Between Love and Loathing: Dom and Clara’s Fake Dating Story (Hardy Billionaires)

“We made a mistake.” The doctor cleared his throat. “Well, we made a few mistakes.”

That’s never something a patient wants to hear during a visit. I stared up at the ceiling rather than at the doctor, trying to process as I held my own hand because no one was there to hold it for me.

“Some people manage this very well. It’s quite a blessing we found out when we did.”

I didn’t think a disease could be a blessing. Especially one without a cure. One with fatalities every year. I hated that he’d said those words.

But I tried to accept them while he talked on and on. It was a good thing I hadn’t driven because tears trekked down my face as soon as I folded into the Uber. Quickly, I grabbed my concealer and glanced in the compact’s mirror to check my cherry lipstick, wipe at my eyes, and confirm my mascara hadn’t budged. The redness of the rash on my cheeks was peeking through again so I blotted more cover-up on.

I had one more meeting today and tried to muster up the last amount of energy I had for it. No more tears, Clara.

When I showed up, my mother and sister were already gone and Mrs. Johnson motioned me into the room with no one from the extended family. Instead, the older woman smiled at Dominic Hardy, my stepfather’s trusted architectural engineer. Dominic and his brothers were the sons my stepfather never had. He doted on them and loved them like his own, which was understandable. The Hardy Family was hard not to like with four charming brothers and twin sisters who’d married infamous men. Yet, out of the six of them, Dominic was different.

“Why is Clara’s part of the will being read with mine?” His strong jaw ticked as he pointedly asked Mrs. Johnson without so much as a hello directed my way. I hadn’t expected anything different. Every time I was near Dominic, he didn’t even cast me a glance. He may have had the same dark, wavy hair, the same build, and the same color of green eyes as his younger brothers, but his were meaner. Colder. More ruthless.

Mrs. Johnson straightened her gold belt before tsking at him. “We’ll get to that.”

As he sat there with his piercing gaze and perfectly pressed suit tailored to his massive build, it was obvious he held himself in such a high regard that he couldn’t even be bothered to grace me with a nod of acknowledgement.

Normally, that would have been fine, but my emotions were frayed on every edge. I was running on empty and ready to snap at him in order to protect myself. A wounded, tired animal can be dangerous, and today, I was emotionally spent.

She waved to one of the seats next to Dominic and murmured, “Have a seat, Clara dear. How was the drive?”

“Oh, fine. The traffic was a little bad because of an accident on the freeway.”

Dominic checked his watch as if to draw attention to the time and my being five minutes late.

Immediately, the urge to apologize bubbled up. “I should have left earlier.”

“Now, how would you have known there would be traffic?” She waited a beat but when Dominic didn’t share in the sentiment, she hurried on, “Well, let’s get to it then. I’ve discussed Carl’s will with Dominic’s brother and your stepsister and explained that each of his stipulations within the will are rather unorthodox. Yours are no different.”

She slid papers across her desk slowly to both Dominic and me. My mother and sister would have lunged for the documentation, but I coiled away from it, not really wanting a gift in my stepfather’s death. His heart had given out suddenly, but it was like he knew it was coming, like he’d been preparing this will his whole life, and with him being the type of businessman he was, he probably had planned it somehow.

Carl Milton had ruled one of the biggest hospitality empires of the country with the four men he thought of as sons—the Hardy brothers, hence the Hardy Elite All-Access Team brand, also known as HEAT. There were HEAT watches, HEAT resorts, HEAT technology, HEAT everything everywhere, and my stepfather owned half of it all.

Until now.

“Dom, you’re the eldest of your siblings, and I think Carl trusted you to run the Pacific Coast Resort’s reopening for that very reason. Plus, you designed it and took pride in it.” Mrs. Johnson’s eyes shined with unshed tears. “I’m so happy to tell you that Carl is leaving the final design, operations, shares, and management to you.” She paused and flicked her eyes to me. “As long as you include Clara’s bakery within the resort.”

There was the twist. The knife in Dominic’s back; the reason this felt all wrong.

His mouth dropped open. I glanced at him and saw how his sun-kissed skin reddened. “There’s no room in the Pacific’s blueprints for a little bakery like hers.” He said the statement with disgust, his voice full of gravel and anger while his strong hands white-knuckled the arms of the chair he sat in.

“It’s not just a little bakery.” I couldn’t help snapping. “It’s a place that people gather and absolutely love, Dominic. It could be global.” I smoothed the black maxi dress I’d decided to wear today to honor Carl even though the color weighed me down.

“Yeah, here. They love it here, Clara. In Florida. Across the country, at the Pacific Coast Resort—where Carl hasn’t instilled your bakery for patrons to love—it’s going to be a hard sell.” So matter-of-factly Dominic Hardy threw knives at my self-confidence with his words. The man normally barely talked with me, but he had the audacity to now. With malice. With hate. “Are you up for that?”

Finally, he shifted his gaze to mine. Those green eyes with edges of dark jade seemed to cut at my mask of confidence, trying to find my weakness, to see if I was prepared for the challenge.

“Now, now,” Mrs. Johnson said before she rearranged her wired glasses. The frames matched her belt and gold pen as she tapped it on the sheet in front of her. “As you know, Carl came in frequently to change the stipulations of his will. He had a standing appointment scheduled on a monthly basis, and it does seem he had the current blueprints submitted.” The woman rummaged in a drawer before pulling out the papers and laying them out too. Then she took her pen and pointed to the middle of a blueprint in front of Dominic’s face as if he couldn’t see the gigantic space marring his perfect layout that read Clara’s Bakery.

“That’s going to be impossible. The construction to make that work would take—”

“Dominic, you’re just starting renovations, right? Surely you’ll be able to figure out where to fit a small bakery since you’ll be going from midsize to large scale with an additional two hundred thousand square feet, bringing this resort to near half a million.”

He crossed his massive arms over his chest. Everything about him was huge and hard as granite. He didn’t seem to bend to anyone, especially not to Mrs. Johnson … nor me.

Still, the elderly woman wasn’t deterred. She smiled at me like she was my fairy godmother. Then, she laid her hand on mine. “And you’ll own the bakery, Clara, because the one you have here will now be under your mother’s management.”

This was the biggest blow, the one that made it feel like my heart almost stopped. “That can’t be right.”

“Oh, honey, I know it seems harsh.” Mrs. Johnson shook her head of perfectly coiffed hair. “But Carl wanted this new bakery to be all yours.”

The bad day I’d thought I’d had at the doctor’s office morphed into catastrophic in that moment as I shook with something very close to desperation. Had Carl understood that the bakery here was everything to me? That I not only lost him but now the bakery too?

The emptiness of losing a parent stabs at you every day. It never goes away, never really heals. I didn’t know if he wanted me to cry or be strong here, if he thought I had the strength to do what he was asking.

“Right. My very own. I get it,” I grumbled, trying to picture what would even work best in another resort. I’d built the bakery here on the East Coast, and within this specific hotel, it did well. Yet it had been completed under my stepfather’s supervision, and the money went into a very large, very communal pot for the family.

“I’ll have to discuss this with my mother and my sis—”

“Your mother will want nothing to do with this.” Mrs. Johnson rolled her eyes and then it was like she was handing me glass slippers that would change my life as she continued, “Owning the bakery at the new resort will provide you with something that’s completely yours, without being tied to your mother and sister.”

I didn’t snatch the slippers yet, although I was tempted. Instead, I glanced at the man who hated me more in this moment than he ever had before. We’d never gotten along. He was too broody and quiet and was constantly working. There was always another responsibility that needed his attention so much so that he never stopped to enjoy a little treat. Not even when I offered him my desserts for free. “What if I decide this bakery isn’t for me?”

“It’s not. We don’t need it. We’ve planned for five restaurants and a whole pathway of shops weaving along the picturesque coastline. They are all within a block of the resort. Coffee, desserts, bakery, restaurants. Even ice cream. Housing another bakery within the resort doesn’t make sense.” He lifted a dark brow as he made clear that he didn’t need nor want me anywhere near his precious resort.

“Even so,” Mrs. Johnson said to Dominic, “it’s what Carl stipulated.” Turning her eyes to me, she said, “Otherwise, well, your mother still owns shares of the spa. You and your sister can always count on being taken care of by her.”

Yes, my mother. Melinda Milton.

She hadn’t explored doing something for her own success my whole life. She swam in different social circles and navigated the waters like a shark looking for blood. She’d found Carl probably when he was vulnerable and struck fast, sinking her teeth into an aging man who would help quench her hunger for elite status.

My stepfather delivered on most fronts for her and maybe he’d known somewhere deep down that this is what I needed. And maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to change the trajectory of my life.

“I’d like to make it work on the West Coast, too, then.” I said it softly, nodding my head.

Mrs. Johnson smiled at me with a twinkle in her blue eyes as Dominic cleared his throat. When I glanced at him, I saw the tendons in his neck straining, saw how his temple moved as his jaw ticked up and down too. “You know, I’m not going to help you, and you’ll have to follow all the design specs. You think you can handle that?”

My heart pounded as I replied, “Well, it’s obvious you don’t think I can.”

“Of course you can’t. You were spoon-fed your first business venture and are now being handed an even bigger opportunity.” He pinched the bridge of his perfect nose. “This isn’t some easy little journey, Clara. It takes work.”

Despite how rude he was, I could admit he wasn’t wrong. I took a deep breath and tried not to let him get the best of me.

“Mr. Hardy, this is her decision. The will does give her this space and states you both must approve the design. However, at the reopening, it will be hers.”

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I stuttered out.

Designing a place with him? The man could barely look at me, let alone work with me.

“You two must co-produce the plans for the bakery. And approval must be …” She glanced down at the paperwork in front of her, blew out a breath, and chuckled. “‘Harmonious.’ Carl must not have realized how hard that one was going to be.”

“Since it will be mine, it’s probably best for me to get what I want …” My voice trailed off as I glanced at Dominic, who was practically snarling at me.

His gaze flew to my hair and then traveled slowly over my body. This maxi dress usually made me feel comfortable, but it felt almost too revealing with him sizing me up the way he was. “It will be yours, Clara, but you can bet your ass it’ll be my design.”

Why did that statement cause shivers to travel down my spine?

“I’ll drive you home. We can discuss the blueprints.” I heard his voice behind me as I exited the building, punching in for another ride.

“Oh, I’m just going to grab a cab.”

“You don’t want to even discuss what the hell we have to do?” he asked, and anger laced through his tone enough that I gave in.

Once I stepped into the SUV, he told his driver where to go. Everyone knew the Miltons lived on a hill together, one wing for my sister and me, the other for my mother and Carl.

In my late twenties, the setup was getting old, but now my mother was mourning.

“I don’t know if I’m going to even sign it.”

“You have to.” He pulled his phone out, typing away on it. “And then just let me handle all the details.”

My heart squeezed at giving up another opportunity, but as we got closer and closer to my family’s estate, I lost more and more confidence in being able to pull this off. My family probably needed me here anyway.

Dominic and I didn’t say much to each other the rest of the ride. He must have figured he could convince me of everything later. Yet, when we got to the gated driveway of my home, my mother and the man I knew as her lover were outside.

Drunk.

Again.

“Oh, Jesus,” I whispered because this time my sister was out there too, waving wildly at them. I shut my eyes once and breathed in and out before I said, “You can just drop me here and please don’t …”

I glanced at Dominic as he took in the scene. Melinda Milton was a put together woman in public. Beautiful blonde hair, high cheek bones, thin and willowy, but mean eyes. She’d always had a glint in them and now, as she approached the vehicle, I knew her and her lover’s wrath would be turned on me.

When I went to open the door and get out though, Dominic pushed a button and the door didn’t open at all.

I whipped my head to him. “Let me out.”

He hummed as if he was considering and then shrugged. “She can talk to you here.” And instead of giving me a choice, he rolled down the window.

My mom wasn’t at all deterred. She and Hank peered in as she snarled, “Did Carl give you more than what I got?”

“Can we talk about this later, Mother? I had a doctor’s appointment today, too, and—”

Her posture tightened as her hands wrapped around the window edge. “You want me to ask how that went?” When she rolled her eyes, her whole body moved and Hank’s thick hand held her steady. “I hope they told you what I did. You’re ridiculous, and you’re fucking fine. Now, what did Mrs. Johnson say?”

The brush-off of my doctor’s visit should have been the last straw, but I kept trying. “I’ve been given the opportunity to open a bakery outside of Florida with Mr. Hardy.” I pointed to Dominic and tried to draw her attention to him, tried to make her see that having Hank out here right after Carl’s passing, acting this way, wasn’t acceptable.

“Are you kidding me?” she spit and then smoothed her blonde hair that was normally so perfect, so in place for everyone but us. “Where?”

“California. But, Mom, we have the spas, right? Nothing will change—”

“Everything changed the second Carl left us with less than everything he had. That man was always an asshole, but he really wanted to ruin my life when he died.”

Carl Milton was never cruel to her. He gave her most everything she wanted aside from the more that she asked for. My mother had wanted every share of his company when he’d had the heart attack that took his life. When she didn’t get it, she’d been furious. “It’s not that bad—”

“Anastasia!” my mother screamed over her shoulder and then shoved at Hank. “Hank, get her out of the car.”

Hank yanked at the door, his dark eyes wild. “Open this fucking door.”

Chewing at my lip, I glanced at Dominic and whispered, “Please.” But right as I did, Hank slammed his hand hard on the side of the car and I saw Dominic’s eyes change.

Before, they’d been empty, devoid of any emotion for me. Now, there was anger as he peered around me to say quietly, “Hit my car again, and I’ll be the one getting out of it. And you won’t like the result.”

My mother’s lover wasn’t big compared to Dominic. “Fuck this,” he grumbled backing away and spitting at my mother, “Handle your stupid children, Linda. I’ll be back later.” Then he was stomping off to another car as my mother’s tears started.

“This is all your fault, Clara.” Her vodka cocktail sloshed back and forth in the glass. “Get inside so we can talk about this.”

As Hank drove away, I closed my eyes. “Please unlock the door,” I asked Dominic again.

“You giving in to them so easily?”

I hated that when I stared into his green eyes, I saw disappointment filling them as I nodded. He sighed and pressed the button, his gaze following Hank’s car rolling down the driveway.

“You have my number and Evie’s if you need it,” he said softly before I opened the door and got out.

My mother was listening and scoffed as she yanked my elbow to pull me to her side. “She won’t be calling. She’ll be just fine. You can leave.”

After a long look, he did. Rolling up his window, he disappeared down the drive and out the gates.

My mother wrinkled her nose and her hand tightened on my elbow. “Are you trying to leave us? Leave your mother?”

“No. Of course not. The opportunity was—”

“She’s trying to leave us, Anastasia. I can’t stand even looking at her. She’s a disgrace.”

“Mother, I didn’t even do anything,” I whispered, hating how desperate I sounded.

“Exactly! You don’t ever do anything at all. That’s why Carl didn’t give you shit. I told you to be nice to him, didn’t I? I told you to date his friends, put on a good smile, not act like your ridiculous baking meant something. Look what it got you. A fucking bakery.”

Despite her harsh words, my heart swelled at the idea that the bakery could be my saving grace, that I could move away from her and work on my passion.

“Are you smiling right now?” She threw her glass down onto the cement, and I schooled my face immediately. My mother was the same height and same size as me, just much older. There shouldn’t have been fear there, but when she stepped toward me, I stepped back. “Do you think this is funny, Clara?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Anastasia, is your sister lying to me? Does she think this is funny?”

I glanced at my sister with pleading eyes. She knew I would never laugh at my mother. Anastasia sighed. “Clara, you have to learn. This is for the best.” With that, she looked at my mother and said softly, “She was smiling, Mother. She thinks this is a game.”

With that, my mother warped into a different woman. Gone was her soft tone, gone was her graceful movements, and gone was her will to reason. All that was left was a drunk monster who came at me fast and full of rage.

Maybe I should have fought her off, but this was a woman who had beaten me down for years, carefully crafting my fragile state of mind. As she hit me across the face, I was the one to apologize over and over.

“If you’re so sorry, you’ll go back and beg for more. That bakery isn’t an option. So, don’t even think about it.”

I thought about that bakery as my salvation every single day after that.

And I ended up signing on the dotted line.

Six months later

Dominic: This design for your bakery won’t work. Is that blown glass in the corner?

Clara: Yes. I can get it imported.

Dominic: Your answer should be no. The resort is based on architecture from the Milwaukee Art Museum. Modern. Sleek. White and black, Clara. Redo it.

Clara: Maybe I can be the splash of vibrancy and energy the resort needs.

Dominic: Maybe? I don’t enjoy splashes of color. This isn’t a kindergarten classroom. It’s a luxury resort.

Clara: Should I fly in and show you how I think it could work?

Dominic: I don’t need thoughts on how it would work. Renovations are going to take another nine months. There’s no point of you flying in now when we’re not working on it. Just seamlessly integrate minimalist aesthetics for a modern sophisticated look. Then, send it to my interior designer, Rita. She’ll be your contact.

Clara: But she’s not getting how to mix our two designs.

Dominic: There’s no mixing. If it’s absolutely necessary, I can have a conversation at eight tonight. I’m in town.

Clara: I have plans this evening, but I could do tomorrow.

Dominic: More important plans than your bakery?

Clara: Noah’s hockey game is tonight, and I promised I’d be there.

Dominic: So a boyfriend’s game is more important.

Clara: That’s not what I’m saying. But it’s important to him. And he’s a good friend.

Dominic: Sounds to me like you’re putting your boyfriend before the resort.

Clara: Dominic, I’m trying my best.

Dominic: Right, but do you think that’s good enough?

~Seven months later~

Clara: I think the pastel pink leather seating will work well with a signature truffle I’ll be making.

Dominic: No pink. Need I remind you Rita has been commissioned as the lead designer to bring modernism and a sleek look to the resort?

Clara: But I’m going to be the head baker. You should want me happy in there.

Dominic: You have to learn to be comfortable anywhere when you’re working with others.

Clara: Is that what you do?

Dominic: No. I’m the boss of this resort. I don’t bend to other’s tastes, Clara. You bend to mine.

Clara: I’ll be flying to California tomorrow to start testing the kitchen. Maybe we could meet then.

Dominic: You sure your friend doesn’t need you in the stands for his Stanley Cup bid?

Clara: If you’re insinuating I did something wrong by supporting my friend in the past, you’re wrong.

Dominic: If you say so.