⋆ Chapter 6: Damon Takes Sweet Harvest
Six months had passed since Valerie walked away from Damon Massaro. She’d thought ending the engagement would be the worst of it. She was wrong.
In those months, she’d kept her head down, throwing herself into the business and trying to forget the mess she’d left behind. She hadn’t even seen Damon—until today—and she’d preferred it that way. She hadn’t seen Max since that kiss—one that she still caught herself thinking about at the most inconvenient times.
But whatever spark that moment she had with Max had lit, it wasn’t what had ended her engagement. The reasons for that were far uglier.
The sign for Sweet Harvest still hung above the shopfront, hand-painted by her grandmother years ago, but it felt more like a taunt now. The foot traffic had thinned, suppliers were harder to reach, and every promising lead dried up before it could help. Valerie knew why. Damon’s reach in this town ran deep, and he was squeezing her family from all sides.
The final blow came that morning. Her brother Simon stormed into the kitchen, his jaw tight. Their mother sat at the table, stirring tea without drinking it. In Simon’s hand was a folded contract.
“He sold it,” Simon said. His voice was flat but carried enough heat to burn.
Valerie’s stomach knotted. “Sold what?”
Simon slapped the paper onto the table so hard that the corner bent. “Dad sold the shop.”
The words knocked the air out of her. She looked to her mother, who couldn’t even lift her eyes.
“To Damon,” Simon added, his mouth curling in disgust.
Valerie’s chest felt heavy. She thought about the hours she’d spent behind that counter since she was a teenager, the customers she knew by name, and the shelves lined with jars her grandmother used to fill.
“Why?” The question scraped her throat.
Her mother’s voice cracked. “The debts, Val. Your father—”
“His gambling,” Simon cut in. His voice rose, tight with rage. “Damon’s been feeding it, keeping him hooked, and now—what do you know—he owns Sweet Harvest. You think this is just business? No. This is payback. You humiliated him when you walked away and canceled the engagement, and now he’s burning the whole family for it. And Dad, with his addiction—”
“Simon—” their mother began.
“No, Mom. Dad has been dragging us into hell for years,” Simon snapped, glaring toward the empty hallway as if their father might appear. “Every bad bet, every ‘sure thing’—he’s taken us down with him, and Damon’s been more than happy to light the fuse.”
Their mother’s shoulders sagged. “Your father needs help, not blame.”
“He needs to stop ruining us,” Simon shot back.
Valerie pressed a hand to her temple. This wasn’t the first time their father had done this to them, but this was the first time he had gambled Sweet Harvest away.
Their mother turned to her, eyes brimming. “You have to do something, Val. You can’t let Damon take your grandmother’s shop. Our family business.”
The silver bracelet on her wrist dug into her skin as she twisted it. She already knew what had to happen.
An hour later, she was standing outside Damon’s office. The glass doors gleamed, the gold letters spelling his name perfectly polished. She hated that her reflection in the glass looked nervous.
Inside, the receptionist barely glanced up before buzzing her through. Damon was at his desk, leaning back in his chair, his suit jacket open. He looked her over as if she were a curiosity he hadn’t seen in a while, though she knew he’d kept tabs on her all along.
“Valerie,” he said smoothly. “You look good in that dress. Not your usual style. Trying to impress me?”
“You know why I’m here.” Her voice came out steady, even as her pulse thudded in her ears.
Damon smiled faintly. “If it’s about Sweet Harvest, I assure you, it’s nothing personal. Strictly business.”
“You don’t get to call it business when you’ve been choking it for months,” she snapped.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You think too highly of yourself, sweetheart. This isn’t about you. It’s about collecting what’s owed.”
“You’ve got your hooks in my father,” she said. “And now you’ve taken the shop. That’s not collecting, Damon. That’s bleeding a family dry.”
“Your father came to me,” Damon replied, voice low. “Again and again. I didn’t force his hand. I just made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.” His eyes held hers, cold and certain. “Now the shop’s mine. And I’m not in the habit of giving back what’s mine.”
She gripped the back of the chair in front of his desk. “We’re not done talking about this.”
“Oh, we’re far from done,” Damon said. The corner of his mouth lifted, but there was no warmth in it.
“Damon,” she began, forcing her voice to stay level. “Please, don’t take the business. Give me two years, and I’ll pay you back in full.”
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes scanning her. “Two years? That’s a long time to trust a sinking ship will float again.”
“It’s not sinking,” she shot back, heat creeping into her tone. “And don’t pretend you don’t know why we’re struggling. The suppliers we had worked with for years suddenly pulled out. Others jacked up their prices overnight—ten percent in one case. And the permits? The delays? None of that’s a coincidence, Damon. It all started after I called off the engagement.”
“Everything you just said? Not my problem, Val. So let’s get down to business.” He hummed, almost lazy about it. “If I give you the chance and you still don’t bounce back, what exactly are you offering me—when your little company still can’t pay its debts?”
She stiffened. “I’ll make it work.”
“That’s not an answer.” His mouth curved into the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Here’s my counteroffer, I give you one year, not two. But—” he held up a finger before she could interrupt—“the monthly debt increases by twenty percent. Call it the cost of my generosity.”
“That’s extortion,” she snapped.
“It’s business,” he replied smoothly. “You’re asking me to risk more, so I expect a better return. Simple math.”
Her pulse spiked. “You’re bleeding me dry, and you know it.”
“That’s one way to look at it.” Damon leaned forward again, his tattooed forearms braced on the desk, gaze pinning her in place. “Or you could see it as me giving you a fighting chance… that most people wouldn’t bother with.”
She gritted her teeth. “You’re twisting this.”
“I’m offering you choices,” he said, voice dropping low, almost intimate. “And speaking of choices…” He let the words hang, the silence stretching just long enough to make her stomach tighten.
Then that dangerous smile returned. “There’s… another option.”