A Very Daddy Christmas (Lucky Lady Reverse Harems)

Chapter 22

22

Cora

“ Y ou’ve been quiet all morning,” Sebastian says, one hand on the wheel while the other rests on my knee. His eyes stay on the road as he drives me to the bakery. There’s a bit more traffic than usual, but it should be expected. Christmas Eve is just around the corner, and the last-minute shoppers are out in full swing. “Is everything okay?”

“As okay as it can be under these circumstances,” I reply with a weak smile. “It’s the waiting that’s killing me.”

“With the escrow term, you mean.”

“Yeah.”

“Unfortunately, waiting is all we can do at this point. You’ve passed every surprise inspection. You’ve held your head up against the nasty rumors. We survived Rutger Resort,” he chuckles. “I can’t promise it’s over because I don’t know what else St. James and Hamilton might have planned, but I can promise you that no matter what, we’re always going to figure a way forward.”

“We’re stronger together, right?” I sigh deeply.

He squeezes my knee. “Damn straight.”

“To be honest, it’s our time together that makes everything better,” I say. “There are mornings when I dread going to work, especially after some asshole decided to cuss me out the day before. But you, Waylan, and Riggs have been my rocks. This whole time, you’ve been right beside me. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I told you, we’re in this together, whether you like it or not. It can’t have been easy growing up the way you did,” Sebastian says. “But you don’t have to struggle alone anymore.”

“Technically speaking, I haven’t been alone. I mean, Eva has been in the trenches with me through it all,” I say, eager to give my sister the credit she deserves.

Sebastian smiles softly as he turns right. Traffic is thinning ahead, but there’s a large group of people standing outside the bakery. “It’s time for you and Eva to struggle less, is what I’m trying to say. I do appreciate that you’ve learned to let us help you, Cora. It makes us feel more like—”

“Men,” I chuckle as I finish his sentence for him.

“Yeah,” his voice trails as he squints at the crowd. “What’s going on up there?”

“I’m not sure,” I mumble, “but it doesn’t look like a welcoming committee.”

The closer we get, I realize they are protesting—not only the bakery but specifically me. Horrible words and accusations are scrawled on the large signs they’re holding.

My blood begins to boil. Some of the placards are downright personal in their attacks, and the people holding them up seem unnecessarily aggravated. What’s worse is I recognize most of them as Sebastian pulls over.

“This can’t be happening,” I whisper.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says as he parks the car.

“George Hamilton is behind this.”

He shakes his head. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I reply, fear getting the better of me. Shame burns through my veins. Why do I feel so guilty if I’ve done nothing wrong?

“It’s your bakery. What are you going to do? Let St. James and Hamilton run you out of town with pitchforks and torches? Or, in this case, dumbass signs? Hell, no,” he snaps and gets out of the car, then comes around to open my door, gingerly pulling me onto the sidewalk.

“Sebastian…”

“Stick close to me, baby,” he says.

Before I can further object, we’re crossing the street and cutting right through the crowd of self-righteous assholes—all of them townspeople, churchgoers, and former customers of our bakery.

I know these people. I grew up around most of them. We used to sit next to some of them during the Sunday service. Many of them were here for the ribbon-cutting celebration after we renovated to our new, French-inspired look. I’m shocked by everything unfolding, and I feel powerless because I can’t stop any of it. My heart is shattering, piece by piece, as betrayal burns a hole right into my soul.

“How can they do this?” I mumble.

“Out of the way!” Sebastian shouts, startling an elderly couple. They move aside and clear a path, while the crowd tightens from behind. “Keep your fucking distance or I’m calling the cops!”

“We’re exercising our right to assemble! As well as our right to protest the indecency going on here,” George Hamilton says as he pops out in front of the bakery door.

I catch a glimpse of my sister inside, ashen-faced and likely wanting to throw something at the bastard’s head. But she knows she can’t react. It would only feed the monster.

“What indecency is that exactly, Mr. Hamilton? An insufficiently baked croissant?” Sebastian replies.

“Hey,” I mutter.

“I’m kidding, babe. Your croissants are perfect,” he says to me, then shifts his focus back on Hamilton. “Get the fuck out of my way, or I will call the cops. I’m not going to say it again.”

“Right to assemble,” Hamilton insists with a sneer.

It’s pretty audacious of him to lead this pack. I wonder if it’s desperation or pure malice. Or both. But Sebastian is not intimidated. Instead, he steps up, dangerously close and clearly taller, bigger, and more threatening than Hamilton. “Your right to assemble vanishes the minute I feel my safety is threatened,” Sebastian growls. “And right now, I’m feeling particularly threatened.”

“You’re the one getting too close,” Hamilton replies.

“You’re the one blocking the bakery’s front door. Which, by the way, is illegal. So step aside, or I’ll make you step aside, and it will hurt.”

Finally, Hamilton moves to the right while I struggle to drown out the constant insults and name-calling the crowd keeps throwing at me. My cheeks burn and tears flood my eyes as I hold on to Sebastian for dear life.

“Pay them no mind,” he tells me and gets me inside, then locks the door behind us. “Sorry, ladies, I guess you’re not open today.”

Eva collapses in a chair, running her trembling fingers through her hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“How long have they been out there?” Sebastian asks, already going through his phone while I pull up a chair to sit next to my sister. My knees feel weak.

“Maybe a few minutes,” Eva says. “They showed up out of nowhere. It wasn’t just one or two crazy idiots with signs; they all appeared at once.”

Sebastian nods slowly. “Obviously staged.”

“Our customers can’t get inside,” I say. “They’re driving everyone away.”

“Sheriff Foreman?” Sebastian manages to reach the sheriff’s direct line, a smile lingering on his lips. “Has anyone called about the angry mob currently interrupting the Levine Bakery’s business?”

Eva raises her hand. “I did.”

“Oh, I see, it’s a legitimate protest,” Sebastian repeats what I assume the sheriff just presented as a spineless excuse. “They’re blocking the entrance to the building. That’s a fire hazard,” he retorts. “Sheriff, it’s pretty simple. Either you get a deputy down here to keep the crowd under control, or I will get the state troopers involved. They’re using hate speech, which, as you know, is not protected by the First Amendment.”

“State troopers?” Eva asks me, slightly confused.

“One of their former Marine buddies is a trooper,” I mutter. “It’s a bit out of the way for them, but it would put enough attention on the sheriff to show how poorly he’s handling this situation. Placing him in a bad light, I guess, which hopefully will light a fire under his ass to do something.”

“Whatever works,” my sister exhales sharply. “This is an effing nightmare.”

Sebastian gets off the phone and lets a heavy sigh roll from his chest. “I didn’t know Madison was run by such colossal cowards,” he says. “A deputy car will come down within the hour, though. In the meantime, I suggest you keep that door closed and locked and stay out of sight.”

“It’s no use,” I reply, shaking with anger and frustration. “As long as they’re out there, waving their stupid signs, no legitimate customer will approach.”

Eva squeezes my shoulder, then gives Sebastian a slight nod. “She’s right. Business is done for the day.”

“What are you going to do if they keep coming back?” he asks, nowhere near ready to accept even the slightest defeat on our part. “Will you just shutter the bakery altogether?”

“Of course not,” my sister says.

“You’re damn right,” he replies. “Every single word spoken and written out there is cause for a slander lawsuit.”

“Leave Mr. St. James alone!” a man shouts near one of the windows, then bangs his fist against the glass. “Leave Mr. St. James alone!”

“Wow, this is a whole new level of screwed up,” I mumble. “He’s painting himself as a victim. And check out Hamilton over there…” I nod, drawing Eva and Sebastian’s attention to George, who stands in front of the front door with a most insufferable grin. “He’s enjoying this a little too much. It’s sickening.”

Eva gets up and walks over to the door. Hamilton stills, waiting for some kind of reaction. He’s eager to stir more trouble, to get us to step outside the lines of the law. But my sister just stares at him for what feels like forever, while Sebastian and I watch.

I, for one, am wondering how Waylan and Riggs would react if they were here with us. I know one fuse would definitely blow between the three of them. Maybe it’s better that it’s just Sebastian.

“What are you looking at!” Eva shouts and slaps the glass, startling the crap out of Hamilton. The weasel jumps back, white as a sheet of paper. It makes her chuckle. Sebastian stifles a laugh of his own.

“Scaredy cat,” my sister mutters and walks back to the table. She reclaims her seat and takes a sip from her cold coffee. “Well, today has clearly gone right into the dumpster, I’ll tell you that much. Sebastian is right, though. We can’t close the business forever, nor can we let these idiots bully us out of this building. We’ve come too far.”

“We need a plan,” I say.

“What you need is a security detail,” Sebastian suggests.

I give Eva a wondering look. “What do you think?”

“Not a bad idea, at least for crowd control,” my sister replies. “But we can’t afford to pay them much.”

Sebastian shakes his head. “Don’t worry about costs. The more Hamilton and St. James invest in destroying you, the more we’re willing to invest in fighting back and settling the score.”

“I feel like we’re in the middle of a war,” I say, my stomach churning.

“It is a war. We started it the minute we put that escrow money in,” Eva says, then looks at Sebastian. “Security detail sounds great. Legally speaking, I think any protest needs to be at a particular distance from our business. Maybe a detail could enforce that, because you know the sheriff’s deputy isn’t going to do a damned thing.”

“I’ll make it happen,” Sebastian says, then checks his watch.

I feel awful. The guys have their final push for their big campaign tonight. “Please don’t feel like you have to stay. You guys have enough on your plates. You’ve got the campaign and—”

“I’ll stay until the security detail gets here,” he cuts me off, fingers already swiping through his phone for the right number. He steps away and moves closer to the window to make his call, while Eva leans in with a crooked smile.

“Have you told him yet?” she whispers.

“Seriously? Today, of all days?” I grumble.

She offers a careless shrug. “We’re screwed for the day, anyway. What else is left for me to do?”

“No, I haven’t told him yet,” I mumble. “Clearly, not the right time and place.”

She chuckles. “You should hurry up, sis. You’re gonna start showing soon.”

It is literally the last thing on my mind. At this point, I just want to see the bakery back in business, undisturbed by rumors and fiery, ridiculous protests. This whole thing is just one big circus, a shit show designed to soil our reputation and carve into our sales. They are really that desperate, and we cannot yield, under any circumstances.

The helplessness is killing me. But Sebastian is right. We’ve come too far to give up now.

After Sebastian leaves, I find a sliver of peace in seeing the deputy’s car parked across the street and six large gentlemen in black suits keeping the thinning crowd of protesters at bay. Hamilton is gone. I assume he can’t afford to squat outside my bakery all day, and neither can a good chunk of his loyal flock.

We’ve yet to welcome any customers for the day, but at least the front door is unlocked and the sidewalk is clear of crazy folks. They were told they need to keep a certain distance so as not to disrupt our business, though it’s already been disrupted. And it hurts. I take comfort in knowing Hamilton and St. James don’t have any proof of my relationship with Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs. Just a rumor they’ve worked hard to grow into the clusterfuck it has become.

“How are you holding up?” Eva asks. She’s boxing up some of this morning’s pastries for the soup kitchen while I keep busy by refilling the sugar and sweetener containers, along with other various tasks in the café area.

My heart feels so heavy.

“I’m doing okay, I guess. I feel like crap.”

“Me, too,” she replies. “Carl wanted to come over, but he has his interview with Waylan’s buddy today.”

“That’s great! I appreciate he wanted to come.” I sigh. “Carl has lost enough because of all this. I couldn’t bear it if—”

“You’ve lost plenty, too,” Eva says. “Stop taking yourself out of the conversation.”

My shoulders drop in bitter defeat. “We’re all losing a lot here. Where does it end?” I hate sounding so dismal, but everything is really getting to me and dragging me down.

“We can’t keep going like this, not for long, anyway,” I add, letting my worst fears get past my lips. “What is Sebastian supposed to do next? Cover our daily estimated sales? There’s only so much he and the guys can do, anyway. And—”

“You want to know if it’s worth it, huh?”

I give Eva a sad look. “Yeah.”

“I don’t have all the answers. I only have years’ worth of hard work in this place. An unending devotion to our father’s business and passion, which became ours. Well, that and a huge ego because I would rather burn this whole building down than let St. James and Hamilton get their grubby claws on it,” she replies.

I’d laugh if things weren’t so grim.

“I want to say it’s worth it, but then I look at the toll it’s already taken,” I say. “I look ahead at the days and weeks to come. Say we get through with that escrow. Say we manage to keep the building. What then? Our reputation is ruined.”

“I told you, that’s temporary.”

“But do we really believe that?” I ask, my chest tightening with anxiety. “Those people out there are weirdly loyal to St. James and Hamilton. I doubt they’ll just abandon their campaign against us, especially if they lose. Even if we keep the building, we could still lose the business.”

“I don’t want to think about that,” Eva says.

“Why not? It’s staring us right in the face, isn’t it?”

She tears up as she looks at me. “Because it’s a reality I’m not ready to face. Because if I do face it, then yeah, it will feel like we worked our asses off for practically nothing. I don’t want to accept defeat. I can’t.”

“I don’t want to, either.”

“Then let’s hold on for a little while longer. Let’s take deep breaths and figure out ways to fight back, to keep the bakery open. To see it thriving once again, someday soon,” Eva replies. “Let’s keep baking and brewing coffee, let’s keep smiling, knowing that eventually everything is going to be alright. The last thing I want to do is show St. James and Hamilton that we’re ready to give up.”

“We are not ready to give up.”

“No, we’re not. We’re just really tired. But we’ve been tired before.”

It’s quite the pep talk we’re working through here, but it does seem to get the job done. I’m still tired. Still out of it on every possible level. Still embarrassed and terrified it will keep getting worse.

Eva has a point, though.

It is too early to give up. St. James and Hamilton would love to break us down before Christmas.

We need to win the escrow bid first. Then we can contemplate surrender if business doesn’t pick up.

We’re not dead yet.