Holy shit. This is happening.
“Twenty percent equity,” I murmur, more to myself than to Cameron. I was bracing myself for forty. Most investors would laugh in my face at twenty percent for this kind of capital.
I flip to the next page, my hands trembling slightly, and peer over at Cameron, who’s tracking my every movement like a hawk. “Your lawyer was okay with this?”
“My lawyer tried to push for more equity.” He shrugs. “I told him to fuck off.”
Warmth unfurls in my chest, but I shove it down and keep reading. A couple of sections down, I pause and go back, rereading to make sure I’m understanding correctly.
“Nondisclosure clause,” I say, tapping the paper. “You can’t tell anyone you’re an investor without my written consent. Not even your teammates?”
“Not even my teammates,” he confirms. “As far as anyone’s concerned, the bank approved your loan. This is between you, me, and our lawyers.”
“What’s this about IP rights?” I ask, needing to focus on something concrete before I embarrass myself by getting emotional.
“I have no claim to any recipes, branding, trade secrets, or anything like that. If you develop the next cronut or whatever, that’s your intellectual property.”
“Cronut,” I repeat, fighting a smile. “Very current reference.”
He grunts and taps his fingers against the table. “I don’t know what’s trendy in the pastry world.”
I chuckle, then get back to reading. I’m another three pages in when a phrase catches my eye. “Wait.” I drag my finger over it. “What’s this clause about ‘investor has right to quarterly financial reviews’?”
He hovers closer, his focus on the document. “Standard stuff. I’m putting a significant amount of money in. I need to know the business is stable.”
My stomach twists. “You’ll look at my books and judge whether I’m doing a good enough job?”
“It’s not about judgment,” he says, his tone quiet. “It’s about transparency. You’d do the same if you were in my position.”
“I wouldn’t be in your position because I don’t have money to throw at people’s dreams,” I snap. The moment the words are out, I regret them.Fuck. I close my eyes. “Sorry. That was?—”
“Fair,” he interrupts, which makes it worse somehow. “But for the record, I’m not throwing money at your dream. I’m investing in a solid business plan. There’s a difference.”
I read the clause again, slower this time. What if, six months from now, he regrets this? What if the numbers aren’t good? What if he looks at my financials and realizes he bet on the wrong person?
“What if I fail?” The question comes out smaller than I intended.
“Then we figure it out.” His voice is steady, certain. “The clause doesn’t give me any control, Kennedy. I can’t fire you or override your decisions. I can only see what’s happening.”
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly it hurts. Attention set on the document, I just breathe, giving myself a moment to look at the proof. It’s right in front of me. Someone—Cameron fucking Davies, of all people—believes in me enough to put his money where his mouth is. I continue reading, asking a question here and there, and eventually sit back and nod. “It looks good to me, but I’m going to have my lawyer look it over before I sign.”
I don’t have a lawyer, but I do have an old law school friend. One I made a last-minute anniversary cake for when he forgot, so he owes me big time.
The lines around Cameron’s eyes crinkle as he grins. That simple look has me fighting the urge to fan my face.
“Now.” I shift in my seat and clear my throat. “Let’s talk about the part where I have to pretend to be madly in love with you.”
His smile drops abruptly. “I never said madly in love. Just dating.”
“Fake dating,” I correct. That word feels important right now. “We should probably establish some rules and figure out what Operation Fake Girlfriend looks like.”
He shoots me an incredulous look. “Operation Fake Girlfriend?”
“Every good plan needs a name,” I tell him. “So what are you thinking?”
“Honestly, I haven’t thought that far ahead.” He roughs a hand down his face. “I’ve never fake-dated anyone before.”
“Neither have I.” I rest my elbow on the table and my chin in my cupped hand. “You know, if you heeded my advice to watch reality TV, you’d have a better understanding of fake relationships in general.”
