Christmas with a Bad Boy (Feuding Hearts Christmas)

5. Million Dollar Offer

FIVE

MILLION DOLLAR OFFER

SARAIYAH

The bell above the door chimes, and I look up from the espresso machine. My heart skips a beat, but it's not who I expect.

Austin Henry strides into Ruth's Brew, all designer coat and perfect smile. He's the last person I want to see right now, but I paste on a polite expression.

"Saraiyah," he says, his voice smooth as honey. "You're looking radiant as ever."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Austin. What brings you here?"

He leans against the counter, too close for comfort. "Can't a guy just drop by to see his favorite barista?"

"Sure," I say, focusing on the latte I'm making. "If that guy isn't you."

Austin chuckles, but there's an edge to it. "Always so direct. It's one of the things I love about you."

I hand the latte to a waiting customer, avoiding Austin's gaze. The shop is busier than usual, holiday cheer filling the air. But Austin's presence casts a shadow over everything.

"Look," I say, turning back to him. "I'm swamped. If you're not here to order, I've got customers to serve."

"Actually," he says, lowering his voice. "I'm here to talk business."

My stomach drops. I knew this was coming. Austin's family has been eyeing Ruth's Brew for years, and with our recent financial struggles, I'm sure they smell blood in the water.

"I'm not interested," I say firmly.

"You haven't even heard my offer."

"Fine," I say, crossing my arms. "You've got two minutes."

Austin's smile widens. "That's all I need. How about we discuss this over dinner tonight?"

"No," I say flatly. "Here and now, or not at all."

"Here's the deal my father's buying this building. I told him about your grandmother's story and he's willing to invest in Ruth's Brew. We'll clear your debts, upgrade the equipment, maybe even expand. All you have to do is sign over 51% ownership."

I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "You're joking, right? I'm not selling my grandmother's legacy to become some corporate puppet."

"It's not like that, Saraiyah," Austin says, his tone softening. "We'd be partners. And think about it – with our resources, Ruth's Brew could become a chain. Your grandmother's vision, spread across the city."

For a moment, I let myself imagine it. Ruth's Brew, thriving and expanding. No more sleepless nights worrying about bills. No more feeling like I'm letting my family down.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I say, turning back to the espresso machine. "Ruth's Brew isn't for sale."

Austin's expression hardens. "You're making a mistake, Saraiyah. This place is drowning, and I'm offering you a lifeline. A million check will end the financial troubles you've been having, this is a chance to get out from under all that debt. A fresh start."

I bristle at his words, my grip tightening on the counter's edge. He has no idea what this place means to me—what it represents.

"This isn't about money," I say through gritted teeth. "It's about preserving what my grandmother built. What she fought for."

His expression softens, almost pitying. "I get it, I do. But sometimes you have to let go of the past to move forward. This offer could be exactly what you need."

The bell above the door chimes, and Jamal, my part time barista, walks in.

Austin straightens, all business again. "Think about it," he murmurs.

"I'd rather sink than sell out," I snap.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, I get it. But when you change your mind—and you will—you know where to find me."

As he turns to leave, I call out, "Don't hold your breath."

The door chimes again as he exits, and I exhale trying to release the energy raging in my body. My hands are shaking, and I grip the edge of the counter to steady myself.

"You okay, boss?" Jamal, my part-time barista, asks.

I nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just... a difficult customer."

Jamal raises an eyebrow but doesn't push it. He's a good kid, and I'm grateful for his help, especially on busy days like this.

I can't lie, Austin's offer is tempting. But selling Ruth's Brew? It's like giving up on a piece of myself.

I busy myself with the next order, trying to push the conversation from my mind. But as I steam the milk, I can't help but wonder if Austin is right. Maybe it is time to let go.

The thought makes my stomach twist with guilt. I can almost hear Gram's voice in my head, urging me to fight for what's ours. This shop is more than just a business—it's a symbol of our resilience, our strength as a community.

But at what cost? I think of the late nights poring over bills, the constant stress of keeping this place afloat. Is preserving the past really worth sacrificing my own dreams?

As I throw myself back into work, I can't shake the uneasy feeling Austin's visit left me with. His offer, as tempting as it might be on the surface, feels like a trap. I've worked too hard to maintain my independence to give it up now.

But the reality is, Ruth's Brew is struggling. The bills are piling up, and foot traffic has been down. I've been putting on a brave face, but the truth is, I'm scared. Scared of failing, of letting down my grandmother's memory, of losing the only home I've ever really known.

As I steam milk for another latte, my mind drifts to Zale. I wonder what he'd say if he knew about Austin's offer. Would he understand my refusal, or would he think I'm being stubborn?

I shake my head, trying to clear thoughts of him from my mind. Zale Fulton is a complication I can't afford right now. But even as I tell myself this, I can't help but remember the way his eyes soften when he looks at me, the electricity I feel when we're close.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of customers and coffee. By the time the lunch rush dies down, I'm exhausted. I retreat to the back office, needing a moment to myself.

Sitting at my desk, I pull out the ledger. The numbers stare back at me, cold and unforgiving. No matter how I try to spin it, the truth is clear: Ruth's Brew is in trouble.

I close the book with a sigh, leaning back in my chair. My eyes land on the photo of my grandmother that hangs on the wall. She's smiling, her eyes twinkling with that mischievous spark I remember so well.

"What would you do, Grandma?" I whisper. "How do I keep your dream alive without losing myself in the process?"

There's no answer, of course. Just the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant chatter of customers.

I stand up, stretching out the kinks in my back. As I do, my gaze falls on the small potted plant on my desk, a snake plant named Gertie, a gift from my grandmother. Its leaves are vibrant and green, thriving despite the chaos around it.

Touching one of Gertie's leaves gently, I feel a renewed sense of determination. If this little plant can flourish in a tiny office with barely any sunlight, surely I can find a way to keep Ruth's Brew going.

The ring of my cellphone cuts through the quiet of the back office. I glance at the screen and smile when I see Malik's name. My best friend has an uncanny ability to call at just the right moments.

"Hey, Malik," I answer, leaning back in my chair. "You'll never guess what just happened."

"Austin Henry came sniffing around again?" Malik's voice is laced with disdain. He's never been a fan of the Henry family and their business practices.

"Damn, you're good." I chuckle. "Apparently, his daddy's buying this building, and they want to 'invest' in Ruth's Brew."

"Invest, my ass," Malik scoffs. "They want to own you, Yah. That's how they operate."

"You're telling me," I say with a roll of my eyes. "Austin had the nerve to offer me a million bucks to sign over 51% ownership."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and I can practically see Malik's eyebrows shooting up. "A million dollars? Damn, sis, that's a lot of money."

"Yeah, but you know I can't take it," I say firmly. "This place is more than just a business. It's my family's legacy."

"I hear you," Malik says, his tone softening. "But you gotta admit, a million would solve a lot of problems right now."

I sigh, running a hand over my face. He's not wrong—the money would be a lifeline for Ruth's Brew. But at what cost?

"I can't sell out, Malik," I say quietly. "Not after everything Gram went through to build this place. It would be like spitting on her memory."

"Alright, alright," he concedes. "I'm just saying, you shouldn't dismiss it outright. Think it over, at least."

I shake my head, even though he can't see me. "There's nothing to think about. Ruth's Brew isn't for sale, period."

Malik lets out a low whistle. "You're one stubborn woman, you know that?"

A small smile tugs at my lips. "You're just now figuring that out?"

He chuckles, and I can hear the fondness in his voice. "Nah, I've known that since we were kids. Just hoping you'd grow out of it one day."

"Keep dreaming," I tease.

There's a brief pause, and I can sense Malik's hesitation before he speaks again. "So, any other drama I should know about? Or is Austin's shady offer the only excitement in your life these days?"

I bite my lip, considering his question. Part of me wants to tell him about Zale—about the undeniable pull I feel whenever he's around, the way he gets under my skin like no one else. But the other part of me is terrified to admit those feelings out loud, as if giving voice to them will make them all too real.

"Nope, that's about it," I lie, hating the way the words taste on my tongue. "Just another day in the life of a struggling small business owner."

Malik hums, and I can tell he's not entirely convinced. He knows me too well, can always sense when I'm holding something back.

"You sure about that?" he prods gently. "Because if there's someone new in your life, you know you can tell me, right?"

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. How does he always manage to see right through me?

"Come on, Yah, spill. Who is he?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the truth. "His name is Zale. Zale Fulton."

The silence that follows is deafening, and for a moment, I wonder if the call dropped. But then Malik speaks, his voice laced with concern.

"Fulton? As in the real estate mogul Fulton? The one trying to buy up half of SoHo?"

I wince at the accusation in his tone. "What?"

"Damn, Saraiyah," Malik says, letting out a low whistle. "You sure know how to pick 'em, don't you?"

I bristle at his words, my defenses rising. "It's not like that, Malik. We just had a few drinks, and a couple of conversations."

I intentionally leave out the kiss. It feels like a lie to dwindle down my encounters with Zale to such a basic understanding. But the tone of Malik's voice as it all.

I walk back to my desk, and bringing up an internet browser. I've never been the woman to Google a dude, or check through his phone. But I never thought Zale was a billionaire.

Rich, definitely. But a billionaire, not in a trillion years.

"How'd that happen? He just popped up in the hood sniffing around your business and you get a million dollar offer from Austin. That shit sounds like a set up."

His bluntness stings, but I know he's only looking out for me. Still, I can't help but feel defensive.

"You don't know him, Malik," I argue. "Besides Zale and Austin are two different situations."

"Maybe," Malik concedes. "But can you really trust a guy like that? A guy who's probably only interested in one thing?"

I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in my throat. Because as much as I want to believe there's a potential for something real between Zale and me, I can't deny that Malik could be right.

After all, what could a man like Zale Fulton possibly see in a woman like me?

I grind day and night, yet I'm still drowning in debt.

My experience in relationships in nonexistent because I'm too busy doggy-peddling to keep my head above water.

I type Zale Fulton in to Google and watch that bitch starts singing like a canary.