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The foreclosure notice seemed to be mocking me from its spot on my desk. I'd re-read it so many times, I could probably recite it from memory. Even with the temporary viral boost to business the previous week, the reality remained the same: I needed $150,000 in three months, or Grandma Rose's Bakehouse would be nothing but a memory. Jax's agent, Leo, had approached me the other day, talking vaguely about some arrangement that would benefit both Jax and me, but they were still just words, not actual help. I had tried reaching other banks for loans and explored other solutions, but all led to dead ends.

I arrived at the bakery well before sunrise, finding comfort in the familiar ritual of turning on the lights, preheating the ovens, and measuring ingredients for the day's first batch of pastries. The early morning hours were my favorite, just me and Grandma Rose's recipes, the quiet meditation of kneading dough and rolling pastry.

Today, however, I couldn't shake my anxiety. I had a wedding consultation scheduled, with a potential large order that could help chip away at my mountain of debt. I needed everything to be perfect.

I was elbow-deep in buttercream when Chloe burst through the back door, two coffee cups in hand.

"You look like you've been here since the dawn of time," she announced, setting a cup beside me. "Please tell me you at least went home to sleep."

I accepted the coffee gratefully. "I slept. A little."

"Liar." She studied my face. "The bags under your eyes have bags."

"Thanks for that assessment," I said dryly. "Just what every girl wants to hear before a consultation with a bride-to-be."

Chloe peered over my shoulder at the three sample cakes I'd prepared. "These look amazing. She'd be crazy not to book you."

"From your lips to the universe's ears." I stepped back to examine my work. The cakes were beautiful, a classic vanilla with strawberry filling, a rich chocolate with ganache, and my personal favorite, a lemon cake with blueberry compote. If taste wasn't enough to win over this bride, I was hoping presentation would seal the deal.

"So," Chloe said casually, hopping onto a nearby stool. "Any brilliant ideas about the money situation while you were not sleeping last night?"

I sighed, wiping my hands on my apron. "A few. I was thinking maybe a crowdfunding campaign? The bakery has a lot of history in the community. People might be willing to help."

"That's not a bad idea," Chloe nodded. "We could emphasize the 'saving a local institution' angle. What else?"

"I was researching small business grants. There are a few I might qualify for, but the application processes are lengthy, and there's no guarantee I'd get approved in time." I started cleaning up my workstation. "And I've been thinking about offering baking classes. We could use the space in the evenings when we're closed."

"I love that idea," Chloe said. "You're an amazing teacher. Remember when you taught me how to make croissants?"

I laughed. "You mean when you set off the smoke detector three times and we had to open all the windows in January?"

"Hey, I got it eventually!" She grinned. "Seriously, though, I think classes could work. We could start with basics, cookies, simple breads, and see how it goes."

I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe with multiple approaches, I could cobble together enough to start making meaningful payments on the loan.

The consultation with the bride, Jessica, and her mother went well—almost too well. Jessica loved all three cake samples and seemed genuinely enthusiastic about having Grandma Rose's Bakehouse cater her wedding.

"Your reputation is amazing," she gushed. "My cousin had her baby shower cake from here, and everyone still talks about it."

My spirits lifted. This was a substantial order, a four-tier wedding cake plus 200 assorted pastries for the reception.

"So, shall we discuss deposit details?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager.

Jessica exchanged a look with her mother. "Actually, we're still visiting a few other bakeries this week. But you're definitely at the top of our list! We'll let you know by Friday."

And just like that, my momentary optimism deflated. "Of course," I said, maintaining my professional smile. "Take your time. I'm here if you have any questions."

After they left, I slumped into a chair. "'Top of the list' means absolutely nothing until there's a deposit," I muttered.

"They seemed to really like everything," Chloe offered, collecting the sample plates.

"Everyone likes free cake samples," I replied. "Doesn't mean they'll commit."

During the afternoon lull, I retreated to my small office to call the bank again. I'd been trying to reach my loan officer for days, hoping to renegotiate terms or at least extend the deadline.

"Ms. Miller, I understand your situation," the representative said after I'd explained my circumstances for what felt like the hundredth time. "But the terms of your loan are fixed. Without a significant payment toward the principal, we can't modify the foreclosure timeline."

"There must be something you can do," I pleaded. "This bakery has been in my family for generations. It's a Seattle landmark."

"I'm sorry, but business is business. If you can't meet the terms of your loan, the bank will proceed with foreclosure in three months."

I hung up feeling defeated. When Chloe left to deliver a birthday cake, I took the opportunity to sit alone at one of the bakery tables, my grandmother's old recipe book open before me. I traced her handwriting, the faded notes in the margins, recipes altered and improved over decades.

"I'm trying, Grandma," I whispered. "I don't know what else to do."

The bell above the door jingled, and I looked up to see Jax Harrison, looking uncomfortable and out of place in my bakery.

He wore dark jeans and a simple gray sweater that probably cost more than all my kitchen appliances combined. His presence immediately commanded attention. Several customers nudged each other, whispering and not-so-subtly taking photos.

I approached the counter, pulse quickening despite my determination to remain calm. "Welcome to Grandma Rose's Bakehouse," I said formally. "What can I get for you?"

He glanced around, seemingly discomforted by the attention. "I'll take a dozen assorted pastries."

"Any particular preferences?"

"Surprise me." His eyes met mine briefly. "Everything smells good."

I carefully selected an assortment, hyperaware of his gaze following my movements. The other customers were still watching, phones raised for surreptitious photos.

"That'll be thirty-six dollars," I said, passing him the boxed pastries.

He handed me two twenties. "Keep the change." His voice was quieter than I expected, almost hesitant.

"Thank you." I placed the pastries in a bag with our logo. "Enjoy."

I expected him to leave immediately, but he lingered, waiting until the last customer had exited before speaking again. Was he here to talk about that vague "arrangement" Jax's agent, Leo, had mentioned before?

"Could we talk? Privately?" he asked suddenly, his eyes darting to the back of the bakery.

I nodded. "My office is back there. We can talk for a few minutes until my assistant returns."

I led him through the kitchen to the small room I grandly called my office. It was really just a converted storage closet with a desk wedged inside. Stacks of invoices and order forms covered every surface.

"Sorry about the mess," I said automatically, hastily clearing a chair for him.

Jax remained standing, looking too large for the tiny space. "I assume Leo spoke with you," he began without preamble.

"Your agent? Yes, he came by yesterday." I crossed my arms. "He mentioned something about an arrangement that could benefit us both, but he was frustratingly vague on the details."

Jax sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "That's Leo. Always jumping ahead." He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I have a situation. A professional opportunity that requires a certain image. An image I currently don't have."

"Okay," I dragged out the word, unsure where this was going.

"Perfect Home Furnishings wants a family-oriented spokesman for their rebrand. It would be the biggest endorsement deal of my career. But they're concerned about my public image. The 'Ice Man' thing doesn't exactly scream 'cozy home life.'"

"And this concerns me how, exactly?"

He met my eyes directly. "They saw the video of us. Our coffee collision. And surprisingly, they liked it. They thought it showed a more 'human' side of me."

I raised my eyebrows. "You mean the video where we're arguing on a public sidewalk?"

"Apparently, it was refreshingly authentic." His mouth twisted wryly. "The point is, they're interested in seeing me with someone real. Not a model or socialite. Someone who makes me seem more approachable."

A suspicion was forming in my mind. "What exactly are you asking me, Jax?"

He inhaled deeply. "I'm proposing a temporary marriage of convenience. Three months of pretending to be my wife. In exchange, I'll pay off your bakery debt."

I stared at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter. "You're joking. This is a joke, right?"

His expression remained serious. "I'm completely serious. You need $150,000 to save your bakery. I need a wife to secure this endorsement deal. It's a business arrangement that benefits us both."

My laughter died as I realized he wasn't kidding. "You want me to marry you? A man I've met exactly twice, both times ending in argument?"

"It would be temporary," he clarified. "A legal marriage for three months, after which we divorce amicably. Our meeting has already gone viral. People would believe a whirlwind romance. You'd live at my house to maintain appearances, accompany me to certain events, and play the role of devoted wife in public."

"This is insane," I said, shaking my head. "Completely, utterly insane."

"Is it?" Jax countered. "More insane than losing your grandmother's bakery? More insane than giving up your family legacy when there's a solution right in front of you?"

His words hit their mark. I fell silent, my mind racing through possibilities. Could I actually consider this?

"How do you know about my financial situation?" I asked suddenly, narrowing my eyes. "About the foreclosure?"

"Leo did some research," Jax admitted.

"Research?" I scoffed. "You mean he dug into my private financial information? That's invasive and inappropriate."

"It's public record," Jax replied evenly. "The foreclosure notice, the loan."

"That doesn't make it okay to investigate me." I stood up, anger flaring. "You don't know me. You don't know anything about what this bakery means to me or what I've been through trying to keep it afloat."

He shifted closer, his presence suddenly filling the small office. "You're right. I don't know you. But I'm offering a solution to your problem."

"A solution that involves lying to everyone and entering a fake marriage with a stranger."

"A business arrangement," he corrected. "With clear terms and mutual benefits."

He reached out a hand, seemingly intending to emphasize his point, but hesitated, his fingers hovering near my arm. I looked down at his hand, then back to his face, suddenly acutely aware of his physical presence, his height, the breadth of his shoulders, the intensity of his eyes. Something shifted in the air between us, a strange electric current that made my skin prickle with unwanted awareness.

Jax dropped his hand abruptly, breaking the moment. "Think about it," he said, his voice rougher than before. "This could save your bakery."

"I need you to leave," I said firmly, still unsettled by whatever had just passed between us. "I can't even process this right now."

He nodded once, reaching into his pocket to pull out a business card. "My number. Call me if you want to discuss this further."

After he left, I sat alone in my office, staring at his card for what felt like hours. The idea was preposterous. Marry Jax? Live in his house? Pretend to be in love with him? It was the plot of a bad romance novel, not a solution to my very real problems.

And yet...

I spread out the foreclosure notice beside the latest loan rejection letter. The numbers didn't lie. I had tried everything, additional loans, payment restructuring, even approaching private investors. Nothing had worked. In three months, Grandma Rose's Bakehouse would be gone, and with it, my family's legacy and my own dreams.

Jax's offer was outrageous. Unethical, even. But it would save the bakery.

I picked up his business card again, turning it over in my fingers. The choice before me was impossible: my integrity or my grandmother's legacy. My pride or her dream.

When I finally closed the bakery that night, I was no closer to a decision. But as I sat at my kitchen table at home, spreadsheets and rejection letters spread before me, I found my gaze repeatedly drawn to Jax's card.

Three months of my life for generations of family history. A temporary lie for a permanent solution.