to lose. Eva and Carl work hard for everything they’ve got, yet they’ve been both blessed and held back by the bakery.

At least I’m single. I crave true love and a family, but I can handle myself. If we get kicked out, if this nightmare does become a harsh reality, it’ll be easier for me than for Eva. Surprisingly, my sister seems eerily calm once I finish telling her about Orson’s decision.

“He said we have until December thirty-first, the prick,” I mumble and take another sip of tea before I devour a second bun.

“And he only just found Clause 8B now,” Eva replies.

“Or yesterday, or recently, anyway. It’s an old and long contract. He probably figured it was just a standard document.”

“Still, he chose today of all days to tell you. Not me. You.”

I give her a confused look. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“I’m the one named as Mom and Dad’s heir in the contract annex,” Eva says. “Yet Orson came to you with his decision. I wonder why.”

“He probably figured you’d tear him a new one,” I say with a half-grin.

“Or he’s just looking to deliver as much emotional damage as possible,” she retorts. “Either way, you’re right, it’s a dick move. There must be something we can do.”

“Hire a lawyer?”

“Not sure we can afford one. When’s the last time you read our contract?” Eva asks. I take the copy out of my bag and hand it over. “Listen, I’ll give it a proper read tonight. Go to bed, Cora. You’ve got a long week ahead of you. I’ll handle this.”

A fresh round of tears threatens to break me again. “How? Eva, we’re getting evicted.”

“And we have until New Year’s Eve to come up with a solution.”

“How are you so calm?” I whisper.

“I have to be. I have a family to take care of. And, by the looks of things, a sister to keep off the streets, as well,” she replies with a light chuckle.

I’m genuinely in awe of her. She’s only turning thirty in mid-December, yet she has already built a decent life for herself. She struggles much like the rest of us, but Eva holds her own. My nieces are sweet and smart and cunning as hell. Her husband is a good and kind man. And Eva is business-minded, savvy, and resourceful.

We’ve had this place all to ourselves since our parents died ten years ago. I was only fifteen at the time and felt completely lost, but Eva made sure I stayed in school. She sent me to Paris as soon as I graduated, making sure I followed in our father’s footsteps because she understood my passion, my gift, just like Daddy did.

I can never repay her for all she’s done for me. I wish I could give her everything, but with how today unfolded… my everything might not be enough and it tears me apart on the inside. I’m like a boat without a sail, staring at the open water and wondering where it’s going to take me.

By morning, I feel worse.

Scared. Anxious. Restless. I drag myself out of bed and into a hot shower. I take a minute to gather myself before slipping into some jeans and a branded Levine Bakery sweater so I can at least look presentable downstairs. I hear the espresso machine grumbling, the milk steamer frothing furiously. We’re not open for business yet, so it’s just Eva making her first cappuccino for the day.

I’m terrified of losing this place, of not finding a solution to our problem. I’m terrified of having to look Eva in the eyes as she tells me we don’t have a better option, that we only have until December thirty-first, just like Orson St. James said.

“Morning,” I manage as I finally make it downstairs.

The bakery lights are on. The tables are all set. We need napkins and a refill on the sugar packets, but the pastries are already baking—the smell flooding the entire room and filling my soul with a familiar joy.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Eva says just as she’s done pouring a double shot of espresso into her frothy milk. Her smile says sunshine, but her eyes say she’s ready for war. “How’d you sleep?”

“How do you think I slept?” I grumble.

Eva brews me a coffee while I get the rest of the stuff ready before we open the bakery for business.

“I went over the contract last night. And guess what? It’s full of surprise clauses,” she tells me.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s that 8B piece Orson was so eager to throw at us, but there’s also Clause 12B.”

I stare at her with confusion and exhaustion, both hands busy with a dust rag and a spray bottle. “I’m on the edge of my seat here.”

“All isn’t lost,” she says. “Clause 12B states we have until the end of that same two-year term to buy the property at the current market value. The new landlord has the option to sell after two years, without giving the tenant a reason, but the tenant can use that time frame to make them an offer. And the best part? The new landlord is obligated to take it in escrow.”

“Okay, I’m even more confused.”

“Let’s say we’ve got about two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars saved up—”

“Which we don’t.”

“Let me finish,” Eva replies with a half-smile. I set the cleaning stuff aside and grab my coffee. Lord knows I need the go-juice. “Let’s just say we have that. Given our history with the previous landlord, we’re entitled to make an escrow offer directly. We put that money into the new landlord’s account, in an escrow account, and it stays there for up to three months. If they don’t get a better offer than ours, he has to take it. The sale is basically automated. The new landlord—in this case Orson—signed for this. He has to accept it.”

I chew on it for a moment. “Wow. Mr. Selznick and his lawyer really went deep with this, huh? Why?”

“You were still little at the time, but I remember hearing Mom and Dad talking about it at one point. They were down here, getting ready to close for the day. They were saving up to buy the building, and they got Mr. Selznick to add some clauses into the contract for when they were ready to put the whole sum down. Granted, they never got to do that, for obvious reasons, but the clauses never left the contract. And Orson consented to it the minute he took over.”

“Mr. Selznick was going to sell to us?”

If only our parents hadn’t died. The real estate market was wholly different ten years ago. The prices have skyrocketed since, and the building—which has the bakery on the ground floor and two apartments upstairs—costs twice as much today than it did a decade ago. Hope is a fickle and dangerous sensation. It can make or break a person.

“So, yeah, we could buy it. Today’s market value puts the building at about two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” Eva says, prompting a dry chuckle out of me.

“All of this would be fantastic if we had that kind of money. Even if we sell the ovens and every piece of equipment in this place, we’d barely hit a hundred grand.”

“I’ve been saving up,” my sister mutters.

I’m not familiar with the glimmer I see in her eyes. “Saving up?”

“Yeah. Plus, there’s my college fund Mom and Dad left for me.”

“You never went to college.”

Eva lowers her gaze. “No, I did not.”

“I thought you used that for me. For Paris.”

She sighs deeply. “No. Mom and Dad had a college fund set up for you, too. It wasn’t as big as mine as they were still adding to it, but Carl helped me on that front.”

“Hold on, are you telling me that you and your husband paid for my pastry school?” I am genuinely shocked. I thought Eva made the decision to use her college fund for my studies after our parents died. “Eva, why didn’t you go to college? I mean, you could’ve done more with your life. Wait, that sounded better in my head. I’m sorry.”

Eva laughs lightly. “Babe, I was already pregnant with Aylin, if you remember. Then Teresa came along, and I never gave it a second thought. We had the bakery to run. Carl was making a ton of money with his construction gigs, before the recession, that is. I just left the money there, gathering interest. I started investing some of it over the years. Nothing risky, just long-term, slow, but guaranteed results.”

“You never cease to amaze me.”

“I’m a happy woman, for what it’s worth,” Eva says. “Everything I do, I do gladly. Raising the girls, cooking for my husband, running our parents’ bakery with you, it’s more than enough for me. I like my life simple. Granted, keeping this place afloat has been anything but simple. I can’t let Orson take it away from us. What does he plan to do with the building, anyway? There isn’t a buyer’s market in Madison. Apartments won’t sell here, not in the next couple of years, anyway. He can’t open a second mall. And the authorizations he’d need to repurpose the building for another business profile…” Her voice trails for a moment. “Do you think he wants to sell it to those assholes from Patisserie Parisienne? I know they opened a bakery boutique in his precious mall.”

“They’ve got nothing on us. It’s just the name that’s French. Everything else is just excess sugar and cheap margarine.” I dismiss the possibility. “Overpriced and way too flaky. That’s why we have so many regulars after all these years, why the local and online guides always recommend us to incoming tourists during the holiday season.”

Even so, it’s been a weird couple of years. People don’t have as much money to spare anymore. Everything has gotten so expensive that getting a coffee and an artisanal bagel is now considered a luxury, even for the middle-class folks of Madison.

“We’re digressing. Point is, Cora, I think we can pull this off,” Eva says.

“How much money have you actually saved?” I ask, lifting the cup to my lips for a cautious sip.

“About two-hundred and two thousand dollars.”

I almost spit my coffee out. “ What ?”

“I made some pretty good investments, as it turns out,” Eva says with an innocent shrug. “But we’re still short forty-eight thousand dollars.”

“Damn. That is a lot of money, Eva.”

“It is, but it’s doable.”

“Our sales haven’t been that good. We barely paid off our suppliers last month, remember? It’s pumpkin spice season, and we just finished the first of three spice jugs that would’ve barely lasted us through October in past years.”

Eva’s about to say something, probably along the lines of “we’ll manage somehow,” when the bakery door opens, the bell chime signaling the first customer of the day. I didn’t know she’d already unlocked the door.

Orson St. James and a familiar-looking gentleman with silvery hair and an expensive tweed jacket walk in.

“Good morning, ladies,” Orson says with a bright smile. “Gosh, I love the smell of freshly brewed coffee at this hour. Whip us up a couple of cappuccinos, will you, darling?” he says to Eva.

The air in the room changes. It’s thicker. Heavier. It’s a struggle to stand here and smile at Orson and his buddy after yesterday’s events. And to think we’re just forty-eight grand away from throwing this whole madness back into his face.

“Two cappuccinos, coming right up,” Eva says with a pleasant smile.

“Good morning, Mr. St. James,” I mutter.

I know I should try to be civil, but his smirk isn’t helping. The way his friend keeps looking around makes me feel anxious. Orson notices it, and he makes a point of stealing glances at Eva just to get her reaction.

“This is George Hamilton, by the way. My good friend and business partner in several projects,” he says. “We wanted to take a gander at this place before we put it up on the market.”

“Pleasure, ladies,” George says.

Eva drops a teaspoon in the sink, loudly enough to make an impactful statement. “We haven’t even left yet, Mr. St. James.”

“I know, but I’m eager to get this ball rolling,” he replies.

“Rolling where? The real estate market is dead. Who are you even selling to?” I cut in.

He gives me a hard look. “That doesn’t really concern you anymore, does it?”

“It might,” Eva interjects, then places two steaming mugs on the counter. “Your cappuccinos are ready. Would you like a pain au chocolat or a croissant with your drinks? On the house and fresh out of the oven.”

Orson chuckles dryly. “Trying to bribe us, Eva?”

“I doubt you’re cheap enough to buy off with a piece of puff pastry, Mr. St. James.”

I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be an insult or a compliment, and it’s obvious that Orson doesn’t know how to take it, either. Instead, he offers another tepid laugh and takes the coffees over to one of the tables by the window where Mr. Hamilton is already seated. They’re speaking loud enough for us to hear what they’re saying. Probably on purpose.

“Our friend will be thrilled,” Orson tells George. “My guess is the entire neighborhood can benefit from this change.”

“What, like a dry cleaners?” George asks.

“Or a local market. You know, the fancy kind, with whole foods and super foods and all that jazz. Something to spruce up the entire block.”

Eva leans over the counter. “Don’t say anything about buying this place from him yet,” she whispers. “We don’t have the whole amount.”

“It’s not like one of us is going to magically come up with it before New Year’s Eve,” I grumble, not daring to get my hopes up. It’s bad enough that salvation is so close yet not close enough. “Let’s just put up with whatever this is and move on with the day. I need to be at the fair in about an hour.”

She nods once. “Can you get some fall-themed fruit preserves from Ashley’s shop while you’re there? She’s got this incredible pumpkin, ginger, and carrot combination I really want to try. I think you’ll find a spot for it on our menu, too. Maybe some teatime tarts or something.”

“So, ladies, have you found another space for your bakery yet?” Orson interrupts, comfortably leaning back into his chair.

I can’t help but scoff. “Sir, you blindsided us with your decision yesterday. We’re still processing the news here.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Eva adds.

“You’d better figure something out fast. I’ve got the city council folks coming in early next week for an inspection. They’ll need unrestricted access to every corner of the building.”

George laughs lightly. “I’m betting you wish you’d have done a more in-depth due diligence of this place before you bought it from the Selznicks, eh?”

“Tell me about it.” Orson shakes his head. “Had I known the contracts themselves were such a doozy, I would’ve had my lawyers comb through every damn page. But hey, that’s what you get when you rush into a good sale. You worry about the details later.”

Maybe we were lucky it happened this way. Orson saw an opportunity with the ailing Mrs. Selznick, who needed to move to Florida at the time. He clearly didn’t know what kind of landlord-tenant relationship he’d inherit. He does now, but he probably doesn’t think we have the money to buy the building from him.

Technically speaking, we don’t, but the more I listen to these two yapping about what’s going to replace the bakery, the more determined I am to produce that forty-eight grand from somewhere.

How many cookies and cakes do I need to make and sell in order for that to happen?

“Too many,” I mutter to myself.

“What?” Eva asks.

I shake my head. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

“You should start making arrangements,” Orson insists, still smiling in that irritating manner. “The bakery equipment alone is heavy stuff. I can hook you up with one of my transportation companies if you’d like. They’ll give you a generous discount.”

“Thanks, Mr. St. James, but we don’t need that just yet,” Eva replies.

“Oh, but you will. You’re three months away from the end of the year, ladies. You can’t leave everything to the last minute. I’m not giving you any extensions.”

“Mr. St. James, if you don’t mind—” Eva’s about to tear him a new one when to my astonishment, Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs walk into the bakery. My heart starts beating a thousand miles per minute while I struggle to breathe properly.

What are they doing here?

“Hi,” I manage.

The guys immediately notice the tension in the air. Sebastian throws one look around the bakery and gives Orson and George a single nod of acknowledgment before he shifts his focus entirely to me. “What’s going on here?”

“What are you three doing here?” Orson snaps, clearly displeased with their presence.

There seems to be some strained history between Orson and the guys, but I’m not aware of the specifics. What I am, however, is insanely curious.

“Are they bothering you?” Sebastian asks me.

Orson gets up, visibly insulted. “You have a lot of nerve!”

“What the hell is going on here?” Eva murmurs, giving me an alarmed and understandably befuddled look. All I can do is reply with an ignorant shrug as the tension and indignation rise.

“This is Sebastian. Waylan. Riggs,” I say, trying to keep the conversation somewhere in the civilized realm. “We met yesterday at the fair.”

“Cora saved our asses,” Sebastian laughs, offering to shake my sister’s hand. “Judging by the resemblance and noting that beauty clearly runs in your family, you must be Eva, Cora’s sister.”

That’s enough to make Eva giggle and blush. “You’re too kind, Sebastian.”

“What are you doing here?” Orson asks again, his tone clipped as he takes a few steps toward the guys. “Of all the places in this city.”

Sebastian is beyond amused, completely immune to Orson’s deathly glare. George lingers in the background, equally uncomfortable but nowhere near bold enough to look any of these men in the eyes. His silence speaks volumes of its own.

“Why don’t you and your lackey go somewhere else for your coffee and gossip? The titty bar opens at noon.”

My eyes bulge as I watch this exchange.

“This is my building,” Orson hisses.

“Pretty sure I’m standing in a bakery,” Sebastian replies.

“The Levine Bakery. Owned by the Levine sisters,” Waylan adds, giving Eva and me a soft smile of polite acknowledgment. Even that is enough to send tingling sensations down my spine.

“We’re renting,” Eva tries to diffuse the situation.

“It’s still your place of business,” Sebastian interjects. “You’re in charge. He just leases the space.”

“Not for long,” Orson sneers. “But I don’t have the time or the energy to argue with you three. I need to get going. Come on, George. We can grab a coffee somewhere else. Now I have another reason to get rid of this place quickly.”

George follows him out the door, and all I can do is stare at them in disbelief long after they’ve crossed the street. A timid sun pours through, its golden light dancing across the bakery’s tables while I try to wrap my head around the scene my sister and I just witnessed.

“Orson St. James,” Waylan says. “I know he’s your landlord, but does he actually come around for coffee and croissants?”

I shake my head slowly. “No, he’s only doing it to piss us off.”

“Why?” Sebastian asks.

Eva is shaken by the whole encounter, I can tell. She gives the guys a faint smile, then gently squeezes my wrist over the counter. “I need to do some inventory in the back room. Give me a few minutes?”

“Yeah, do your thing,” I reply. “I’ll man the starship.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as she’s gone, the guys move closer while I get behind the counter, if only to keep some physical distance between us. My lips tingle. My core is on fire. Everything about them has my engines rumbling and my body begging for more of last night. And it was just a kiss, for goodness sake. I cannot, for the life of me, understand why they have such an effect on me.

“What’s going on here?” Sebastian asks.

“Can I offer you coffee?” I reply with a smile.

“Cora.”

“Ugh, fine. If you really want to know—”

“We really do,” Waylan says, the corner of his mouth tugging up ever so slightly. He is clearly curious, maybe even a tad amused. I guess he has no reason to feel intimidated by the likes of Orson St. James. They think of him as a joke. Or someone beneath their level. At least, that’s the vibe I’m getting from them. “What’s Orson’s deal? Why does he want to piss you off?”

“He’s selling the building out from under us,” I say, the words rolling off my tongue at the same time tears work their way into my eyes. “He told me yesterday at the fair. It’s a long and complicated story, but he wants us out by New Year’s Eve.”

Riggs clears his throat and rests his elbow on the counter. The look he gives me causes tiny flames to burst everywhere on my skin. How can a man set a woman ablaze with a mere look?

“Tell us everything. We’ve got time for coffee,” Riggs says.

I oblige and brew three shots of espresso, giving them a moment to decide on how they want their coffees. Then I explain. Once I’m done telling the story, I notice a subtle shift in their expressions. Concern. A tinge of grief. Anger when Orson’s name comes up.

“Eva found this other clause in the contract,” I say. “The gift that keeps on giving.”

“What does it say?” Sebastian asks.

“We can buy the bakery if we have enough money to cover the current market price, and he’s obligated by that specific clause to accept our offer unless someone tops it during the escrow period. Which is just about three months.”

The men exchange glances, then look back at me.

Riggs smiles again, and once more, I feel my chest constricting pleasantly. “It’s not common, but it’s not unheard of, either.”

“Yeah, that’s what Eva said. Especially in the previous century,” I reply, chuckling softly. “And it’s also not that uncommon when there’s a preexisting, cordial relationship between the landlord and the tenant. In this case, Mr. Selznick and my dad, God rest their souls. They had time and plenty of conversations on the matter. My parents wanted to buy the building once they were able to afford it.”

“Okay, so, basically you can still save your bakery,” Waylan concludes.

“We’re forty-eight grand short of the mid-range of the current market price for this property,” I reply with a heavy sigh. “And there’s no way we’re going to be able to get that much money to secure the escrow before December thirty-first.”

I watch as Sebastian takes a long, thoughtful sip of his coffee. He and his friends keep looking at each other with knowing glances. Conversations that have already happened and didn’t include me. Decisions made while I was wringing my hands, tossing and turning, and trying to get some shuteye in the face of unexpected adversity.

My synapses are firing rapidly, yet I can’t figure out what these men are up to. All I know is that their presence alone is enough to soothe my frayed senses.

“There is a way,” Sebastian ultimately says. “Which is why we popped over this morning. Granted, we had no idea about the intricate history behind the Levine Bakery.”

“I don’t understand,” I mumble, briefly holding my breath.

“We came here to offer you a job, so to speak,” he replies.

I motion around me. “Thanks, but I already kind of have one.”

“A side gig, if you will. It comes with some perks and benefits, but it also demands more of your time than other typical side gigs.” He waits for me to say something, but I’m speechless, curious about the details. I’m also way too hot to even focus properly. His piercing gaze is terribly distracting, as are his lips. “We need a live-in nanny to take care of Dario, and you were simply exceptional yesterday. Honestly, we didn’t think you two would click the way you did. Dario is a bright little kid, but ever since he lost his parents, he’s been closed off. Isolated. Keeping mostly to himself. For the first time in months, we saw a side of him yesterday we’d almost forgotten existed.”

“You made him happy,” Waylan adds. “You made him happy, Cora. Nobody else has managed to do that.”

“Wait, hold on. A live-in nanny?”

Sebastian nods. “You’d live with us. We have a big home. It’s cozy and welcoming. Anything you need, we’ll provide. A room of your own, access to every single inch of the place. We’ll cover all your expenses. You’ll never have to worry about groceries or personal effects. We’ll provide you with a car, too, if you need one, and make sure the gas tank is always full.”

“Whoa.”

“And the salary is well above the usual rate for live-in nannies,” he says, then types a figure on his phone and shows it to me. I gasp at the sight of so many zeros. “You’d keep some of your working hours at the bakery, of course.”

I frown slightly. “Some?”

“Well, yeah, at least during the holidays. Regular weekdays are easier to handle. Dario’s in preschool from eight to three. We have a sitter that can cover the occasional weeknight, a weekend here and there. But you’d be with him most of the time. It’s a temporary solution we’ve been considering since the UB client popped up on our radar.”

Riggs finishes his coffee and sets the cup back on its dainty little saucer. By comparison, his hands look so big and strong. “We need to deliver an entire campaign by the end of December, which means the three of us need to be hands-on, working from home, day in, day out. It leaves us with little to no time to spend taking care of Dario. Once UB is out of the way, we’ll revisit the whole arrangement, change the hours, and reach a different solution to benefit all parties involved.”

“But we need you now,” Waylan adds. “Dario is a light sleeper. He wakes up in the middle of the night. He has nightmares, he cries for his parents. We’re doing our best to provide for him, but nailing this UB campaign will boost our company and our revenues to a whole new level. The better we do, the better off Dario will be, as well. And it will give us more free time to dedicate to him when it’s done.”

“That’s a lot of money you’re offering for a live-in nanny,” I mumble, still trying to remember how many zeros I saw. “And why me?”

“I think we can help each other out. Our brush with Orson earlier pretty much proves that,” Sebastian says. “We’ll even throw in a forty-eight thousand dollar sign-on bonus. Payable right away. We need you, Cora, and I think you need us, as well.”

“And the bakery—”

“Can your sister cover more ground here for the next few months?” he asks. “We’ll gladly support you hiring an extra pair of hands. We have more bonuses lined up until you say yes.” He laughs.

I laugh too, but it’s not out of amusement. More like shock. We’ve only just met. We’re complete strangers. Yet here they are, making an offer I honestly cannot refuse. Eva and I will lose the bakery if I say no.

These fine men are presenting me with the kind of solution that may very well solve all of my problems at once. All it will take is my time and my physical presence for a few months.

Oh boy, I’d be living with them.

“Wait, the three of you live together?” I ask.

“We’re best friends, not just business partners,” Riggs explains. “We go way back, Cora. We were in the trenches together. Literally.”

“The trenches?”

“U.S. Marines,” Sebastian replies, a shadow briefly dancing across his face. I recognize that look. I know that darkness. I see it in my own eyes sometimes, as well. I’ve not seen whatever horrors they have to leave such a mark on them, but I am familiar with grief, with loss. “A long time ago. Nowadays, we share a house, a successful business, and unexpectedly a foster kid—a wonderful boy who needs a woman in his life. Cora, we need you.”

“You three are crazy,” I say after a few moments of heavy silence. “Off your rockers.” Hot and sexy, but crazy. My kind of crazy, however. “As long as your sitter can cover for me when I’m needed at the bakery, I’m inclined to accept your offer.”

I’m desperate. Eva wouldn’t think twice before saying yes to this arrangement. Eva would do everything in her power to save our bakery. And so would I.

Sebastian’s face lights up. “You’ve just made a little boy incredibly happy. We actually ran this by Dario before we came over.”

“I cannot thank you enough,” I say, my voice trembling with bottled-up emotions I’ve been struggling with since yesterday. “You’re saving our livelihood here, and a long-standing family business.”

“We’re just as thankful,” Sebastian replies. “You’re helping us in more ways than one, Cora. I think we’ll emerge happier and wealthier out of this arrangement. All of us.” He leans over the counter and takes my hand in his. “Honestly, thank you, for doing this.”

His touch demolishes whatever reservation I had left about this.

“This is really going to piss Orson off,” I chuckle.

“And I can’t wait to hear his head explode when he gets your escrow payment,” Sebastian replies.

Frankly, I’m quite interested and excited to see what Orson has to say. He’s legally obligated to take our escrow payment. And it’s highly unlikely that he’ll be able to secure a better offer so close to the winter holidays. I’m not saying our victory is guaranteed, but dammit, I can almost taste it. Salvation. I see it on the horizon closer than ever before. I can feel its golden warmth on my fingertips.

I’m about to move in with Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs. I only need to take care of their foster son for a few months. God, I can fully breathe again.

How the hell am I going to keep my head screwed on straight while sharing a home with three insanely hot, former Marines-turned-business-entrepreneurs?

Maybe I didn’t fully think this through.

Too late.

I’m in.