Page 122 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

“That was her,” Mia says proudly.

“We loved Cookie Madness,” the woman says. “We couldn’t understand why you closed.”

“Her ex was a con man,” Mia blurts. “He took her for everything!” She starts telling the sordid story; I practically have to seal her mouth with my hand to shut her up.

“I’d rather not have that get out,” I say. “I’m not in a position to put down a security deposit or anything, really, right now, but I’ll be back on my feet.” I let Mia go and scribble my cellphone number on a slip of paper and hand it to the woman. “If this place comes up again the summer after next, or if you have anything else like it, I’d be in a position to rent it.”

The woman studies my card. “We’d love a Cookie Madness in here. It’s the exact sort of thing we envisioned.” She looks up. “Would you be open to something entrepreneurial?”

“What do you mean?”

“A percentage of net instead of rent?” the woman says. “We really were fans. We always loved the concept.”

My blood races. A percentage of net means I wouldn’t have to pay anything until the bakery made money. Mia squeezes my arm.

“We don’t want something corporate in here,” the woman explains. “I’d have to discuss it with my husband, but would you be open to it?”

“What sort of percentage?” I ask, trying desperately not to freak out and hug her.

“Maybe we could both come up with a number and see where we are, maybe arrive at something we both think is fair. It’s the kind of business we’ve always envisioned for this space. Of course we’d do due diligence.”

“I would be extremely interested, and I’d be happy to supply the police report, anything. Though I am getting ready to relocate somewhere cheaper for a while…”

We set up a lunch meeting for the next day.

I walk out of there with Mia like everything is totally normal.

We’re silent as nuns for almost half a block. Then, when we’re a safe distance away, I death-grip her arm and squee.

Thirty-Four

Lizzie

Twenty-four hours later,I’m walking in the front door of Vossameer. I wasn’t planning on talking to Theo until the next morning, but I want to tell him the good news about the space. Perfect location, perfect landlords. Our meeting was like a lovefest. I brought them cookies, of course.

I have to have a lawyer look at the papers, but the deal seems fair. I won’t need any money up front, and I’ll end up paying them the equivalent of what I’d pay in rent, possibly more, once profits start rolling in. I couldn’t have hoped for better.

And it was my reputation that landed it. Plus luck.

So I’m heading in there, imagining his face. And growing nervous as hell. Because staying changes things. Our end-of-March expiration date was a kind of safety net.

Theo wants to get serious, but I’m just not ready. Or am I?

Worry and uncertainty and utter excitement rage inside me all the way down the block to the Vossameer building.

I push through the front door and get hit.

With color. Art.

In the Vossameer lobby?

A trio of large, colorful abstract-art banners hang down one side, very vertical, and a horizontal hangs over the elevator. And there’s new lighting—bright pendulums. A small collaboration space with comfy chairs.

“Ms. Cooper.” I look over, and there’s Marley in his gray security uniform, same as always. “We’ve missed you.”

“Hey, nice to see you.” I go up and lean in conspiratorially. “What’s with the art?”

“A fancy decorator lady came through here.”

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