Enlightened End

by Audrey Carlan

  Grant’s eyes widen, and he smiles. “I was a perfect gentleman last night, ma’am. I assure you.”

  Her eyes narrow, and she looks at him and then at me. “You playin’ hard to get, child? Mama Jackson likes that. Good for you, sugar.” She squeezes my cheek. “Go on, walk yo’ man out, but don’t be surprised when you get the third degree from Dara.”

  I grab Grant’s hand and tug him along, whispering in his ear. “We just dodged a serious bullet. If she knew who you were, you would be flatter than a pancake on her floor. Seriously, you do not want to mess with Mama Jackson.” Chills ripple along my arms as I try to escape through the main area of the bakery, ignoring Dara, who’s at the register, chatting away.

  Just as we make it to the wooden door, Dara’s voice rings out.

  “Oh hell no! Luna…guuuurl, you have some ’splainin’ to do,” I hear over my shoulder.

  Moving fast, I open the wood door and push Grant out. “Go! Save yourself!” I push at his solid form.

  He stops and laughs. “Lamb, what are you doing?”

  “No, no, you gotta go.” I glance to the side and see Dara putting change in someone’s hand. “Just go, I’ll see you later,” I attempt.

  Grant holds his place. “I want my goodbye kiss.”

  My eyes go wide, and I feel her before I hear her. She rests an arm around my waist and tucks me to her side. Her sugary scent tickles my nose, and I drop my head.

  Darn it.

  “Grant, so nice to see you again, looking all disheveled and well-rested. I see you are wearing a wrinkled suit, and you just came from the kitchen, which tells me you’ve been enjoying the loft with my best friend and traitor, Luna, here.” She shakes me a bit, her tone pleasant, but I can hear the accusation underneath. I’m going to have to have a very big heart-to-heart with her and soon.

  My guy props one of his hands on his hip, his eyes going hard, his expression turning into steel businessman. The same man I met the first time I visited his office. “What is with the third degree in this bakery? First your mother and now you? Luna is a grown woman who can date any man she wants.”

  Dara’s pretty face twists with an expression of barely concealed contempt. Each of her words is a poison-dipped knife ready to kill. “Not when that man is going to single-handedly ruin her life. I don’t know how you sleep at night…”

  Grant cuts her off. “Very well, since I was in her bed right next to her warm body.”

  “You have a lotta nerve.”

  Grant lifts a finger and points it at Dara. “No, you do. Luna can take care of herself.”

  Dara swings her body around, cocks a hip, and places a hand on it, attitude flag flying. “Because you know her so well. She’s sweet. Innocent. Helps the world every day by shining her bright light on it. And you”—she points her finger at him in return—“are going to burn out that light by taking away what she loves most. That studio!” She points at the wall shared with Lotus House.

  “Guys, come on. We don’t need to talk about this or do this here. Everyone is watching.”

  Dara waves her hand. “Let them watch. Let this entire store see the man who is going to bring a big ol’ wrecking ball and flatten the first ever Sunflower Bakery. The store I was going to leave to my babies! And their babies! And so on. My parents started this bakery from the ground up. Built their business and have given it to me to pass on to Destiny and Jackson. I may have more stores, but this is the first. The flagship. It’s where I work every day. It’s where I bring my children on the weekends so they can bake with their mama and grandmama.”

  I hear the pain in her words. She’s losing her legacy too.

  Tears fill Dara’s eyes, and she stares at Grant, who hasn’t spoken a single word.

  “Now I can see from your aura that you are upset. The black shrouding your natural energy is a good indication you heard me. And I hope you did, because you need to hear exactly what you’re taking away when you flatten my bakery.”

  Dara’s tears fall down her cheeks.

  “What in the ever-loving fuck is going on here?” The deep voice comes from the front of the bakery. “Lil’ mama, why are you cryin’?” He looks from Dara, to me, and then to Grant. “Heads are about to roll if someone doesn’t answer me,” Silas announces, his hands turning into fists.

  I maneuver around Dara, through the wooden door, and next to Grant. “Silas McKnight, this is Grant Winters, and we were just having a little bit of a heated chat about the situation—”

  Si cuts through. “You’re the man responsible for the tears my wife has shed every night since you sent us that eviction notice? Twenty plus years of on-time rent, repeatedly refusing to sell the land to the Jacksons, and you have the balls to come in here and show your face? Bro, you must be out of your fuckin’ mind.”

  Grant’s body tightens. “I’m sorry the eviction notice upset your wife. It’s an unfortunate effect of the business decision my company, investors, and board of directors have made. This is business, not personal.”

  Silas scowls. “Man, I run Knight & Day Productions. I know what the cost of doing business is, and I know there are always alternatives to those decisions. I suggest you find one.” He growls and pushes past Grant by knocking his shoulder roughly.

  Grant stands strong and doesn’t respond, although I can tell from the tension in his body that the verbal daggers Dara and Silas threw hit their target.

  Slowly, Grant eases his body away from mine, turns, and heads out the door.

  I spin on a heel, my anger flaming hot. “You did not need to be so harsh! He’s working through this decision, and I’m trying to get him to see why he should keep these businesses alive, not give him more reasons to destroy them. You should look at things from his side too. He’s doing his job. What everyone is telling him to do. It’s business to them, nothing more. I’m doing everything I can to show him it’s not just about business, and you just damaged that!” My words are so low and filled with frustration I don’t even know what more to say. So I don’t. Instead, I chase after Grant.

  He’s just getting to his car when I fly out of the bakery, my hair flapping around my face as the wind hits it.

  “Grant!”

  He stops at his car, hand on the handle.

  “I don’t fucking need this, Luna. None of this.” His tone is flat. Dead. “I have a job to do, and I’m going to do it.” He opens the door and rests his hand on the top of the window. He shakes his head, and his dark-blue gaze meets mine.

  Remorse.

  Anger.

  Hurt.

  Resolution.

  All of those things are in his eyes until he lands his final blow. “Move on with your life, Luna. I’m no good for you, and I’m over it. All of this. Deal’s off.”

  With the last parting dagger to my heart, he gets into his car and peels away. I’m not sure if I’m more upset that he blew off our deal or that he set me free from what was building between us.

  No, that’s not true. I do know. As does my mind, body, and heart, which are crumbling internally.

  I’ve lost him, and I have no idea how to get him back.

  Chapter Seven

  If the crown chakra is blocked, a person will feel confused and depressed, and experience fear of success and lack of inspiration.

  GRANT

  “Grant… Shit, man. How many bench presses have you done?” My trainer rushes to spot me, and just in time too, because I start to lose my grip, and the weight careens…toward my face.

  Clay grabs the weight with no problem and puts the barbell back on the stand, the hundred and fifty pounds are nothing for a man of his strength. “What the hell were you doing? Trying to kill yourself?”

  “Death by weight lifting? Yeah, that’s the way to go.” I groan, plant my feet wide on the ground, and lean over my spread thighs. Drops of sweat fall from my forehead onto the floor.

  Fuck. I can’t get the look on her face out of my mind.

  Hurt. Destroyed. Resigned.

&n
bsp; Clay sits down next to me and bumps my shoulder. “Care to talk about it?”

  Talk about it?

  How do I talk about a woman who is absolutely everything I’m not?

  Kind. Compassionate. Honest. Trusting. Loyal. Beautiful.

  The broken look on her face yesterday won’t fucking leave my mind. I keep seeing it over and over again. In my dreams, throughout my day, while at meetings, on the phone. Her red hair flying in the breeze, her crystal-blue eyes tortured as I told her the deal was off, basically ensuring she no longer had any hope of saving her company or her home.

  “What do you care?” I growl and run my fingers through my sopping wet hair.

  Clayton grips my shoulder. “Seriously, man? We’ve been working together for over five years, and you have the balls to say that to me. I thought we were friends.” His tone sounds hurt, making him another good person I’m fucking over this week.

  I look at Clayton’s blond spiky hair and blue eyes. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m fucked in the head.”

  “Woman, work, or world?” He says the three words as if they are the be-all end-all. I cringe, uncertain of what he means.

  He waves his hand in a circular motion. “Are you like this because of a woman, something screwed at work, or the world in general?” he clarifies.

  I let out a long sigh. “One, both, hell, all three. Take your pick.”

  Clayton nods curtly and stands up. “All right, then. More workout is not what you need. I’m thinking, a beer, a burger, and a bro lending his ear will do the job. Hit the showers and meet me out front.”

  I jerk my head back. “You want to go out and have a beer…with me?” I frown at the desperate tone in my voice.

  In that moment, it hits me. We’ve never been anything more than personal trainer and student. I hire him to keep me in shape. He bosses me around the gym, and I pay him well for it. The results are good. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I never even thought of him as a friend until he called me on it a few minutes ago.

  “Yeah. When one of my buds needs me, I’m there. You’d do it for me.” He says this as if he knows it to be fact.

  Would I?

  I guess if he asked me to be, I would. Not that we’ve ever been in a position to open up to one another. Then again, I’ve never been in this situation with a woman ever. Women have always been expendable. And I’ve never worried about business decisions in quite this way. And I’ve not had to completely destroy a street full of thriving companies.

  I nod and stand up to head to the showers. “Meet you out front?”

  “You got it. And I know just the place to go.”

  * * *

  The drive isn’t long as I follow Clayton from the gym. He pulls up to a brick building with a bright green sign that reads O’Brien’s Pub and Grill, with four leaf clovers as the apostrophes. I can’t remember the last time I was in a pub. Probably back in college. A time when life was about frat parties, girls, and how much beer I could suck down my gullet without throwing up.

  Clayton waits at the door as I park my car and jog to meet up with him. I feel odd in my dress slacks and shirt, but I left the tie and jacket in the car, rolled up my sleeves, and unbuttoned a couple buttons. Clayton, on the other hand, is still in his workout attire. A pair of black track pants with a couple white stripes down each leg and a red T-shirt that stretches across his massive chest.

  The man is built, to say the least. I have what I would consider a good body. I work hard to stay in shape. Toned muscles, six-pack, and the magic V we all strive to achieve, but Clayton Hart is rock solid. He is toned on an entirely different level.

  As we hit a high-top table, Clayton waves at the bartender. “Hey, Cal, how goes it?” he says with a smile. That’s the epitome of Clayton Hart. The man is always smiling. At least ever since he got married. Which reminds me, I think he said he’d had a kid not too long ago. Had to miss a few sessions because he was in the hospital with his wife.

  “Um, Clay, how’s your wife and kid?” I ask, trying to open the conversation. It’s been so long since I’ve gone out with a guy to just hang out and shoot the shit, I’m a little rusty. Most of my dinners with men are business meetings, where they want something out of me or I want something out of them.

  “Kids,” he clarifies.

  “You have more than one kid?” My eyes widen, and I am genuinely surprised.

  “Yeah, man. Strangest thing. I got with Moe, and we found out her daughter is biologically mine.”

  I’m pretty sure my mouth hits the floor. What the hell? “How in the world did that happen?”

  Clayton laughs. “Back in the day, when I was working my way through college, I used to donate to a local sperm bank. Years later, Monet and her then-husband picked my boys for the job. I met Moe, hooked up with her, and when it came to her backstory and her kid, two and two were adding up to four pretty quick. Her best friend did a genetic test, and voila, the kid is mine.”

  I whistle and shake my head. “Bet that blew your mind.”

  He chuckles. “It did. But since I fell in love with Monet, it worked out. Now we have Lily, who’s seven, and my son, Knight, who’s two. Though I keep hiding her birth control pills, so I’m hoping for another.” He snickers.

  “You’re kidding?”

  He laughs and shakes his head as a waitress finally comes up. Slow moving around here, but the place is nice, seems really low key.

  “You boys want something to drink…eat?” she asks, leaning her hand on the table.

  “Beer. Cold. Whatever Cal recommends,” Clay responds.

  “Whiskey, neat. Two fingers.” I hold up two of my own fingers.

  “And we’ll also take a couple of Cal’s famous burgers. Yeah, Grant?”

  I shrug. “Sounds good to me.” I don’t admit that I can’t remember the last time I had a burger. Again, most of my dinners are out at fancy restaurants or a casserole I can heat up stocked in my freezer by my house attendant.

  When the waitress leaves, she hustles back with our drinks far quicker than it took for her to make her way over initially. As she sets the drinks on the table and walks off, Clayton levels me with a pointed stare. “Lay it on me. What happened?”

  I take a sip of my whiskey, letting it burn a fiery trail down my throat. Maybe the burn will coat the words, making them seem less damaging. I’m not sure I want Clayton to know how much of an asshole I really am.

  “Grant, no judgment, man. Just a friendly ear,” he encourages.

  I sigh, set my drink on the table, and run my finger around the rim. “There’s this woman, a yoga teacher…”

  His eyebrows rise up to his hairline. “Yeah, yogis are hot man. My wife does yoga regularly. Can’t say I don’t enjoy the benefits of that practice, plus I take a bunch of classes myself.”

  This surprises me. He seems like a loyal member of the gym brotherhood.

  He notices my expression and grins. “Yeah. I prefer aerial. My buddy Nick teaches it. Stretches out my muscles in a way I can’t do at the gym.”

  I nod. “Well, here’s the problem. I own a span of land on which I’m planning to build high-rise luxury apartments. This is a couple-hundred-million-dollar project that’s going to return close to a billion in revenue for Winters Group and the other investors.”

  “Okay, I’m following. So what’s the problem?” Clay sucks back a swallow of his beer.

  “Doing so means I have to evict about seven thriving businesses. One of which is a yoga studio.”

  “No shit. Are you telling me the chick you’re going for works at the studio?”

  I shake my head.

  Clayton playfully wipes at his brow. “Whew…I figured you were going to be in a world of hurt if that was the case.”

  “She owns it. And lives in an open apartment on top of one of the other businesses I’m going to flatten.”

  Clayton’s face pales, and then he lifts the beer and gulps back almost all of it. I match his sentiment by killing my whiskey. It hits my
gut and warms my entire body instantly. Something of a blessing. I’ve been cold for days.

  “Dude, that’s fucked. So what are you going to do?”

  I run my fingers through my hair and glance behind me. The bartender lifts his head, and I raise my glass and point to Clay’s as well. We’re going to need a lot more alcohol for this.

  “Not much. The process is already started. Technically, the renters have less than six months to vacate the street.”

  Clayton whistles. “Damn. What about the woman? The yogi?”

  “She hates me.”

  “I’m seeing you don’t hate her. Now you’re worried about her business and her being homeless.”

  “Yeah. I know I can’t fix what’s happening, but shit, I want to so bad.” I huff out a frustrated breath. “Even told her I’d give her six months to change my mind if she dated me for the six months. We’d each get a turn showing the other our side of things. Then it just got too much to handle.”

  “You reneged?” His voice is strange when he asks, almost a deep grumble.

  The waitress comes up and switches out our old drinks with fresh ones.

  “Kind of, yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s the billion-dollar question, isn’t it? Luna’s beautiful, man. Nothing like any of the women I’ve ever dated. She makes me feel…I don’t know. Fuck. More. Just more.”

  “Luna?” Clayton sits up straight, his arms pressed out to brace against the table.

  I grin. “Yeah. Said her mom is a hippie. Named her moon.”

  “Fuck. This is bad, dude.” Clayton’s expression turns hard.

  “Why?”

  “You’re talking about Luna Marigold, pretty redhead, sweet body, white-ass skin, the owner of Lotus House?”

  This time I sit up in my chair, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. “How the fuck…?”