Asking For It - Allyson Lindt Page 0,6

shop space from you, ask you to keep running the place, and double your salary. The only thing that really changes is we acquire your business’s debt, you’ll have access to our suppliers, and we’ll put our sign in the window next to yours. This remains Loading Java, it simply comes a subsidiary of Kingu Kafes.”

It was an implausibly sweet deal. On the surface. It was tempting to say I’m in. It would solve the letter from last night. It would solve a lot of things. It was also too good to be true. I had questions—the same ones they’d never answered in the past. For instance, how were they going to afford to be so generous, when I could barely keep the place operating the black?

“For that kind of money, you could set up your own shop. Why are you so focused on mine?”

“You have a customer base, a solid brand, and reliable product,” Kingston said. “Competing with you thins the local market as well as our chances of succeeding.”

That made sense. “And your solution is give me a lot of money, and beyond that, everything is business as usual.” It wasn’t quite that cut-and dried though.

Kingston nodded.

Owen looked more hesitant.

“Until you decide you don’t like how I do things, and you override me by either firing me or buying me out.” With as starkly as we clashed now, I didn’t suspect that would take long.

Owen furrowed his brow. “We don’t plan on—”

“My answer is still no.” It felt good to be the one talking over him. “I run my café the way I do, because I like having this control. This is my business. My investment. My passion. Thank you for your time. See your way ou—”

The loud blare of the fire alarm cut me off, shrieking so sharply it threatened to pierce my eardrums.

Chapter Four

Smoke. Now that I wasn’t distracted, the heavy smell hit me hard. I rushed to the kitchen. My only priority was finding the source and shutting it down.

Violet was already at the oven, muttering and pulling out smoldering trays of cupcakes. The panic in her expression grew when she saw me. “I’m so sorry. I had a customer, they kept me longer than I realized. I’m so sorry.” Red splotched her cheeks and deep creases marred her forehead.

She was typically too detailed and aware to let things like this happen. The freaking out she was doing right now was rare.

“It happens. It’s okay.” I was stressed too, but I didn’t blame her. “I need you to shut off the fire alarm. Call the fire department and let them know there’s nothing wrong. Clear people out of the shop and open all the doors.” As I talked, I ticked off the list in my mind. Lists made me calmer. “Anyone currently here gets a $5 gift card for their next visit. Put a sign on the counter that gives everyone 5% off pastries for the rest of the day, as an apology for the smoke smell. Do you have all that?”

Violet nodded.

I knew she would. She was my store manager for a reason. “You all right?” I softened my tone. “This isn’t a big deal. No one got hurt. Everything will be all right.”

“Okay.” Her smile was weak, not hiding the lingering stress. She headed toward the alarm shut off.

As soon as she left the room, I sank against a nearby counter and let the panic overwhelm me. I’d already had a long day with baking and everything else. This would only add another hour or so onto the end of my day, if everything went perfectly, but I was going to be exhausted by the end of the original schedule.

Emotion indulged, I breathed in and out slowly several times to force it away. I turned to grab my apron.

When I saw Owen and Kingston near the kitchen doorway, I jumped in surprise, and my heart lodged in my throat. Why did they follow me?

I didn’t have the time or patience for this. I tugged on my apron, never making eye contact with them. They’d seen me crack, but they wouldn’t see me break. “Something I can help you with, that we haven’t already discussed to death?”

“Actually, we’d like to help you.” Owen was calm. Smooth.

No, really. I had zero time. “Are you going to magic a hundred chocolate and vanilla cupcakes out of thin air.”

Kingston smirked. “Sort of.”

I was learning to love-loathe his sexy, smug face. Was that a thing? I was making