Chapter One

“I don’t think so.”

The words escaped my mouth before I could filter them, filled with anger and frustration, bouncing off the polished walls of the meeting room. Six faces stared at me, all clad in identical suits, all wearing the same expression of offended disbelief that I, the broke bakery girl seeking an investor, had the audacity to refuse them.

The only woman among them blinked rapidly, regaining control of her voice before the rest. “Mrs. Statham… please have a seat.”

I glared at her and stayed on my feet. “Do any of you actually hear yourselves?” I asked, letting my gaze sweep across the long metal table, the framed awards on the walls, and the ridiculous vase of fake orchids by the window. “Two thousand dollars? For a bakery that’s been in my family for three generations?”

They shifted uneasily in their chairs.

A man cleared his throat, leaning forward with sympathy so thin I could see through it. “Considering the state of the business, we believe our valuation is—”

“Absued,” I cut him off. “Yes, it is absurd and insulting. And that’s exactly right. Did you think you could toss me scraps and I’d be grateful? Do I look that broke and helpless to you?”

He stiffened, his small fake, sympathetic smile dropping. The woman sighed, and the man beside her scribbled something in his notebook. I knew that whatever he just penned down had something to do with me and my refusal to let them walk over me.

I glared and pointed a finger at each of them. “You—yes, you,” I said, pointing at the woman. “Do you even know how many ovens a proper bakery needs?” I pointed at the second man, my anger simmering. “You haven’t cracked a smile since I walked in. Clearly, you hate your job. And you—” I pointed at the so-called sympathetic man, “might want to practice fake empathy, I'm so far away from you yet I can still see it. It's leaking everywhere.”

They stared at me as if I’d sprouted horns.

“You want my grandmother’s bakery for a bargain so you can flip it for profit,” I said, grabbing my folder with a finalized look. “Fine. Whatever, I don't really care what you do with the companies. But don’t pretend you’re helping anyone.”

When one of them opened his mouth, I raised a hand. “Save it. I’ll make sure this nonsense, biased and greedy place hits every review site on the internet.”

Then I flicked them off and walked out before anyone could stop me.

Cameron was already waiting outside the glass doors, arms crossed in dramatic fashion, eyes shining. “How did it go?”

I just looked at her, frustration clouding my site.

“Oh…” She winced. “That bad, huh?”

I kept moving, and she fell in step beside me, through the hallway, we got into the elevator, and so arrived down to the underground parking lot.

“Raven? Talk to me—”

I stopped at my grandmother’s battered yellow car, the one I refused to part with. A tape holding the side mirror in place. It's more wrecked than I am.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I exhaled, letting my frustration simmer while Cameron leaned on the window, cautiously watching.

I rolled it down. “Meet me at the bar. Because after that thing that just happened in there, I need a strong drink.”

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll call Eric too.”

I turned the key and almost immediately my phone buzzed. A message from Priscilla, one of my staff:

Priscilla: The oven just broke down.

“Of course it did,” I muttered, lightly smacking my forehead against the steering wheel.

---

Our usual bar was nearly empty when we arrived, thank God. With the warm lights, old wood floors, faint scent of beer that always reminded me of the late-night studies sessions and all the questionable decisions I've taken . Cameron and her boyfriend, Eric—my closest friend—were already there.

Eric slid a beer toward me. “Spill it.”

I took a long pull. “They tried to buy Grandma’s bakery for two grands.”

“What?” Cameron shrieked, loud enough to draw a glance from the bartender.

“Exactly.” I drained half the bottle. “Apparently, my grandmother’s legacy is worth a used mattress and a small falling apartment .”

Cameron reached for my wrist, her fingers gentle in a comforting grip.

“I’m so sorry, Rae. I didn’t expect the company to try buying outright instead of investing.”

I nodded. She was just trying to help—I’d already been denied loans from every bank I applied to.

Eric’s face softened. “So… what’s the plan? You’ve got one week before your mom takes over.”

I rubbed my face, sighing. “I know.”

Mom never believed in my dream. Never. She believes practical careers only like the office work, clothing businesses, predictable outcomes. Baking? A hobby at best, a disaster at worst.

Two years ago, we made a deal: I’d prove the bakery could survive, or she would sell it. And now? I was barely keeping it afloat.

Cameron touched my shoulder. “Are you… just going to sell it? Or ask your mom for help?”

I snapped my eyes open. “Absolutely not!” I paused. “I still have one option left.”

They leaned in, curious.

“I applied to D’Angelo Corporation,” I said proudly. “They invest in small businesses. If they back me, the bakery survives.”

Eric blinked. “The D’Angelo Corporation? The… Mafia one?”

Cameron kicked him under the table. “Don’t say that out loud!”

“It’s true,” Eric whispered. “Their CEO is basically a ghost. Nobody has seen him. And the rumors… you know.”

“Rumors,” I said, trying to sound confident. “I did my homework. They’re professional.”

Maybe the whole ‘internationally feared CEO’ thing… I tried not to dwell on it.

Before they could respond, my phone buzzed.

I jumped. D’ANGELO CORPORATION lit up the screen.

D’ANGELO ENTERPRISES: Dear Miss Statham, we are pleased to inform you that your application has been reviewed. You are invited to present your proposal tomorrow at 9:00 AM.

No shit!!

“Oh my God. Oh my God!” I squealed. “They want me! Finally!”

Heads turned in the bar throwing me glared to shut the hell up but I couldn't. Not when I just got the best news . I didn’t care. Cameron and Eric waved apologetically at the stares, then returned to me, grinning.

“That’s amazing! Finally some good news,” Eric said. Cameron nodded.

I hugged them both, grabbed my bag, and shot upright so fast my chair screeched. “I’m going home to prepare. I’ll take a cab, don't worry I haven’t had enough to fall into a ditch.”

Cameron raised an eyebrow. “Rae, you sure you don’t want me to come? D’Angelo’s CEO is… terrifying.”

“I’ve got everything ready babe, don't worry. I've got my research, portfolio, and documents ready. I’ll manage.”

“Okay… but—”

“I’m fine, Cam . Don’t want to jinx it now .”

She smiled. “Fine. Be careful.”

I kissed her cheek and stepped outside to call my ride.

Before I could confirm my payment with the driver, someone yanked my purse off my shoulder.

“Hey!” I shouted, chasing the thief into a dark alley.

He wore a black jacket, messy hair, glasses, eyes wide with panic. “Give that back!”

But he vanished into the shadows.

I stopped, frustrated. My phone was safe, but everything else, the bakery keys, car keys, credit cards were gone.

“Perfect,” I muttered.

Suddenly, someone emerged from the same alley, same jacket, same stride with his hands in pockets.

I charged. “You! Return my purse!”

Years of my father’s martial arts training surged through me. I kicked high, missed when he dodged almost too early and grazed his jaw before collapsing ungracefully.

I sprang back up almost immediately, fists raised. “You’ll regret messing with me.”

But as I glared properly at him, something felt wrong. This man wasn’t the same. He was taller, broader and his presence alone felt dangerous in a way the actual thief hadn’t. And he was—unfortunately—ridiculously good-looking, with an intimidating calmness that made my anger burn hotter.

He just stood there, hands deep in his pockets, staring at me through those dark lenses with a blankness that annoyed me more than the theft.

“Move aside.” He suddenly said, trying to walk past me but I blocked his path with arms wide open.

“My bag first.”

“I said move,” he said, voice cold.

My blood boiled. “Give it back or—”

I shifted my stance, ready to strike him again when I heard rapid footsteps echoed from behind him. Another man burst out of the alley, dragging someone who looked half dead, with his limbs limp, his shirt torn and face buried. The newcomer’s jacket was splattered with a little dirt, his eyes cold as he dropped the half-conscious man at my feet.

I stumbled back in surprise and realization.

The newcomer bowed slightly. “Boss.”

Boss?

Someone beaten to a pump lies motionless at my feet like a corpse, and this man, this arrogant statue I had tried to kick was apparently the one in charge?

The arrogant thief tilted his head toward me, his voice icy. “Identify him.”

My brain short-circuited.

Before I could answer, the newcomer tossed my purse at my feet.

I froze, staring from my purse to the man on the ground, then at the silent, imposing figure before me.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Oh my God.”

I folded my lips in to stop myself from saying any other thing that must escalate this and bowed awkwardly. “Sir, look… It's a misunderstanding. You both wore the same jacket—”

But before I could complete my sentence the tall man ignored me, turned around and walked away, the other falling into step behind him.

I raised my head and glared at his retreating back with cheeks burning.

Asshole much?