Christmas with a Bad Boy (Feuding Hearts Christmas)

10. 5 Minutes

TEN

5 MINUTES

ZALE

"What I did was wrong. I know that. I got so caught up in my plan for revenge against the Henrys that I lost sight of what really matters."

"And what's that?" Saraiyah asks, her voice laced with skepticism.

"You," I say simply. "Us. What we have... it's real, Saraiyah. More real than anything I've ever felt."

She scoffs, but I see a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "How can I believe anything you say? You've been lying to me from the start."

"I know," I admit. "And I hate myself for it. But I swear to you, my feelings for you are genuine. They caught me completely off guard."

Saraiyah's expression softens slightly, but she doesn't uncross her arms. "Even if that's true, it doesn't change what you did. You're going to take away my business, Zale. I can't afford to just pack up and leave. To pay my employees. To relocated. How am I supposed to forgive that ?"

A deep sadness fills me, and I'm certain it's only a small part of her pain.

She raises an eyebrow. "How?"

"I'm calling off the deal," I say, the words coming out in a rush. "I'll find another way to get back at the Henrys. One that doesn't involve hurting you or your business."

Saraiyah's eyes widen in surprise. "You'd do that? Walk away just like that?"

I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine. To my relief, she doesn't pull away. "I'd give up everything for you, Saraiyah. You're more important to me than any building or any grudge."

For a moment, I see a glimmer of hope in her eyes. But then she pulls her hand back, shaking her head. "It's not that simple, Zale. You can't just undo what you've done with a grand gesture."

"I know," I say softly. "But it's a start. Please, Saraiyah. Give me a chance to prove to you that what we have is worth fighting for."

She's quiet for a long moment, studying my face. I hold my breath, waiting for her verdict.

Finally, she speaks. "I need time, Zale. To think, to process all of this. I can't just forget what happened."

I exhale. It's not the answer I was hoping for, but it's not a flat-out rejection either. I nod, trying to hide my disappointment.

"I understand. Take all the time you need. I'll be here when you're ready."

I stand to leave, but before I go, I have to say one more thing. "I love you, Saraiyah. I know it's crazy, given how short a time we've known each other. But it's true. And I'm not giving up on us."

With that, I turn and walk out of the coffee shop, my heart both heavy and light. I've said my piece, laid my cards on the table. Now all I can do is wait and hope that Saraiyah will give me—give us—another chance.

As I step out onto the sidewalk, the cool air hits my face, grounding me. I take a deep breath, trying to process everything that just happened.

I told Saraiyah I love her. The words had tumbled out before I could stop them, raw and honest. And I can't take them back.

The fighter in me wants to turn around, to go back in there and keep fighting for her. But I know I need to give her space. Time to process, to decide if she can trust me again.

The wait is going to be excruciating.

I walk back to my car, my mind racing. What if she decides she can't forgive me? What if I've lost her for good?

The thought sends a wave of panic through me. I've never felt this way about anyone before. The idea of losing Saraiyah, of going back to the cold, empty life I had before her... it's unbearable.

As I slide into the driver's seat, my phone buzzes. It's Grace again.

"How did it go?"

I sigh, leaning my head back against the headrest. "I don't know. She needs time."

"And the building deal?"

"Cancel it," I say without hesitation. "I meant what I said. I'm not going through with it."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. Then Grace speaks, her voice soft. "You really do love her, don't you?"

"More than I ever thought possible," I admit.

"Then give her time," Grace advises. "But sire, if you don't buy the building the Henrys will."

"Fuck…" I rack my brain thinking of an alternative. But think of only one. "Tell them to proceed and amid the contract adding Saraiyah Banks as the purchasers."

"Sir—"

"Do it, Grace."

"But…"

"This is what billionaires do. We buy shit."

I end the call and start the car, my mind at peace with my decision. Whatever it takes, I'm going to make this right. Because a life without Saraiyah isn't a life I want to live.

As I drive to the office, I can't shake the image of Saraiyah's face when I told her I love her. The mix of surprise, hope, and fear in her eyes. It's burned into my memory, a constant reminder of what's at stake.

I've never been the type to wear my heart on my sleeve. Emotions are messy, unpredictable. They don't fit neatly into spreadsheets or business plans. But Saraiyah... she's changed everything.

For the first time in my life, I'm willing to risk it all for love. The thought is terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

I pull into the parking garage at Fulton Enterprises, my mind still racing. As I step into the elevator, I catch my reflection in the mirrored walls. I look different somehow. Softer around the edges, maybe. Less like the cold, calculating businessman I've always prided myself on being.

Is this what love does to a person?

The elevator dings, and I step out onto my floor. Immediately, I'm accosted by my legal team, all talking at once about the building deal and potential lawsuits and a million other things that suddenly seem trivial.

I hold up a hand, silencing them. "I pay you a lot of money to get it done. Make it happen."

They stare at me, mouths agape. I can practically see the dollar signs flashing in their eyes as they calculate the potential losses.

"But sir," one of them starts, "the profits we stand to make?—"

"I don't care about the profits," I cut him off. "Make the changes and press forward. That's an order."

Without waiting for a response, I stride into my office, closing the door behind me. Grace is already there, a stack of papers in her hand and a knowing look on her face.

"So," she says, "you're giving her the building."

I sink into my chair, suddenly exhausted. "Yes. I don't want them to have it, and I don't want her business to be vulnerable."

"And then what?"

"Hope she'll forgive me, and maybe one day marry me."

"Marry you?"

"Marry me."

She sets the papers down on my desk and takes a seat across from me. "The entire building? Zale, that's worth millions."

"I don't care about the money," I say, the plan solidifying in my mind. "It's Saraiyah's grandmother's legacy. It means everything to her. If I give her the building, she'll have security for her business. She'll never have to worry about losing Ruth's Brew again."

Grace is quiet for a moment, considering. Then she nods slowly. "It's a grand gesture, that's for sure. But will it be enough?"

I shrug. "I don't know. But it's a start, right? A way to show her that I'm serious about making things right."

"It's definitely a start," Grace agrees. "But Zale, you need to be prepared for the possibility that it might not be enough. That she might not forgive you, no matter what you do."

The thought sends a bolt of pain through my chest, but I nod. "I know. But I have to try. I can't just give up on her, Grace. On us."

She stands up, gathering her papers. "Then let's get to work. We've got a lot to do if we're going to pull this off."

As Grace leaves my office, I call out to her. "Hey, Grace?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you believe in Christmas wishes?"

"Wishes, sir?" She turns around with a smile on her face, as if a fond memories crosses her mind. "I remember once, when my mother wished for new kitchen appliances."

"Appliances?"

"Sir, you have to hear the full story."

I lean back in my chair. And I look at her, really look at her, and for the first time, I see more than just my efficient assistant. I see a woman with a story, a past that's shaped her.

"Tell me more about your mother's wish," I say, my voice softer than usual. "How did it all unfold?"

Grace's eyes light up, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She settles into the chair across from me, her usual professional demeanor softening.

"Well, it wasn't exactly a Christmas wish," she begins. "More like a long-held dream. You see, my mother loved to cook, but our kitchen appliances were ancient. The stove barely worked, and the refrigerator made this awful rattling noise."

I nod, encouraging her to continue. It's strange, sitting here listening to Grace's personal story. We've worked together for years, but I realize I know so little about her life outside the office.

"My father was a mechanic," Grace continues. "He could fix just about anything, but new appliances? That wasn't in the budget. But he saw how much it meant to my mother. So, he started working overtime, taking on extra jobs on the weekends."

I lean forward, intrigued. "And your mother? Did she know what he was doing?"

Grace shakes her head. "Not at first. She just thought he was busy with work. But then, one day, we came home and there was a brand new refrigerator in the kitchen. Mom burst into tears."

The image forms in my mind - a family gathered around a shiny new appliance, joy radiating from them. It's so far removed from my own childhood experiences, but I find myself oddly moved by it.

"It didn't stop there," Grace says, her voice warm with memory. "A few months later, it was a new stove. Then a dishwasher. It took him almost two years, but eventually, our entire kitchen was renovated."

I sit back, processing her words. "Your father must have worked himself to the bone."

Grace nods, her eyes glistening. "He did. But you know what? He never complained. Not once. He said seeing Mom's face light up every time she walked into that kitchen made it all worth it."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I think of Saraiyah, of the passion in her voice when she talks about Ruth's Brew. Of the challenges she faces as a Black woman business owner. And suddenly, I see it all so clearly.

"Grace," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I think I know what I need to do."

She looks at me, curiosity in her eyes. "What's that, sir?"

A slow smile spreads across my face. "I'm going to make Saraiyah's wish come true."

Grace's eyebrows shoot up. "Her wish? What exactly do you mean?"

I stand up, energy coursing through me. "Saraiyah doesn't just want to keep Ruth's Brew afloat. She wants to create opportunities for other Black women entrepreneurs. She wants to make a difference."

I pace the room, my mind racing with ideas. "I have the resources to make that happen. Not just by giving her the building, but by setting up a fund, a mentorship program. Something that can help dozens, maybe hundreds of women like her."

Grace watches me, a mix of surprise and admiration on her face. "That's... quite a gesture, sir. But are you sure it's what Saraiyah wants? What if she sees it as charity?"

I stop pacing, turning to face Grace. "It's not charity. It's an investment. In her, in her community, in the future she wants to build. And if she doesn't want my help, that's fine. The fund will still be there, ready to help others."

Grace nods slowly, a smile spreading across her face. "I think I'm starting to see why you fell for her, sir. She's changed you."

I sink back into my chair, the truth of her words hitting me. Saraiyah has changed me. In ways I'm only beginning to understand.

"You're right," I admit. "She has. And I can't lose her, Grace. I won't."

Grace leans forward, her expression serious. "Then go to her. Tell her how you feel. Show her that you're willing to put her dreams ahead of your own ambitions."

I nod, determination filling me. "I will. But first, I need you to set up some meetings. We've got a lot of work to do."

As Grace leaves to make the arrangements, I turn to look out the window. The city sprawls before me, a sea of lights and possibilities. For the first time in years, I feel a sense of purpose that has nothing to do with revenge or personal gain.

I think of Saraiyah, of the way her eyes light up when she talks about her dreams. Of the electricity that crackles between us every time we're near each other. I want to be the one to make those dreams come true. To stand beside her as she builds something amazing.

My hand goes to my father's watch, the familiar weight grounding me. "I hope you'd be proud of this, Dad," I murmur. "I think I finally understand what really matters."

With renewed energy, I turn back to my desk. There's work to be done, a future to build. And at the center of it all is Saraiyah. My heart races at the thought.

Is this what love does to a person?