Unrestrained Max

Words: 3.5k

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[Le Jardin Privé – Private Dining Room]

Max Black had been through a lot in her life.

She had waited tables at the worst diner in Brooklyn. She had survived years of scraping by, dodging bills like an Olympic champion. She had endured Caroline's stressful lectures, Han's inappropriate jokes, and Sophie's very detailed sex stories over breakfast.

But nothing... Absolutely nothing could have prepared her for this moment.

Sitting across from Alex Wilson, Hollywood's golden boy, at a private table filled with a five-star Southern comfort feast, while he sipped his wine and casually asked:

"So, how much do you need?"

Max blinked, her fork frozen mid-air. "Huh?"

Alex smirked, setting his glass down. "To open your cupcake shop. A real one. Not scraping by. I mean a proper bakery. How much do you need to make it happen?"

Max stared at him, completely thrown off. "Wait. Are we… are we actually talking business now? I thought we were still in the phase where I pretend this isn't a date and you pretend you don't want to sleep with me."

Alex's lips twitched, but he didn't take the bait. "I'm serious, Max. Give me a number."

Max exhaled, leaning back in her chair. "Oh, I don't know… a lot of money. More than I'll ever see in this lifetime unless I suddenly marry rich," She stopped, eyes narrowing. "Which, by the way, I'm still open to, if you're volunteering, Daddy Warbucks."

Alex chuckled. "Tempting. But you don't know much about me. I don't know much about you. So, right now, I'd rather invest in you."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Wow. That's the least romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."

Alex tilted his head. "Would you rather I seduce you or fund your cupcake empire?"

Max pretended to think. "Hmm… ideally? Both. But since one of those comes with guaranteed orgasms and the other with a terrifying amount of responsibility, I need a minute to decide."

Alex smirked, clearly enjoying this. "Take your time."

Max exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. "Okay, okay. Real talk? I don't have an exact number, but…" She hesitated, then sighed. "Caroline does."

"Good," Alex said, swirling his wine. "What's the number?"

Max bit her lip. She knew exactly what Caroline had calculated down to the cent. Rent, equipment, permits, ingredients, marketing— the full package.

$250,000.

A quarter of a million dollars.

Saying it out loud felt… surreal.

It wasn't just "paying the rent" money. It wasn't just "keeping the lights on" money. It was real business money. Stability. Growth. A future.

And it was more money than she had ever dared to dream about actually having.

Her throat felt dry. She swallowed, forcing herself to look at Alex's infuriatingly unreadable face. "Two hundred and fifty grand."

Alex nodded, taking a slow sip of wine. "Alright."

Max frowned. "Alright… what?"

Alex set his glass down, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His blue eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unwavering.

"I'll give it to you."

Silence.

Max blinked. "What?"

Alex leaned back, completely calm. "I'll invest. 250K. Full funding. No strings attached."

Max choked on air. "I—are you—EXCUSE ME?!"

Alex smirked. "I guess that's a yes?"

Max shot out of her chair so fast it nearly toppled over. "Hold the fuck up, Richie Rich! You do not just casually drop a quarter of a million dollars on the table like you're offering me extra fries!"

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Max flailed. "BECAUSE THAT'S INSANE!"

Alex just shrugged, completely unfazed. "Not to me."

Max gawked at him. "Oh my God, you're serious. You're actually serious."

Alex smirked. "Very."

Max planted her hands on the table, staring him down. "Okay. No offense, Daddy Warbucks, but rich guys don't just hand out money for fun. There's always a catch. So what's yours?"

Alex leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "No catch, Max."

Max squinted at Alex like he had just grown a second head.

"Okay, so let me get this straight," she said, crossing her arms. "You're offering me a quarter of a million dollars... for free?"

Alex smirked. "Not for free. It's an investment."

Max huffed, pacing a little. "Right. An investment. Which, in rich-people language, means 'I own you now.'"

Alex chuckled. "Max..."

"No, no, no," Max cut in, pointing a finger at him. "I know how this goes. This is the part where you tell me I have to sell my soul or some other kinky shit." She narrowed her eyes. "So let's just cut to the chase. Do you want me to sleep with you?"

Alex blinked. Then smirked. "I mean, I wouldn't say no, but—"

Max groaned. "AHA! I KNEW IT!" She threw her hands up dramatically. "You DO want something! You want me to be your personal little plaything! Your own private cupcake girl, all covered in sugar and cream, ready to be devoured at your convenience..."

'Dang! This girl. Control, Alex. Don't get a boner now,' Alex leaned back, clearly amused. "Now that's a visual."

Max pointed at him again. "Oh, don't you start picturing it, Moneybags. I know your type. You're gonna want me to call you 'Daddy' and make me wear lingerie made of hundred-dollar bills while I hand-feed you cupcakes and purr 'yes, sir, anything for my sugar daddy investor.'" (She said it.😂😂)

Alex fought back a laugh. "Would you do it?"

Max narrowed her eyes. "Only if I get health insurance and a company car."

Alex finally let out a full laugh, shaking his head. "Jesus, Max."

She plopped back into her chair, crossing her arms. "Look, if you want a personal sex slave, just say it. If you want me to be your cum dumpster, fine, but I'm gonna need a 401(k) and dental."

Alex choked on his wine. 'What the hell?!'

Max leaned in, dead serious. "Do you know how expensive dental is, Alex?"

He coughed, clearing his throat. "I—"

"EXACTLY," Max cut in. "I gotta think ahead. My teeth are my moneymakers. I can't be selling cupcakes with a jacked-up grill. Oh, I need my boobs insured and my ass too. Maybe my entire body."

Alex exhaled, shaking his head in amusement. "Max, I don't want you to be my personal sex slave."

She crossed her arms. "That's what a sex slave owner would say."

He smirked. "And yet, here I am, offering you a legitimate business deal."

Max narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Define 'legitimate.' Because if at any point you expect me to kneel and call you Master Wilson, I'm gonna need a pay raise."

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his nose as if trying very, very hard not to lose it. "Max…"

She smirked. "Go on, tell me your big, scary catch, Mr. Moneybags."

Alex met her gaze, his expression turning effortlessly smooth, effortlessly controlled. Too controlled. "It's simple."

Max squinted. "Nothing about rich people and their money is simple."

Alex leaned forward slightly, swirling his wine glass. "You take the money, open your bakery, and slowly pay me back from the profits."

Max blinked. "Wait. That's it?"

Alex nodded. "I'll take 20% of your profits until I make back my investment. With 5% interest. After that? It's all yours."

Silence.

Max just… stared at him.

Then she tilted her head. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Dead serious."

Max opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

"…No sex slave contract?"

"No sex slave contract."

"No 'I own your soul' clause?"

"Nope."

Max drummed her fingers on the table. "No weird, secret rich-people blood ritual?"

Alex smirked. "Not unless you want one."

Max exhaled dramatically, slumping back in her chair. "Well, this is disappointing. Here I was, thinking of frosting myself and presenting my cream-covered body to you, and all you're asking for is a reasonable business agreement."

'Oh, God! Help me,' Alex chuckled, shaking his head. "Max, I don't need a 'sugar baby.' And that frosting part is very tempting. So, don't push further or I might do something very regrettable. Ahem, anyway, I need a business partner. Someone who knows how to turn cupcakes into money. And you? You do."

Max chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying not to let his words hit too deep.

Because, damn it, no one had ever talked about her like that.

Like she was smart. Like she was capable. Like she deserved success.

Like she wasn't just barely getting by.

She swallowed hard.

Then, because she didn't know how to process a genuine compliment without making it weird, she smirked. "Well, I don't usually accept business proposals without a little foreplay first, but I guess I can make an exception."

Alex chuckled, sipping his wine. "Good. Because I already have a lease picked out for you."

Max choked. "WHAT?!"

Alex smirked. "Relax, Black. We have work to do."

Max grabbed her wine glass, downed half of it in one go, and exhaled.

"What the hell have I just gotten myself into?"

Alex smirked. "Success."

Max narrowed her eyes. "Goddamn it. That sounded hot."

Alex grinned. "Welcome to the big leagues, Cupcake Queen."

[Approx. 1 minutes later]

Max Black was having a crisis. She was eating and her brain was overworking as usual. 

Not the fun kind of crisis where you wake up next to a hot stranger and try to piece together the night before. No, this was a full-blown, existential, "what the fuck did I just say?" crisis.

Because, Jesus Christ, she had actually used the phrase "cum dumpster" in a business conversation.

With Alex Wilson.

A billionaire. A Hollywood mogul. A man who literally owned movie studios and could probably buy a small country if he felt like it. 

And she, Max Black, had just spewed absolute filth across the dinner table like some kind of unhinged lunatic.

'What the fuck is wrong with me???'

She stared down at her plate, aggressively shoving mashed potatoes into her mouth to avoid eye contact. Because if she looked at him now, she might actually die.

Alex, meanwhile, was eating like nothing happened.

Which was so much worse.

Because that meant he was processing what she had said.

He was sitting there, sipping his wine, probably reevaluating every decision that led to him inviting this absolute feral gremlin to dinner.

'Oh God. What if he thinks I'm a pervert??'

What if he thinks she's one of those girls? The kind who just throws themselves at rich guys?

Max chewed aggressively. 'Shit. I gotta fix this.'

But how the hell do you casually recover from saying something like "Do you want me to be your personal cum dumpster?"

(She had to stop thinking about it or she was gonna have a goddamn aneurysm.)

The silence stretched.

She had to say something.

'Apologize, Max. For once in your life, be an actual, functioning human being and apologize.'

She cleared her throat. "Sooo... uh..."

Alex glanced up, still looking infuriatingly composed. "Hmm?"

Max shifted in her chair, suddenly feeling way too hot in this stupid dress. She ran a hand through her hair, let out a slow breath, then...

"I'm sorry," she blurted out.

Alex raised an eyebrow.

Max groaned, rubbing her forehead. "I mean, Jesus, I just said the words 'cum dumpster' during a business meeting, and I—ugh."

Alex smirked. "Regrets, Black?"

Max exhaled sharply. "Look, I know I come on strong, okay? It's just... it's a reflex. When I get nervous, I talk. And sometimes, the filter between my brain and my mouth just... ceases to exist."

Alex chuckled, taking another sip of wine. "Noticed."

Max groaned again. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Moneybags."

Alex set his glass down and leaned forward slightly, his blue eyes locked onto hers with a mix of amusement and something else. Something deeper.

"Max," he said smoothly. "If I were offended by anything you said, do you think I'd still be sitting here?"

Max hesitated. "I mean... you are a rich guy. Rich guys are weird. Maybe you secretly like being insulted. Maybe this is some kind of high-stakes billionaire kink where you get off on women calling you a sugar daddy and threatening to unionize your sex slaves."

Alex let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, Black."

Max waved a hand. "Look, all I'm saying is... I wouldn't judge you. Kinks are kinks. If you wanna roleplay as a misunderstood business mogul being seduced by a poor but incredibly charming baker, I mean, who am I to say no?"

Alex exhaled through his nose, his smirk widening. "Max."

She huffed, looking away. "What?"

"You don't have to apologize."

Max blinked.

Wait.

What?

Alex leaned back, swirling the last of his wine in his glass. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. I already know who you are."

Max narrowed her eyes. "Yeah? And who's that?"

Alex's smirk softened, just slightly. "A woman who's had to fight for every goddamn thing in her life. A woman who's had to rely on her wit and sarcasm to survive. A woman who..."

He paused, setting his glass down, his voice lowering just enough to make her pulse quicken.

"...has never been given anything just because she deserved it."

Max's breath hitched.

Her stomach twisted.

Because... fuck.

He saw her.

Like, actually saw her.

Not just as the loud, sarcastic, borderline-insane Brooklyn waitress who made everything a joke.

Not just as the girl who survived off caffeine, bad decisions, and a rapidly declining will to live.

But as someone who was used to being overlooked.

And now? Now he was just sitting there, looking at her like she was worth something.

'Goddamn it.'

Max swallowed, staring at the table.

She took a deep breath.

Then, in a voice quieter than she wanted it to be, she said:

"I don't expect people to believe in me, Alex."

He didn't react. He just waited.

Max let out a slow, shaky exhale.

"I mean... no one ever has before. Not really. The only thing people ever expect from me is a joke. Or sex." She swallowed. "And honestly? Those are kinda the only things I expect from myself, too."

Alex didn't interrupt.

Didn't pity her.

He just listened.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Max laughed, but it was hollow. "I mean, I don't do the whole 'dreams coming true' thing, you know? That's... not my life. My life is scraping by. It's telling myself 'this is enough' even when it's not. It's surviving, not succeeding."

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.

"So, yeah. When you just casually throw 'Hey, here's 250K, go be successful' at me, I panic. Because that's not supposed to happen to people like me."

She finally looked up at him.

And Alex?

Alex was just... watching her.

Not with judgment.

Not with amusement.

But with something deep, something quiet and unreadable.

Finally, he spoke.

"People like you?"

Max exhaled, half-laughing. "You know what I mean, Moneybags."

Alex tilted his head, studying her.

Then, in a voice low and certain, he said:

"You are supposed to succeed, Max. You just haven't been given the fucking chance."

Max froze.

Her chest ached.

Because that?

That was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

And she had no fucking idea what to do with it.

So, naturally, she ruined the moment.

"Ugh. Stop it. If you keep saying shit like that, I'm gonna start thinking you have a heart."

Alex smirked, taking another bite of his steak. "You? Thinking?"

Max gasped dramatically. "HOW DARE YOU."

Alex chuckled. "Feeling better now, Black?"

Max huffed, stabbing her fork into her mac and cheese. "No. You're ruining my brand. If people find out I have feelings, I'll never recover."

Alex smirked, shaking his head. "Tragic."

Max took a deep breath.

She still didn't fully trust this.

Didn't fully trust him.

But for the first time in a long time... she wanted to try.

"Okay," she finally said.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

Max nodded, smirking. "Okay, I'll take your stupid rich-person money."

Alex grinned.

"Good," he said. "Now shut up and eat, Cupcake Queen."

Max rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Daddy Warbucks."

And just like that, the world shifted.

For the first time, Max had something real.

And Alex?

He had no idea what he just got himself into.

But damn, was he looking forward to it.

...

[After dinner]

Max was full. Too full.

She hadn't just eaten—she had demolished that meal. Every buttery, crispy, cheesy, deep-fried, artery-clogging bite. And now?

She was slumped back in Alex's car, one hand resting on her stomach, the other lazily holding her purse. She took her sweet time to gather her thoughts for like ten minutes or so of silence... Then she broke the silence...

"Oh my god," she groaned. "I think I just had a religious experience."

Alex smirked, glancing at her as he pulled onto the main road. "Satisfied?"

Max let out a dramatic sigh, eyes half-lidded. "I might be too full to function." She patted her stomach. "Tell my abs I'll miss them."

He chuckled. "You have abs?"

Max narrowed her eyes. "Excuse you, I have theoretical abs. They exist beneath layers of survival calories and my natural assets." She winked. 

He smirked. "Right. Sure."

Max groaned again, stretching slightly. "I'm telling you, Wilson, if you're trying to impress me, you're succeeding. First, the money, then the food. If you throw in a foot massage, I might actually propose."

Alex smirked, eyes still on the road. "A foot massage, huh?" He let the words linger, rolling them around his tongue like a fine wine. Then, with a casual shrug, he added, "I'd love to, if you want."

Max blinked.

Wait.

What?

She sat up a little, stomach full but suddenly feeling way too lightheaded. "Hold up. You... you'd actually do that?"

Alex smirked but kept his face maddeningly unreadable. "Sure. Why not?"

Max narrowed her eyes. "Don't mess with me, Richie Rich. Foot massages are a sacred act. That's not a joke offer. That's, like, 'take me home to meet your mom' levels of commitment."

Alex chuckled. "I didn't realize I was making a lifelong vow by offering to rub your feet."

Max pointed at him dramatically. "Damn right, you are! You can't just throw that out there and expect me not to—" She cut herself off, suddenly realizing something.

Her head tilted.

"…Wait. Where the hell are we going?"

Because now that she was paying attention, she realized they weren't heading back to her place. Or any place she recognized, for that matter.

Alex's lips twitched like he'd been waiting for her to catch on. "Oh. Right." He gave a lazy, knowing glance at her before looking back at the road. "I figured we should stop by your new shop."

Max blinked again.

Her brain lagged.

"…My what?"

Alex sighed dramatically, like he was explaining something simple to a particularly dense puppy. "Your bakery, Max. The one you're going to open. You didn't think I'd just hand you a check and call it a day, did you?"

Max just stared at him.

Mouth slightly open.

Trying to process.

Trying very, very hard not to freak out.

Because... Because what the actual fuck?

She was still hung up on the foot massage, and now this man was casually dropping the fact that he had already bought her a goddamn bakery?

Her bakery?

Like it was nothing?!

Max inhaled sharply. "You... Are you kidding me? You already picked a place?"

Alex smirked, eyes glinting. "Of course. I do my homework, Cupcake Queen."

Max made an incoherent noise, somewhere between a groan and a strangled scream. "Okay, no. No, no, no. This is... this is way too much. First, the money, then the food, now you're just... just giving me a whole ass bakery?" She threw her hands up. "What's next? A pony? A goddamn diamond-encrusted spatula?"

He chuckled, completely unbothered by her meltdown. "Would you like one?"

She pointed at him again. "STOP IT."

Alex grinned. "Relax, Max. It's just a lease."

She gawked at him. "You call dropping a quarter of a million dollars 'just a lease'?"

Alex shrugged. "For me, yeah."

She let out a strangled sound. "Oh my God, I hate rich people."

He laughed. "You'll love this place."

Max crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat. "No, no, I refuse to get excited. I don't trust you."

Alex glanced at her, smirking. "You're already excited."

Max huffed. "I'm—no, I am not."

Alex tilted his head. "Mhm. So, you don't want that foot massage either?"

Max opened her mouth. Closed it.

Freaking hell.

She hated him.

And worse?

She really, really wanted to see this damn shop and that foot massage.

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[9 advance chs] [All chs available for all tiers] 

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