Too Late To Want Me Back

Chapter Three

Charlie finished speaking with the supplier and returned to the dining room with a tight expression. The conversation had gone exactly as she expected.

No more credit. Payment within the week or deliveries would stop completely. She stood behind the counter staring at the numbers written on the small notepad in front of her. Rent. Utilities.

Suppliers. Payroll.

The total made her stomach twist. The restaurant had survived dozens of difficult months since her father died, but this felt different. The pressure was closing in from every direction.

Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it.

Across the city, Henry Stone sat across from Daniel in a quiet corner of a café. Daniel had been talking for nearly five minutes, but Henry was only half listening.

“Your uncle is serious this time,” Daniel said finally. “You know that, right?”

Henry stirred his coffee without drinking it. “I know.”

“And you’re actually considering it?”

Henry lifted his eyes. “Considering what?”

“Getting married.”

Henry gave him a look that said the idea was ridiculous.

Daniel leaned back in his chair. “Look, you need something simple. Something temporary. Someone who understands that it’s an arrangement.”

Henry remained silent.

Daniel stirred his coffee and studied Henry across the table. “Think about it,” he said. “Six months, maybe a year. Long enough for your uncle to see you settled and stop worrying about your personal life.”

Henry frowned slightly. “You’re suggesting a fake marriage.”

“I’m suggesting a practical solution.”

Henry didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, considering the idea in silence. That alone was enough to make Daniel pause.

A slow grin spread across Daniel’s face. “Wait… you’re actually thinking about it.”

Henry set his cup down on the table. “Do you know anyone who would agree to something like that?”

Daniel hesitated briefly before nodding. “Actually, I might.”

Henry raised an eyebrow.

“There’s a restaurant owner downtown,” Daniel explained. “Her father ran the place for years before he passed away. She’s been trying to keep it open ever since, but the business is struggling. Last time we talked, she mentioned she was looking for investors.”

Henry listened without interrupting.

Henry tapped his fingers once against the table. “What’s the restaurant called?”

Daniel told him.

For a moment Henry didn’t react.

“Alright,” he said after a moment. “I’ll take a look.”

Daniel studied him with surprise. “You’re actually considering this?”

Henry lifted his cup. “I said I’d look.”

Later that afternoon, Charlie was wiping down the counter when the restaurant door opened.

She looked up automatically, recognizing him from the other night. And froze.

The man standing in the doorway looked just as composed as when she had first met him,, leaning casually against the car she had nearly rammed into while he was tangled up with some woman in the back seat.

Her irritation returned the moment she recognized him.

Henry walked toward the counter as if nothing about their last encounter had been unusual.

“You again,” Charlie said flatly.

A faint smile touched his mouth. “Good afternoon.”

Charlie folded her arms. “If your car is blocking someone again, I suggest moving it before they start knocking on the window.”

His expression didn’t change. “Relax. I parked properly this time.”

“What do you want?”

Instead of answering immediately, Henry glanced around the restaurant. The empty tables, the worn furniture, the quiet dining room that should have been busy at this hour, he took in all of it before returning his attention to her.

“A friend of mine mentioned you’ve been looking for investors.” Henry nodded. “He told me about your situation.”

Her expression hardened instantly. “I’m not interested in charity.”

“This isn’t charity,” he replied calmly.

Charlie leaned against the counter, unimpressed. “Then what is it?”

“A proposal.”

The word made her laugh quietly, though there was nothing amused about the sound. “I’m guessing it involves me giving up control of the restaurant.”

“No.” Henry’s answer made her pause.

“I’ll invest enough to clear your debts and stabilize the business,” he continued evenly. “But there’s a condition.”

Of course there was. Charlie studied him carefully now. “Let me guess, ownership, profit share, control over the menu?”

Henry shook his head. “I need a wife.”

For a moment the words didn’t register. Charlie blinked at him, waiting for the punchline that never came.

“You’re joking.” “I’m not.”

The realization settled slowly across her face. “You want me to marry you,” she said, disbelief creeping into her voice, “in exchange for investing in my restaurant.”

“A contract marriage,” Henry corrected. “Temporary.”

Charlie stared at him as if he had completely lost his mind. Then she laughed again, louder this time.

“You’re insane.” She grabbed a towel from the counter and tossed it aside in frustration.

“You think I’m desperate enough to marry some arrogant stranger because he waves money around?”

Henry remained perfectly calm.

Charlie shook her head. “I don’t care how rich you are,” she said. “I’m not selling myself to save a restaurant.”

With that, she turned and walked toward the kitchen.

“Find someone else.”

Henry didn’t follow. He simply watched her disappear through the doorway, his expression thoughtful.

The anger faded quickly, leaving only exhaustion behind. By the time the last customers left that evening, the restaurant felt heavier than it had that morning.

She closed the register and sat alone in the small office with the books open in front of her. The numbers refused to change no matter how long she stared at them.

Her father’s photograph sat in the corner of the desk, smiling the same quiet smile he always had behind the counter.

Charlie rubbed her eyes. “We’re trying,” she murmured softly.

Her phone rang. The bank. She answered. The conversation lasted less than three minutes. By the time she hung up, her hands were shaking.

Foreclosure proceedings had begun. If she couldn’t make a payment within the week, the restaurant would legally become bank property.

Charlie sat in silence. Twenty-five years of her father’s life. Gone.

Outside the office window the dining room sat empty, the chairs pushed neatly under the tables as if they were already waiting for someone else.

She reached for her phone. Henry Stone. Her finger hovered over the screen. Then she pressed call.

The Stone Holdings building rose high above the city, glass reflecting the late evening sky.

Charlie stood in the lobby staring up at the floors above her.

Everything about the place felt expensive. The receptionist directed her upstairs.

Henry’s office door stood slightly open when she reached it. Charlie knocked once before stepping inside.

The office was empty. But a door across the room was half open.

A woman’s voice came from the half-open door. Soft at first, then rising into intense moans of pleasure that made Charlie stop where she stood.

For a moment she thought she had heard wrong. Then the sound came again.

The low creak of leather. A quick intake of breath. The unmistakable rhythm of movement against the sofa inside the private lounge.

Charlie’s face heated instantly.

The woman laughed softly, the sound breaking into another breathless moan as if she had completely forgotten the rest of the world existed.

Charlie stared at the door. She had come here to discuss a contract. Instead she was standing outside a room where Henry Stone was clearly far more occupied.

A muffled male voice said something low and teasing.

The woman answered with a soft protest that dissolved into another gasp.

Charlie folded her arms, irritation replacing embarrassment. Unbelievable. The sounds stopped a moment later. There was a brief rustle of clothing.

Then the door opened.

Henry stepped out first, calmly fastening the last button of his shirt. His hair was slightly disordered, but his expression looked completely composed, as if he had merely finished a casual conversation.

Behind him, the woman followed, smoothing her dress over her thighs before slipping her heels back on.

Henry noticed Charlie standing there. Recognition flickered in his eyes.

“You again.”

Charlie lifted an eyebrow. “Clearly I picked the wrong time.”

Henry didn’t look embarrassed in the slightest. If anything, he looked faintly amused. He crossed the office and dropped into the chair behind his desk.

The woman followed a moment later. She walked up behind Henry, leaned down, and wrapped an arm lightly around his shoulders before pressing a slow, lingering kiss against his lips.

“Call me later,” she murmured. Henry gave a small nod.

Satisfied, the woman straightened her dress one last time and walked past Charlie toward the door, the scent of perfume trailing behind her as she left the office.

.

Henry leaned back in his chair and looked at Charlie again. “Now,” he said calmly, “what were you here to talk about?”

Charlie stared at him, her irritation burning even hotter.

Henry didn’t look embarrassed. If anything, he seemed mildly amused.

“Did you come to continue our conversation?”

Charlie forced herself to stay where she was. For a moment the image of the restaurant flashed through her mind, the empty tables, the foreclosure notice sitting in the office drawer, her father’s photograph beside the register.

She swallowed. “Your offer,” she said.

Henry leaned casually against the edge of his desk. “What about it?”

Charlie disliked how calm he looked, as though he had expected this moment from the beginning.

“Does it still stand?”

The amusement faded slightly from his expression as he studied her more closely. The tension in her shoulders, the exhaustion in her eyes, the stubborn pride she was still trying to hold onto.

“Yes,” he said.

Charlie looked away briefly. Accepting this meant accepting him, his arrogance, his careless attitude, everything about him that irritated her.

But losing the restaurant would mean losing the last thing her father had built with his own hands. She exhaled slowly.

“Then we should discuss the details.”

Henry pushed away from the desk and walked around it. Henry gestured toward the chair in front of him.

“Sit.”

Charlie hesitated, then lowered herself into the seat. Henry remained standing for a moment before circling back behind the desk.

“It’s a contract marriage,” he said. “Public appearances when necessary. Your work stays your own. Mine stays mine.”

Charlie listened without interrupting.

“In return,” he continued, sliding a document across the desk, “your restaurant’s debts disappear.”

“One year” Henry added.

Charlie looked down at the contract. The polished surface of the desk reflected her face faintly beside the paper.

She imagined standing up and walking out. Letting the bank take the restaurant. Letting everything end.

But the memory of her father behind the counter returned just as quickly, smiling proudly at the customers who filled the room.

Charlie picked up the pen. Her hand hovered above the page for a second before she finally signed.

Henry watched quietly as she finished. When she pushed the paper back toward him,

he closed the folder with calm finality.

The deal was done. Charlie rose from the chair. “Congratulations,” Henry said.

She looked at him wearily. “For what?”

A small smile appeared on his face.

“You just became my wife.”