Page 127 of Desserts for Stressed People

I take a deep breath. “That’s not really what I’ve—”

“I thought you weren’t one to ever give up, Heaven.”

I stare at his brows, raised in challenge. Though I’m aware he knowsexactlywhat he’s doing, if he wants to hear it from me, he will. “All right.” I inhale and hold on to any shred of office-me that still functions when Shane’s around. “This area is up and coming and well-connected. Rents here would go for thousands a month.” I step toward him, drying the sweat off my hands on my jeans. “I have the city plans. Most of the apartments in this building have three bedrooms, a balcony, and two bathrooms.”

“You can’t rent this dump until you fix it.” He quickly scrolls through the pages. “And to fix it you need—”

“—money. A lot. But if there’s people who would spend a lot of money for a central location, it’s not private renters. It’s businesses.”

“Businesses?”

I nod. “Bars, agencies, shops. There’s space for six to twelve on the ground floor, depending on dimensions.”

He reads a few lines. “That still doesn’t explain how you plan to bring in money to fix this place. Businesses might want to rent central, but not if the roof will fall onto their head any day.” He puffs his chest as he flips the folder shut, like he’s got me.

But he hasn’t.

“Nothing will fall on their head if you sell.”

He leans against the column, his forehead creasing. “I thought this was all a plan for me not to sell.”

“You won’t sell the building, only the shop space. You’ll find enough contractors and offer them part of the property as payment.They’ll fix up the structural damage, the electrical and water system, the façade, and the roof. Those are the biggest expenses by far.”

“It’d be too costly and risky for them. Why would they accept a property they likely don’t even need as payment? They’d have to sell it.” He shakes his head, unconvinced. “No one will go for it.”

A wide smile takes over my face. “Are you sure?”

Silence. We stare at each other, and I can almost see the wheel in his head turning. Does he really think I’d present this to him if I didn’t think it through?

He seems to realize that wouldn’t be my style without me pointing it out, because his lips bend up. “Numbers?”

I walk to him, grab the folder, and turn it to page twenty-four. “Business plan. One, five, and ten years,” I say. His brows arch as he scrolls to the next pages. “Projections for—”

“Yes, I can read.”

I take a few steps back. He looks as handsome—no, asbeautifulas always. And he’s definitely wearing his Mr. Asshole suit, but he seems not to hate me as much anymore.

“Wow,” he says, and when he looks back at the box. “What’s next?”

I glance at the folders. “Um...Renders, then some potential investors. There’s a lot about cost estimates, a timeline, what you’d need to do in terms of legal compliance. Rent trends, potential complications.”

A wicked smile curves his lips, and grabbing the box, he settles on a stable-looking slate. “Okay. Let’s check it out.”

* * *

Clearing his throat,Shane leans to one side and grabs the box. “There’s one more folder.” He throws me a look. “And an envelope.”

Immediately, I avert my eyes. We’ve been here for two hours now, and though all we talked about was my plan for this place, I can say without a doubt this is the best moment I’ve had in two weeks. But things might be about to change.

“What should we start with?”

I point at his left hand, holding on to the folder.

With a knowing smile, he opens it, reading through the first page. His lips part as his eyes roam left to right and shock etches to his face. “What’s this?”

“That would be...your bakery.”

“My bakery?”

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