Page 519 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

“—your destiny.” His lips curve in a smile.

“What?” I blink.

“The bell—it’s your future calling.”

I roll my eyes. “If you say so.”

“Go on, your customer is waiting.” My brother walks over and kisses my forehead. “Good luck. Remember, when one door closes another one opens.”

“If only I still believed that.” I make a rude noise.

He steps back and wags a finger under my nose. “You’ll see; it will work out.” He turns me around and points me in the direction of the doorway leading to the shop.” Go on, now.”

“Whatever you say, big brother.” I was ten when my father passed, and Ben became the de facto father figure in my life.

I'm fifteen years younger than him, an "oops baby," born when my mother was in her early forties. I hero-worshipped Ben who, in turn, allowed me to tag along to all of the activities teenaged boys indulge in. He stepped into my father’s shoes. He took care of me and never let me feel the loss of my father. “If I don’t find a way to pay off my debts today, I’m shutting down,” I insist.

There’s no answer. I turn to find my brother has left the shop. Not that I blame him. He only has a two-week break before he has to ship out again. I suspect he’s gone to meet his current squeeze. Ben never lacks female companionship.

As for me? I need to face whatever's in my destiny. Ben's right about that much. With a last tug at the neckline of the blouse which dips a little too low in the front, and which I wore to try and cheer myself—big fail there—I march out behind the counter, and all the air whooshes out of my lungs.

The man standing on the other side is so big, he seems to take up all of the space in my little bakery.

He’s tall enough, his head almost grazes the ceiling.

And his shoulders—those shoulders I once held onto—are wider than I remember.

They’re broad enough to block out the view of the rest of the space.

His biceps stretch the sleeves of his suit, which must cost my entire annual rent to buy, given its tailor-made finish.

He’s wearing a black silk tie, and his jacket is black.

A suit? I’ve never seen him in a suit before, but OMG, does he do it justice.

I take in that lean waist, and those massive thighs, which seem ready to burst the seams of his pants, and between them, the tent that was the object of my obsession for so long.

"There was no one at the counter when I walked in. No wonder, you need a cash infusion," a familiar voice growls.

What the—? How dare he say that! I tear my gaze from the part of him that has always turned my insides to mush, and train my gaze on his face, and all remaining thoughts in my head drain away. I was prepared to give him a piece of my mind, but all of the pieces have scattered.

Those eyes. One piercing blue, the other an amber brown.

Those heterochromatic eyes, which have always had the effect of reducing me to a mindless blob of need, stare into mine.

My entire body hurts. My shoulder muscles turn into cement blocks.

My stomach twists. It feels like I’ve run into a wall.

Frissons of shock reverberate down my spine, and when he rakes his gaze down to my chest, his entire body seems to tense.

He brings his gaze back to my face, and it feels like I’ve been punched in the guts. Again.

“What are you doing here?” I manage to croak around the ball of emotion in my throat.

“I might ask you the same question.” His jaw tics, a muscle spasms at his jaw, and he curls his fingers into his sides. There’s so much tension radiating from him, I feel faint. Apparently, he doesn’t like what he sees.

That makes two of us. Nathan-fucking-Davenport. My brother’s best friend. The man I’ve had a crush on for more than half of my life. The man who turned me down when I threw myself at him the day of my eighteenth birthday party. Not before he kissed me, though.

He hauled me to him, thrust his tongue in between my lips, and ravaged my mouth.

He squeezed my ample butt and drew me against him, and I felt every inch of what he was packing.

The kiss seemed to go on and on. My head spun.

My knees gave way underneath me. I stumbled, and he straightened me.

Only to tear his mouth from mine and stare into my face.

His chest heaving, his breath coming in gusts that seemed to swell his shoulders.

He raked his gaze across my features, like he was seeing me for the first time.

Like he wanted to throw me down and mount me right there.

“Nate…” I breathed his name, and he released me and jumped back.

A look of confusion, then regret, then anger swept over his features. I felt his rejection even before he blanked all expression from his face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He turned on his heel and walked out of my birthday celebration, and our house. And my life.

That was it; he cut off all communication with me. I never saw him again. Over the last five years, I've heard about his progress in the navy from my brother, but I never set eyes on him. Until today.

“You’re the last person I want to speak to.

” I cross my arms over my chest, thereby pushing my breasts up higher.

His eyes move down before he forces them back to my face.

It's not that I want to flaunt my double-D tits. Okay, okay, maybe I do. Maybe, I want to make him realize what he's been missing. I’m proud of my assets. I might be a size sixteen, but I’ve never tried to conceal my full figure.

So, what if I want to turn and hide right now?

“The feeling’s mutual,” he growls.

He actually growls. I draw myself up to my full height. Not that it helps, considering I’m only five feet four inches tall, and he’s a good foot taller than me. Still, this is my space. “This is my shop, and you need to leave.”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I had any other option.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You’re looking for a bailout.”

“Excuse me?” I gape at him.

“Your business is in trouble. You need money to pay off your debts.”

My flush intensifies. Heat crawls up my cheeks, all the way to the roots of hair, followed closely by anger.

How dare he walk in and throw my failure in my face?

How dare he not talk to me all these years, only to reappear at the worst possible moment?

And right after my brother told me it was my destiny come a-calling when the bell to the shop rang.

“Wait, did Ben put you up this?”

“Eh?” He stares at my lips. His gaze is so intent that frisson of awareness, which has crackled up my spine since he arrived, flares into a full-blown shiver.

I shake my head, ignoring the buzz of electricity that has always hummed between us.

“Are you here because Ben asked you come by and help me out?”

A weird look comes into his eyes. He rubs at his temple. “I’m here because my grandfather is the chairman of the Davenport group of companies, and he thinks your bakery would make for a good investment.”

“He does?”

“I’m yet to be convinced,” he sneers.

So that’s how it's gonna be, eh?

He glances toward the counter, taking in the various desserts on display, and his frown deepens.

I follow his gaze and take in the tray of cupcakes displayed: Sp1cy Scene, Red Room, Velvet Ties, Purple Patches, Cave Wonder, The Vanilla Vajayjay, The Earth Moved.

You have to admit, they’re innovative names for the treats.

I named the first one in jest, but it proved to be a hot topic of discussion among fellow spicy book readers like me. Before I knew it, I ended up naming all my desserts in a similar vein.

In fact, the dessert shaped like the backside of a woman and called Spanking New keeps selling out.

And then my other hit, a chocolate cake shaped like a vibrator and called C1itasaurus.

Yep, they loved that one. Also, another raspberry-infused one in the shape of a fig called Moist Goodness.

And finally, the doughnut-shaped treat called—you guessed it—A1phah0le, which is always a hit when I cater at book events.

"Is this a joke?" He stabs his forefinger at the display.

A-n-d that was the absolutely wrong thing to say. No one insults my baby—my bakery, my dream—and expects to get away unscathed.

"I can assure you; they are popular amongst my customers."

He turns those searing eyes on me, and it feels like I’m looking into the coldest depths of a frozen lake.

The surface seems able to bear my weight, but one wrong step, and I’m going to fall right through and never find myself again.

I try to breathe, but all of the oxygen in the room has been sucked out by his presence.

My pulse crashes in my ears, and my nerve endings are so tightly stretched, I fear they’ll snap any second.

And when he stabs a hand in his pocket, pulling the fabric of his pants taut over that bulge between his legs, a slow thud flares to life between mine.

I cannot find him attractive. Cannot risk acknowledging this chemistry that thickens the air between us.

Not when I need his help to save my business.

Not when I know who he is, and he’s definitely out of bounds.

Forbidden. Sirens go off in my mind. Back away.

It’s not worth taking on the humungous backlog of complications that’re going to come with having anything to do with him.

Then a look of boredom crosses his face. He yawns, and my pulse rate shoots up.

Strike out everything I felt earlier. It’s definitely worth taking on every challenge that comes with getting him to cough up money, because by god, he needs to realize the world doesn’t revolve around him. How can anyone be this full of himself? This insensitive.

Anger squeezes my chest. Adrenaline laces my blood. And how dare he turn the most important meeting of my life into…into…something that doesn’t merit even a few seconds of his attention?