Page 10 of Stuffed

"Impressed?" she asks, catching my surprised look when she breaks down their debt-to-equity ratios.

"You've clearly been studying."

"Some of us actually paid attention in business school, Mr. Mercer. We weren't all too busy getting kicked out."

I feel my lips twitch. "Careful, Miss Marlow. Your claws are showing."

"Better than my desperation to prove you wrong."

"Is that what this is about?" I lean against her desk, watching her flush. "Proving me wrong?"

"No." She meets my gaze steadily. "It's about building something real. Something that matters. The fact that it might make you eat your words about 'cute little projects' is just a bonus."

From across the room, Ivy calls out, "Fresh batch coming out!"

The scent of chocolate and coffee intensifies. Tessa's eyes flick to the kitchen, then back to me. "Can I offer you a sample? Since you're here to evaluate everything."

"Including your baking skills?"

"Oh no," she says with a small laugh. "Those aren't mine. I stick to spreadsheets these days. Ivy handles the actual baking; I’d burn the place down."

Something about her admission—the slight vulnerability in it—makes me pause. "Smart division of labor. Playing to your strengths."

"Was that… almost a compliment, Mr. Mercer?"

"Don't let it go to your head." But I accept the cookie she offers, taking a bite that immediately transports me back to high school. To stolen moments in empty classrooms, watching a certain cheerleader who somehow saw past my carefully constructed walls.

"Well?" she asks softly. "Up to your standards?"

I meet her eyes over the cookie. "Better."

The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning. She's standing close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her blue eyes, the slight tremble in her lower lip.

"Zane," Asher calls from across the room, breaking the moment. "We should review those supplier contracts."

Right. Business. That's why we're here.

"The contracts," I say roughly, stepping back. "Show me."

"Of course." Tessa reaches for another folder, but her fingers brush mine in the process. The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. "Everything's organized by?—"

"Date, cost, and terms of agreement," I finish, scanning the impeccably arranged documents. "Impressive."

"You sound surprised."

"I am." I look up at her. "You're full of surprises lately, Miss Marlow."

"Good ones, I hope?"

The hopeful note in her voice does something to my chest. "We'll see."

"Always so guarded," she murmurs, more to herself than me. Louder, she says, "Well, Mr. Mercer, since you're here to evaluate everything…" She reaches for another cookie. "Might as well be thorough."

I accept it, watching as she pulls out more reports. She's good at this—the subtle challenge wrapped in professionalism. The way she meets my questions with data and determination.

"You've thought of everything," I admit finally, hours later.

"Almost like I know what I'm doing." Her smile is sweet but her eyes glitter with triumph. "Despite being just another 'lost cause' for your brother to save."

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