Christmas with a Bad Boy (Feuding Hearts Christmas)

4. Sign the Contract

FOUR

SIGN THE CONTRACT

ZALE

I stare at the paperwork spread across my desk, the city skyline bathed in the soft glow of sunset beyond my office windows. Everything's in place. The deal to acquire the building—the one housing Ruth's Brew—is ready to go through. I should feel triumphant. This is what I've worked towards for years. My revenge against the Henrys, finally within reach.

But as I scan the legal jargon, my mind wanders to Saraiyah. Her words from that first night in the bar echo in my head. The challenges Black business owners face. The struggle to keep their dreams alive in a world that seems stacked against them.

I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. I'm part of the problem. Men like me, who see real estate as nothing more than numbers on a spreadsheet. Leverage. Acquisition. But this deal... it's different. It means more.

My eyes drift to the framed photo on my desk. My father, smiling, before the Henrys took everything from us. I pick it up, my thumb tracing the edge of the frame.

Is this what he'd want?

Revenge at the cost of someone else's dream?

I set the photo down, my gaze drawn back to the contract. The words blur together as I think about Saraiyah. Then I turn back to the contract, but the words might as well be in a foreign language.

All I can think about is Saraiyah. The way she smiles. The scent of her perfume. The electricity that crackles between us every time we're near each other.

I stand up, pacing the length of my office. The city lights flicker to life as night falls. I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window, closing my eyes.

The deal's ready to go through. I should feel triumphant. This is what I've worked towards for years. My revenge against the Henrys, finally within reach.

So why does victory taste so bitter?

Saraiyah's face flashes in my mind. Her warm brown eyes, the curve of her smile, the fire in her voice, and her sassy humor.

The way she talks about Ruth's Brew. The very place I'm about to take away from her.

I clench my jaw, pushing the thought aside. This isn't about her. It's about my family, about restoring what was taken from us. I can't let one woman derail years of planning.

But even as I think it, I know it's a lie. Saraiyah isn't just "one woman." She's become something more, something I never expected. Something I'm not sure I'm ready to face.

My phone buzzes. A text from my legal team. "The draft of the contracts are ready for your review, Mr. Fulton. We'll await your signature to proceed."

I stare at the message, my finger hovering over the reply button. This is it. The point of no return. Once I give the go-ahead, there's no turning back. The building will be mine, and Saraiyah...

Saraiyah will lose everything.

The thought hits me like a punch to the gut. I push back from my desk, suddenly needing to move. I pace the length of my office, my reflection ghosting across the floor-to-ceiling windows. I barely recognize the man staring back at me.

What am I doing? When did this become so complicated?

I think back to our first meeting at the bar, the spark I felt even then. The way she challenged me, saw through my carefully constructed facade. And every interaction since—at Ruth's Brew, on the street outside her shop—has only deepened that connection.

I close my eyes, remembering the warmth of her hand in mine, the scent of her perfume, the way her eyes light up when she talks about her dreams for the future. Dreams I'm about to shatter.

The guilt is a physical weight in my chest. I've spent so long focused on revenge, on making the Henrys pay, that I never stopped to consider the collateral damage. And now, with Saraiyah caught in the crossfire, I'm forced to face the consequences of my actions.

My phone buzzes again. Another text from legal. "Mr. Fulton? Awaiting your decision."

I pick up the phone, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. It would be so easy to type "Proceed." To finish what I started all those years ago. To finally make the Henrys pay for what they did to my family.

But at what cost?

I set the phone down without replying. I need more time. I need...

I need to see her.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my coat and head for the elevator. The sun has set by the time I reach the street, the city coming alive with nighttime energy. But I barely notice as I make my way to SoHo, to Ruth's Brew.

I know I shouldn't be here. I know I'm only making things more complicated. But I can't stay away. The pull is too strong.

I arrive just as Saraiyah is locking up. She doesn't see me at first, and I take a moment to watch her. Even in the dim streetlight, she's beautiful. Strong. Determined. Everything I never knew I wanted.

She turns, and our eyes meet. For a moment, we just stand there, the air between us charged with unspoken tension.

"Back again, Mr. Fulton?" she calls out, her voice a mix of amusement and wariness. "You know, most people don't need this much caffeine."

I step closer, drawn to her like a magnet. "Maybe it's not the coffee I'm here for."

Her eyebrow arches, a challenge in her gaze. "Oh? And what exactly are you here for?"

I'm close enough now to catch the scent of her perfume, to see the flecks of gold in her eyes. The freckles that dance across her adorable nose.

My heart races, and I struggle to maintain my composure. "I thought you might want a ride home. And?—"

"I'm a big girl, Zale," she cuts me off, her tone sharp. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," I say softly. "But maybe I want to take care of you too."

The words hang between us, heavy with implication. Saraiyah's eyes widen slightly, and I see a flicker of something—surprise? Interest?—before she schools her features back into a neutral expression.

"I don't need taking care of," she says, but there's less bite in her tone now. "Especially not from someone like you."

"Someone like me?" I step closer, closing the distance between us. "And what kind of person am I, Saraiyah?"

She tilts her chin up, meeting my gaze head-on. "The kind who's used to getting what he wants. The kind who sees the world as a game to be won."

Her words hit close to home, and I can't help but flinch. She sees it, her eyes softening slightly.

"Am I wrong?" she asks, her voice quieter now.

I should lie. I should maintain the facade, keep her at arm's length. It's safer that way. For both of us.

But I'm tired of lying. Tired of pretending.

"No," I admit, the word barely above a whisper. "You're not wrong. But you're not entirely right, either."

Saraiyah studies me for a long moment, her gaze searching. I feel exposed under her scrutiny, like she can see right through to my soul. It's terrifying. And exhilarating.

"Prove it," she says finally. "Show me I'm wrong about you."

The challenge in her voice ignites something in me. Before I can think better of it, I close the remaining distance between us. My hand comes up to cup her cheek, and I feel her sharp intake of breath.

"Saraiyah," I murmur, my voice low and rough. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Her eyes darken, and I see the pulse jump in her throat. "Then show me," she whispers.

I lean in, my lips a breath away from hers. The tension between us is electric, every nerve in my body on high alert. I want to kiss her. God, I want to kiss her so badly it hurts.

But I can't. Not yet. Not with the weight of my secrets still between us.

I pull back slightly, my hand still on her cheek. I never convince a woman to see my way of thinking.

Women young and old jump at the opportunity of turning our liaison into more than a single night. More than a casual fuck.

But I crave more with Saraiyah, and the idea that it could cost me everything should be reason enough to turn tail and bolt.

But instead I step closer. "Let me take you home," I say softly. "Please."

For a moment, I think she'll refuse. But then she nods, almost imperceptibly. "Okay," she says. "But just a ride. Nothing else."

I step back, giving her space. "Of course."

As we walk to my car, I can feel the heat of her beside me. Every accidental brush of our hands sends a jolt through my system. I've never wanted anyone the way I want her. And I've never been more terrified of what that means.

We reach my car, and I open the door for her. As she slides in, her arm brushes against my chest, and I have to stifle a groan. The air feels thick with tension, charged with unspoken desire.

I get in on the driver's side, acutely aware of her presence next to me. The car feels too small suddenly, the space between us electric.

"So," Saraiyah says as I start the engine, her voice deceptively casual. "Are you going to tell me why you're really here?"

I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. "I told you. I wanted to make sure you got home safely."

She turns to look at me, her gaze piercing. "And that's all?"

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her. "What else would there be?"

Saraiyah laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You tell me, Zale. You're the one who keeps showing up at my shop, offering rides, looking at me like..."

She trails off, and I can't help but ask, "Like what?"

Her eyes meet mine, and the intensity in them takes my breath away. "Like you want to devour me."

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. My heart pounds in my chest, and I have to force myself to look away, to focus on the road ahead.

"Maybe I do," I admit, my voice low and rough.

I hear her sharp intake of breath, feel the shift in the air between us. When I glance over, her eyes are dark, her lips slightly parted. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to pull over right then and there and show her exactly how much I want her.

But I can't. Not yet. Not with everything still unsaid between us.

We drive in silence for a while, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. I'm hyper-aware of every movement she makes, every breath she takes. When we finally pull up in front of her building, neither of us moves to get out.

"Saraiyah," I start, not sure what I'm going to say but needing to break the silence.

She turns to me, her eyes searching mine. "Why are you really here, Zale? What do you want from me?"

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. What do I want from her? Everything. Nothing. I want to tell her the truth. I want to keep her in the dark. I want to walk away and never look back. I want to pull her into my arms and never let go.

"I don't know," I admit finally, the words barely above a whisper. "I just... I can't stay away from you."

Saraiyah's expression softens, just for a moment. Then she shakes her head, as if clearing away a fog. "That's not good enough, Zale. I need more than that."

She's right. Of course she's right. But how can I give her more when I'm not even sure what I want myself?

"I'm sorry," I say, the words feeling inadequate. "I wish I could give you a better answer. I wish..."

I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence. I wish things were different. I wish I'd met her under other circumstances. I wish I wasn't about to destroy everything she cares about.

Saraiyah studies me for a long moment, her gaze intense. Then, without warning, she leans in and presses her lips to mine.

The world stops.

Her lips are soft, warm, inviting. I taste coffee and cinnamon, sweet and spicy. My hand cups her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. She sighs into my mouth, her body melting against mine.

The kiss is electric, sending shockwaves through my entire body. Her lips are soft, warm, everything I've imagined and more.

For a moment, I'm too stunned to react. Then instinct takes over, and I'm kissing her back with everything I have.

Our lips move in sync, exploring, teasing. Her tongue darts out, tracing my bottom lip. I open for her, meeting her tongue with mine.

The kiss deepens, slow and sensual. My other hand finds her waist, pulling her closer.

Saraiyah's fingers tangle in my hair, caressing my neck. A low groan escapes me. She swallows the sound, pressing closer.

Her curves fit perfectly against me, like she was made for me. And when my hands slide lower and cup her ass, she moans.

She matches my intensity. There's an urgency to her movements, like she's trying to prove something—to me or to herself, I'm not sure.

I smile, and nip at her bottom lip. She whimpers, the sound shooting straight through me, and I soothe the sting with my tongue.

Her hand slides down my chest, resting over my pounding heart.

We break for air, foreheads touching. Her breath fans across my face, quick and shallow. I open my eyes, meeting her gaze. Her pupils are blown wide, lips swollen and glistening.

"Zale," she whispers, voice husky.

" Fuck …"

I capture her lips again, pouring everything I feel into the kiss. All the longing, the desire, the fear of losing her. She matches my intensity, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

Saraiyah makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, and it's nearly my undoing. I deepen the kiss, pouring all my confusion, all my desire, all my guilt into it.

Why did she have to come into my life now? Why is her business in the one building in the entire world I have to own? Why in the world are we kissing and not fucking?

Our tongues dance, tasting, exploring. Coffee and scotch mingle, creating an intoxicating flavor that's uniquely us. I never want this moment to end.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Saraiyah's lips are swollen, her eyes dark with desire. I stroke her cheek, memorizing every detail of this moment.

"What the fuck was that?" she breathes.

" Us ."

That kiss has changed everything. There's no going back now.

I want nothing more than to pull her back in, to lose myself in her completely. But I can't. Not like this. Not with my secrets still between us.

"Saraiyah," I start, my voice rough. "We shouldn't?—"

"Don't," she cuts me off, her tone sharp. "Don't you dare tell me we shouldn't. Not after that."

I close my eyes, fighting against the wave of desire threatening to overwhelm me. "You don't understand. There are things... things you don't know about me."

She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Of course there are. You're a mystery wrapped in an enigma, Zale Fulton. But guess what? I've got secrets too. We all do."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. If only she knew. If only I could tell her.

"It's not that simple," I say, hating how weak my voice sounds.

Saraiyah's eyes flash with anger. "Then make it simple. Tell me what's going on. Tell me why you keep showing up, why you look at me like you want me but then pull away. Tell me the truth, Zale."

The truth. Such a simple request, and yet so impossible to grant.

I open my mouth, then close it again. What can I say? How can I explain without revealing everything?

Saraiyah watches me struggle, her expression a mix of frustration and something else—disappointment, maybe. "That's what I thought," she says finally, reaching for the door handle. "Goodnight, Mr. Fulton."

"Wait," I say, grabbing her arm before she can leave. "Saraiyah, please. I?—"

But what can I say? That I'm falling for her? That I'm about to destroy everything she cares about? That I'm torn between my desire for revenge and my growing feelings for her?

She looks at me, waiting. The silence stretches between us, heavy with all the things I can't say.

Finally, Saraiyah sighs. "When you're ready to be honest—with me and with yourself—you know where to find me."

With that, she's gone, leaving me alone in the car with nothing but the lingering scent of her perfume and the taste of her kiss on my lips.

I watch her walk into her building, my heart pounding in my chest. I've never felt so conflicted, so torn between two impossible choices.

As I drive away, my mind races. The deal is still waiting for my signature. The revenge I've worked towards for years is within reach. But for the first time, I'm not sure if it's what I really want anymore.

I head back to my office, knowing I have a decision to make. But as I sit at my desk, staring at the paperwork that could change everything, all I can think about is Saraiyah. Her smile, her strength, the way she sees right through me.

I pick up my phone, my finger hovering over the reply button to my legal team's message. It would be so easy to type "Proceed." To finish what I started all those years ago.

But I can't. Not yet. Not until I figure out what I really want—and what I'm willing to sacrifice to get it.

I set the phone down without replying and lean back in my chair, closing my eyes. Saraiyah's words echo in my mind: "When you're ready to be honest—with me and with yourself—you know where to find me."

The question is, will I ever be ready? And if I am, will it be too late?