Page 64 of Craving

“Shut the bakery down?” She gaped at Marlon. “What? No! No, I can’t do that. No way.”

“Camilla—”

“I don’t tell you how to run your business, and you shouldn’t tell me how to run mine.” The words came out sharper than she’d intended, but they were still the truth.

Marlon’s jaw clenched. His beard had grown over the past couple of weeks, its darkness only making the flash of his eyes more intense. “Camilla. Listen to me.”

“No.” She grabbed a handful of cake from the floor and dumped it in the trash. “No, I won’t leave. I have to make Fred and Nadia’s wedding cake. It has to be delivered in the morning. I have enough time to bake and decorate a new one.”

Her replica cake topper was crumpled into a formless mass of modeling chocolate. She scraped it off the floor where it had been ground into the tiles, then tossed it in the trash. Her breaths came in fast little gasps that didn’t provide enough oxygen. If she didn’t fix this right away, the last ten years of her life would be a complete waste. Her family would be proven right. She would fail.

“Sweetheart.” Marlon sidestepped to get in her way, his hands landing on her biceps. “Camilla. Talk to me. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“No, it’s you who isn’t listening,” she snapped, then shook off his touch. “This is my livelihood, Marlon. I can’t afford to shut my doors for even a day.”

“Don’t you have savings? I’ll float you some money, Camilla. This is about keeping you and your employees safe.”

“I don’t want your money!”

Marlon reared back, and Camilla realized she’d yelled. His eyes flashed, but his temper only served to stoke her own.

“Listen,” she clipped. “I’m not borrowing money from you, or my family, or anyone ever again. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That is none of your business,” she hissed.

“Is this about your ex? You’re lumping me in with a creep now? You don’t trust me?”

“This isn’t about trust,” she said through clenched teeth. “This is about my business. My life. I’m not going home with you; I’m staying here and making this cake again, and I’m delivering it to the Goodhews in the morning.”

His chest heaved with deep breaths, eyes intent on hers. “I get that you’re upset,” he tried, in a gentler voice, “but your safety is my priority—”

“My safety is not your concern,” she cut in, scooping up more destroyed cake from the floor. “I endured your people setting up that security system, but don’t think for a second I’m going to let you push me around.”

“Endured it,” Marlon scoffed. “Wow.”

“Oh, get over yourself,” she said, suddenly angry. He was standing there like she should just scurry after him and do everything he said. But he didn’t know that if she didn’t deliver this cake, she wouldn’t be able to save her business. She’d been so close. So close to freedom. So close to her beautiful new life.

Now the cake was smashed, and the future was more uncertain than ever. She could fix this cake, or she could fail. There was no other option. Why didn’t Marlon understand that? Why was he trying to push her around and get his way?

Her anger was a life raft in an ocean of fear. She clung to it, temper flaring. “Do you think you get to dictate what I do, Marlon? You think that just because we slept together, you’re now the boss of me?”

“I think that someone has been breaking into your business, and I don’t want you to get hurt. I just want to keep you safe.”

“I didn’t ask you for that!” The words exploded from her. She saw the mirage of her beautiful future tear like wet tissue paper. Here was another man trying to impose his will on her. Another man telling her what was right for her. Ignoring her. Trying to control her.

Her entire life had been a battle, and stupidly, Camilla had let her guard down. Now Marlon was just proving to her that she’d been an idiot. She should have fought for her independence. The moat around her heart should have stayed full of water and teeming with snapping crocodiles, but like a fool, she’d lowered the drawbridge.

He didn’t understand that her business meant everything. Her entire adult life had been spent trying to make this work. She’d left home, survived her ex, paid every extortionate penny to Frankie Smith, and she could see the finish line. And now she was supposed to throw it all away because he said so? He thought he could play the hero and everything would be okay, but he was wrong.

The only way things would be okay was if Camilla took care of them, like she always did. No one would look out for her, no matter what they said. This mess had to be fixed—by her.

Her breaths heaved, tears gathering in her eyes. If she had to choose between her business—her independence, her stability, her life—and a man, didn’t she have to choose her business? She’d let herself get distracted, but there was nothing else she could do. “I didn’t ask you for any help, Marlon.”

He turned his back on her, shoving his hands through his hair. A few deep breaths, and he turned again. “Camilla, there’s something you aren’t telling me.” His eyes looked tortured. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Let me help.”

“I’m not your sweetheart! You keep wanting to ride to my rescue, but I don’t need that. Not from you or from anyone.”

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