Page 8 of Leo

He felt anger and let down. His joy at the proposition Sherrian had mentioned was dimming. She had told him some hard truths and he was finding it difficult to swallow.

It sounded like she was still in love with the bastard. She had told him in no uncertain terms that he should not be looking for anything else. She just wanted the money and that was it.

Striding along the hallway, his boots striking the glossy blue and green tiles, he went into the living room where a small fire was simmering. It was still too early for a fire, but his housekeeper knew he preferred the warm glow rather than the bright overhead lights.

Moving towards the recessed cabinet, he touched the button and grabbed a bottle of his favorite bourbon and a glass. Taking both with him, he went to sit on the chair in front of the fire. Toeing off his shoes, he stretched his feet out and poured a full glass.

His head was still spinning from his very hectic schedule, and he was tired. Bone weary actually and it was not so much from the activities of the day, so much as the emotions warring inside him. he had certainly not expected a proposal of marriage from her, albeit a fake one.

He would have preferred she had called him over to tell him that she wanted to start something up with him. He had been waiting two bloody years.

Tossing back the drink, he relished the glow in his throat and the burn in his gut and poured another. He should have said screw it and made his move before now. But he had thought it would be better to give her time.

Time for what? He thought angrily. To become further mired down in her sense of betrayal and mistrust? What in the hell was he supposed to do?

Just offer her the use of his place and keep his distance? He was damn well not going to be doing that. With that resolve in mind, he finished the rest of the drink and settled back in the chair, a frown on his brow.

The crackling of the fire filled the quiet room, its sporadic pops and hisses a soothing backdrop to the tumult in his mind. He reached for the glass once more, but hesitated, his hand hovering over the polished surface of the table.

How had things come to this? The woman he had waited for, the woman he had silently cherished, now saw him as nothing more than a means to an end, a financial salvation in the form of a temporary charade.

His thoughts drifted back to the moment she had made her proposition. Her eyes had been earnest, her voice unwavering, yet there had been a flicker of something else - doubt, perhaps? Or was it fear? He could not be sure.

All he knew was that he would agree to any terms if it meant he could have her in his life, even if only for a brief, illusionary period.

Rising from the chair, he paced the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor. He had to find a way to turn this situation around, to transform their sham engagement into something real, something lasting.

But how? She had made it clear that she did not want anything more from him than his financial assistance. Was it possible to change her mind?

A plan began to form in his thoughts, a bold and audacious scheme that could either win her heart or drive her further away. He would have to tread carefully, balancing his desire with a respect for her wishes.

But he was determined to try. He would show her, through his actions and his unwavering support, that he was more than just a temporary solution to her problems. He was her future.

With renewed resolve, he set the glass down and headed towards his study. There were preparations to be made, and he needed to ensure that everything was in order before he approached her again. He would not lose her to the shadows of her past. He would fight for her, for them, and he would not rest until he had secured her love.

As the night wore on, he worked tirelessly, the glow of the fire a distant reminder of the warmth and comfort he sought. He had waited two years; he could wait a little longer. But this time, he would not stand idly by. This time, he would act.

And with that, the first light of dawn began to creep through the windows, casting a gentle glow over his determined features. The battle for her heart had begun.

*****

She was revved. A few minutes after he left, she had found herself unable to concentrate on the baking. And had started making notes in her little book. Ingrid often teased her about the jottings she put down, but they were important to her.

Plans for the shop. Plans for her future. She could already see the money in her bank account. She would put in more tables and chairs. There was certainly space for it.

A few privacy booths. Make the glass cases displaying what she liked to call her work of art much bigger. Have tasting parties. Advertise on the various channels, perhaps hire someone to do the paperwork.

She shook her head. Definitely hire someone to do the damn paperwork, something she hated. But Ingrid was lousy at it, and it had been left up to her to take up the slack.

She resented spending even a minute crunching numbers when she could be creating a new and delicious pastry. She was an artist and a chef, not a damn accountant. Ingrid had been comfortable to allow things to stay just the way they are, she was not. She wanted to get bigger and better.

And as soon as she received the money, she was going to go for it. Thanks to Leo, it was soon to become a reality.

Turning in a slow circle, she made some more jottings. She might change the wallpapers. They had been there since she came to work here and looked a little dingy.

After her studies, she had taken a trip to Paris and Italy and noted the gaily decorated interiors of the small cafes. She wanted something like that. Cheerful colors, bold, but not brassy.

She liked to believe that people should have pleasant surroundings when they are having a meal, even if’s just coffee and croissant.

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