A Deal With The Devil

Sage stormed into the parking lot, her boots clattering against the pavement like gunshots. The sunlight seemed cruel now, cutting through the haze of her anger as she spotted Damian Cross leaning casually against one of the black SUVs. He looked completely at ease, as though he hadn’t just upended her world with the flick of his wrist.

"Miss Whitmore," he said smoothly as she approached, not even looking up from the phone he was scrolling through. "That was quite the display of theatrics in there."

"Excuse me?" Sage snapped, planting herself in front of him. Her shadow cut across his polished shoes. "You just bought my café out from under me like it was some kind of—of toy. You don’t get to talk to me like I’m putting on a show."

Damian finally lifted his head, locking his icy-blue gaze onto her. For a moment, it was as though he could see straight through her. His stare was so steady, so unnervingly calm, that it made Sage want to shout just to get a reaction.

"It’s not personal," he said with an infuriating hint of indifference. "It’s business."

"Nothing about that place is ‘just business,’” Sage shot back. "You don’t know the first thing about what Bluebird Café means to this town—or to me."

A flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—passed across his face before it vanished as quickly as it appeared. "Enlighten me, then."

"Enlighten—" Sage blinked, thrown by his response. For a moment, she’d expected him to brush her off, to get back into his car and drive off to wherever billionaires spent their days ruining lives. Instead, he was watching her with a challenge in his eyes, daring her to speak.

"You wouldn’t understand," she muttered, crossing her arms tightly. "People like you never do."

Damian tilted his head. "People like me?"

"You know exactly what I mean," Sage said, her voice sharp. "You walk in here with your suits and your money and your… arrogance, and you think you can take whatever you want just because you can. Well, some of us don’t have empires or trust funds to fall back on. Some of us work for what we have. We fight for it."

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy and raw. For the first time, Damian seemed to lose a fraction of his composure. He pushed off the car, tucking his phone into his pocket as he straightened to his full, imposing height.

"And yet," he said softly, his voice like a blade wrapped in silk, "you’re standing here fighting a battle you’ve already lost."

Sage flinched, as though he’d struck her. She hated how calm he sounded, how easily he dismissed her. It wasn’t fair. None of it was.

She shook her head, forcing herself to stand tall. "Why did you even buy it? You don’t care about Bluebird. You don’t care about me. What’s the point?"

Damian’s gaze stayed on her, unwavering and unnervingly sharp. "You’re right—I don’t care about the café itself. But I do care about the land it sits on. It’s valuable, and I have plans for it. That’s all you need to know."

Sage clenched her fists. "So you’re going to tear it down?"

"I didn’t say that," Damian replied, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve. "The future of Bluebird Café depends entirely on you, Miss Whitmore."

She frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He smiled faintly, but it wasn’t a kind smile—it was the sort of expression a predator wore when it knew the mouse had no escape. "You’re an intelligent woman, Sage. Surely you’ve figured it out by now. You want to save your café? Then work for me."

The words hit her like a slap. Sage took a step back, as though the distance might help her make sense of what she’d just heard. "Work for you?" she echoed. "You’re out of your mind."

"Am I?" Damian arched a brow, unbothered by her disbelief. "You need a way to keep your café open. I need someone I can trust to oversee its operations while I decide what to do with the property. If you want to fight for it so badly, here’s your chance."

Sage stared at him, trying to see if this was some kind of sick joke. Damian Cross wasn’t known for his kindness. He wasn’t even known for fairness. He was a businessman—a cold, ruthless one who’d built an empire by exploiting people just like her. So why was he offering her this?

"Why me?" she asked quietly.

"Because you’re the only one who cares enough to fight for it," he said simply. "And that matters, whether you believe it or not."

Sage swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She didn’t trust him—not for a second. But the offer was dangling in front of her like a life preserver in stormy water.

"And what’s the catch?" she asked warily. "Because I know there’s a catch."

Damian’s lips curved slightly. "The terms are simple: you’ll work as my personal assistant for one year. In return, I’ll leave Bluebird Café untouched and allow you to manage it as you see fit. If you succeed—if the business turns a profit and proves its value—I’ll consider letting you buy it back."

Her heart pounded as she processed his words. One year. One year as Damian Cross’s assistant. She’d heard stories about the man’s infamous work ethic, his impossible standards. People said he chewed through employees like they were disposable. And yet, what choice did she have?

If she said no, Bluebird Café would disappear like it had never existed. Another forgotten memory in a town already losing its soul.

"You’ll let me buy it back?" she repeated, needing to hear it again.

"Yes," Damian said, his voice steady. "But you’ll have to earn it. Nothing comes for free in my world, Miss Whitmore."

Sage let out a bitter laugh. "Trust me, I know that better than anyone."

She turned away, staring across the parking lot at the faint outline of the café in the distance. She could picture it in her mind—the cozy booths, the smell of fresh coffee, the way sunlight filtered through the windows in the mornings. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

And she wasn’t ready to let it go.

Finally, she turned back to Damian, meeting his piercing gaze head-on. "Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "I’ll do it."

Damian nodded, as though he’d expected her answer all along. "Good. Be at my office in Lexington tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. sharp. Don’t be late."

"Wait," Sage said, narrowing her eyes. "Tomorrow? That’s not enough—"

"Don’t. Be. Late," Damian repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He turned, opening the SUV’s door. "If you’re as much of a fighter as you claim to be, Miss Whitmore, then prove it."

Before she could respond, he climbed into the car, the door shutting behind him with a finality that left Sage feeling like she’d just signed a deal with the devil.

The SUV pulled away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Sage stood in the parking lot, her mind racing. She felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her, and the only thing keeping her from falling was the thread of a deal she didn’t even fully understand.

She looked back at the café one more time, the place she’d fought so hard to hold onto. Tomorrow, she would step into Damian Cross’s world, a world of suits and skyscrapers and impossible expectations. She didn’t belong there, but she would go anyway—because for Bluebi

rd Café, she would do whatever it took.

Even if it meant facing the devil himself.