Parker Grayson had negotiated hostile takeovers in glass boardrooms overlooking city skylines.
None of them had ever made him feel this unprepared.
The cupcake shop sat on the corner of Franklin Square as it belonged there—bright, unapologetic, stubbornly charming. The pastel storefront clashed violently with the steel-and-glass future his father envisioned for the block, and Parker understood instantly why Theodore Grayson wanted it gone.
It wasn't compliant.
It was loved.
The bell above the door chimed as Parker stepped inside, the sound almost cheerful enough to mock him.
Warm air wrapped around him immediately, heavy with the scent of sugar and vanilla. Buttercream. Chocolate. Something citrusy. It was overwhelming in a way he hadn't experienced since childhood, before his world became numbers, contracts, and controlled environments.
The shop buzzed with quiet life—mothers with children, an elderly couple sharing a cupcake, a college student tapping at a laptop in the corner.
And behind the counter stood Danielle Clark.
Dani.
She wore a flour-dusted apron over jeans and a fitted black T-shirt, her dark hair twisted into a messy bun that looked like it had surrendered halfway through the morning. She was bent over the display case, carefully adjusting rows of cupcakes like they were priceless artifacts.
She looked up.
The warmth in her expression vanished instantly.
"Oh," she said flatly. "It's you."
Parker straightened his jacket out of habit. "Good morning."
"No," she replied without missing a beat. "It was a good morning. You just walked in and ruined it."
A snort of laughter came from somewhere near the espresso machine.
Parker blinked once, then smiled. "I didn't realize my presence had that much power."
"It doesn't," Dani said, folding her arms. "But your last name does. And I don't like what it brings with it."
He stepped closer to the counter. "I'm not here to threaten you."
"Could've fooled me," she shot back. "That suit alone screams hostile takeover with a side of entitlement."
He glanced down at himself. "It's Italian."
"That explains the arrogance."
Another customer laughed openly this time.
Parker exhaled slowly through his nose. This was already going badly.
"I just want to talk," he said evenly. "No pressure. No lawyers. Just a conversation."
Dani tilted her head, studying him like she was deciding whether he was worth the oxygen he was using.
"Funny," she said. "Your father's idea of a conversation involves contracts and bulldozers."
"I'm not my father."
Her eyes sharpened. "Every man like you says that."
That landed harder than he expected.
"I didn't come here to pick a fight," Parker said. "I came because this shop is the last piece holding up an entire redevelopment project."
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the counter. "You mean I'm the inconvenience."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of the espresso machine filled the silence, thick and uncomfortable.
Finally, Dani straightened.
"If you're here to convince me to sell, don't. If you're here to intimidate me, also don't. And if you're here to flash money around like it's a personality trait, the door is directly behind you."
"I don't flash money."
"You wore a watch worth more than my ovens."
He glanced at his wrist, then shrugged. "Point taken."
Her mouth twitched despite herself.
"I respect what you've built here," Parker said, surprising even himself with how true it felt. "But my father isn't going to stop."
She crossed her arms again, defensive and proud. "Neither am I."
"You won't win," he said quietly.
That did it.
Her smile turned sharp, dangerous. "Watch me."
The tension crackled between them, thick enough to taste. Dani wasn't intimidated—she was furious, determined, and absolutely unwilling to bend.
Parker found himself admiring it.
"Buy something or leave," she said abruptly, grabbing a cupcake from the display and sliding it across the counter. "I'm running a business, not a therapy session."
He looked down.
Chocolate cupcake. Pink frosting. A tiny sugar heart on top.
"How much?" he asked.
"Five dollars."
He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. She pushed it back toward him immediately.
"Exact change or nothing."
That stopped him.
Slowly, Parker laughed. Not because it was funny—but because no one had ever done that to him before.
"Fine," he said, fishing out a five-dollar bill. "One cupcake."
She rang it up and slid the box toward him.
"Congratulations," she said. "You've officially supported small business."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"Tell your father," Dani called after him, "that this shop isn't for sale. Not now. Not ever."
Parker looked back at her—really looked at her—and for the first time, doubt crept in.
Not about her resolve.
About his.
That night, Parker sat alone in his motel room, papers spread across the desk like a crime scene.
Loan records. Property assessments. Timelines.
He wasn't supposed to dig this deep.
So why was he?
Because Dani Clark wasn't bluffing.
But she was cornered.
The realization sat heavily in his chest.
His phone buzzed.
"Grayson."
"Mr. Grayson," Rogers said carefully. "Ms. Clark's loan is… unstable."
Parker closed his eyes. "How unstable?"
"She's behind. Not in default yet. But if pressure increases—"
"She could lose the shop."
"Yes."
Silence stretched between them.
This was leverage.
And Parker hated how easily he recognized it.
The next morning, he returned to the cupcake shop.
Dani was frosting cupcakes when he walked in, her shoulders tensing before she even looked up.
"You again," she said. "Is this where you threaten me?"
"No."
She glanced up, and whatever she saw on his face made her pause.
"What is it?" she asked warily.
"We need to talk."
Her jaw tightened. "About what?"
"About your shop," Parker said quietly. "And your bank."
The frosting bag slipped from her hand, landing on the counter with a soft splat.
"You went digging," she said slowly.
"Yes."
"That was none of your business."
"You're right."
That wasn't the answer she expected.
She swallowed. "Then why?"
Because I don't want to destroy you.
"I think there's another way," he said instead.
She laughed once, sharp and humorless. "Every man with power says that right before he takes something."
"This time is different."
"Why?" she demanded.
Parker met her gaze, heart pounding.
"Because I need you."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's not a sentence you get to use lightly."
"I know."
He hesitated, then said the words that would change everything.
"Marry me."
The air went still.
She stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
"I'm sorry—what?"
"A contract marriage," Parker rushed. "Temporary. Strategic. You keep your shop. I handle the debt. My father backs off."
Silence.
Then Dani laughed.
Hard.
"You want me to marry you to save my bakery."
"Yes."
She shook her head. "Absolutely not."
"Dani—"
"No," she snapped. "I will not be your accessory. Your PR stunt. Your loophole."
"I'm offering protection."
"And I'm offering you the door."
She turned away, shoulders shaking.
"Think about it," Parker said softly.
"Get out."
The bell chimed behind him as he left.
And Parker realized something terrifying.
This wasn't just business anymore.
And if she said yes—
Everything would change.