𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝟗

Davis watched Sadira's expression carefully, noting every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. He was used to this—walking into someone's life at the most inconvenient moment, offering solutions they didn't even know they needed. But something about this interaction felt different. There was an intensity behind her guarded eyes that made him tread carefully, calculating each word.

As he explained the situation, he kept his tone steady, professional, not giving away more than necessary. He could tell she was thrown off, her fingers nervously toying with the edge of her apron. Her bakery was warm, a stark contrast to the sharp, crisp professionalism that defined his world. The soft colors of pinks, whites, and golds were nothing like the gray-and-beige boardrooms he was used to. Yet, here he stood—out of place but undeniably in control of the situation.

He had her attention, that much was clear. But she wasn't an easy sell. Davis could see the skepticism in her eyes, the way she kept her arms crossed, and her defensive body language. She didn't trust him. That was fine. She didn't need to trust him—just enough to hear him out.

"Let me get this straight," she interrupted, her voice firmer than before. "You just walk into my bakery, start throwing around legal terms, and expect me to—what? Trust you?"

Her challenge hung in the air, and Davis paused, sizing her up. She was sharp and quicker than most of the clients he dealt with. But he couldn't afford to let this slip away. There was too much at stake, and too many threads were already in play.

"I'm not asking you to trust me, Ms. Kingston," he said evenly, his voice lowering just a fraction. "I'm asking you to hear me out."

She didn't back down. Her arms remained crossed, her stance defensive. She was trying to maintain control of the situation, but Davis could sense the uncertainty in her. She wasn't used to being in the dark, and it unnerved her.

"Hear you out?" she echoed, her eyes narrowing. "You haven't exactly given me much to go on. All I know is that some mess happened outside my shop, and now I'm being dragged into it. What makes you think I even need your help?"

Davis straightened his posture, stepping just a fraction closer. He could feel the tension simmering between them, the unspoken push and pull. His sharp, tailored suit contrasted with the cozy softness of the bakery, his world of law and precision a world apart from hers.

"You're the owner of this establishment," he replied, his tone measured, and controlled. "Which means you're involved whether you want to be or not. There was a crime committed outside your shop, and unfortunately, that ties you to the investigation."

He saw the way her posture faltered, just for a moment. She knew he was right. He could see it in the way her eyes darted from him to the business card lying on the counter. She didn't want to admit it, but the reality of the situation was sinking in.

"And what's in it for you?" she shot back, her voice sharp again. "Why are you so invested in helping me? You don't even know me."

That question, that doubt—it was always the same. People didn't trust the system, didn't trust lawyers like him. They always assumed there was an angle, some hidden agenda. And they weren't wrong. Everyone had a reason for what they did.

Davis let her words linger for a moment before stepping forward, closing the gap between them. His cologne—a subtle, expensive scent—drifted through the air, mixing with the sugary warmth of the bakery. The contrast was stark, but he didn't flinch.

"I don't have to know you, Ms. Kingston," he said, his voice quieter now. "But I know how these cases work. And if you're not careful, you could lose a lot more than just your bakery."

He didn't sugarcoat the truth. He never did. The bluntness of his statement had the desired effect—her expression wavered, and he saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes. She was fighting it, but deep down, she knew she needed help.

"And you're just here to save the day, huh?" she challenged again, trying to regain control of the conversation. "You show up out of nowhere, flash a fancy business card, and I'm supposed to believe you're the answer to my problems?"

Davis remained composed, not letting her words rattle him. He'd dealt with tougher clients than this. But there was something about Sadira's resistance that intrigued him. She wasn't like most people—there was a fire behind her eyes, a stubbornness that made her unpredictable.

"I'm not here to save anyone," he said, locking eyes with her. "I'm here because you need someone who knows how this system works. You don't have to like me, but you do need me."

He watched her as the words sank in, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. He could see the wheels turning in her head, the internal struggle playing out on her face. She didn't want to admit it, but he could tell—she was considering his offer.

Her hand hovered over the business card again, her fingers brushing against the smooth paper. She was hesitating, torn between her instinct to push him away and the cold reality of the situation.

"I don't know," she muttered, quieter this time. "This all feels... wrong."

Davis didn't push. He let the silence stretch between them, giving her time to process everything. He knew when to apply pressure and when to let someone come to their own conclusion. This was one of those moments.

"It's not going to be easy," he finally said, his voice softening just slightly. "But I can help you. That's why I'm here."

She looked up at him, and for the first time, Davis saw the crack in her defenses. She was vulnerable, unsure of what to do next. He had her attention, and that was enough for now.

With a quiet sigh, she finally reached for the card and slipped it into her apron pocket, her fingers trembling just slightly.

"Okay," she whispered, almost as if the decision pained her. "I'll think about it."

Davis gave a small nod, knowing this was as much of a victory as he could expect. He didn't need her trust right now—just her consideration. That was enough.

"Take your time," he said smoothly, his tone returning to its usual calm. "I'll be in touch."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked toward the door, the polished click of his shoes echoing against the bakery's marble floor. As he reached for the handle, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, watching as Sadira stood frozen behind the counter, her fingers still brushing against the card in her pocket.

She was in over her head. She just didn't realize how deep yet.

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