Alex
“If he wants to go public, stock exchanges are going to require him to become a C-Corporation.” I cock my head to the side as I loosen my tie, knowing it’s not actually the silk fabric that has me feeling like I’m suffocating. This is the third phone call in four hours from my PA regarding Titan Industries’ decision to start raising capital through the sale of shares. “Well, that’s the price you pay when you want to go on an open market, darling.” I can hear her anxiety through the rattle in her tone. She’s simply relaying messages, and I have no real reason to take my frustrations out on her. I close my eyes and roll my shoulders in an attempt to relax before I continue. “If he doesn’t agree with the disclosure requirements tell him to contact the SEC. Look, I’ve got to run. Take tomorrow off. I’ll handle Titan,” I tell her, hearing an immediate sigh of relief on the other end.
“Yes, sir,” she replies, obedient and relieved. I click the red circle and lay my cell phone face down on the tiny square table in front of me. No more distractions for the moment.
The scent of a freshly ground French roast fills the air of the busy coffee shop. Couples and business colleagues share tables all around me. Conversations buzz in my ear, but I tune them out to nothing more than background noise. I’m in my usual corner seat near the window where I can collect my thoughts, uninterrupted. I don’t come here for the coffee. Most of the time I don’t even finish my cup. I come here for the atmosphere. I come here to people watch. I come here because it reminds me there’s life outside of boardrooms and boxing rings.
“Venti nonfat vanilla latte,” the barista calls out into the mass of laptop-bearing hipsters. The fact that there’s no name on the order peaks my interest, so I watch as she calls out a second time and waits for the owner to collect their beverage.
Red t-shirt, black cropped leggings, and gray Converse. Platinum blonde ponytail and an ass… Fuck me, now that’s an ass. “Nonfat latte” smiles at the barista as she takes her cup from the counter and scans the café for an empty table. Noting they’re all occupied, she lifts her chin in resolve, inhales a deep breath as if to accept defeat, and starts toward the door. There’s something about her that pulls me in, and I can’t seem to look away. Something that goes beyond her outward beauty, something in the way she seems to embrace the fact that there are no vacant tables available for her to relax. Something about the way she almost seems to see it as a challenge. As if the world is daring her to find another way to enjoy her solitude and she’s silently whispering, “Bring it on.”
I have to meet her. I need to know more about her. Impulse takes over and I rush to her side just before she reaches the door. “There,” I say, giving a nod to the now empty table in the corner, “I’m leaving. It’s all yours.” Not that I want to leave. I’d much rather sit and have coffee with this breathtaking stranger, but I’m afraid that’s not an option right now. I flash her a grin and raise my cup as some sort of coffee drinkers salute. Lame, Alex. That’s all you got?
Her golden-brown eyes meet mine. It’s brief, but it’s enough to send an electric current straight through my veins. Then she quickly looks away. “Thank you,” she says, her voice the most hypnotizing, soft soprano I’ve ever heard. Echoes of that voice singing my name while I make her body shiver, bounce around in my head. I swallow hard to keep from asking her to leave with me right this very moment so I can hear it for real.
“My pleasure,” I return, forcing myself to remember I’m a gentleman. She responds with a smile. It’s delicate and poised, and... rehearsed. One thing I’ve learned over the past year and a half is that the people in this city are nothing like those back in New Orleans. Even though Miami lies at the tip of Florida, there’s not much southern hospitality to be found here. But that’s not what prompted her reaction. She didn’t force a smile to be rude or sarcastic. No. She’s different. She’s like me. She doesn’t belong here with the fast-paced, flashy car lifestyle. So why the fake smile? Before I have any more time to psychoanalyze a woman I’ve only just met, she turns and walks away. And just like that, our moment is over.
Outside, I dip my hand into the pocket of my charcoal trousers for my car keys and realize I don’t feel my phone. Shit. I’ve left it inside the coffee shop. At the table. At her table. I throw my head back, questioning the heavens, and sigh. Now, I’ve got to walk in there and look like one of two men: The guy who left his cell phone as a ploy to talk to a beautiful woman, or the guy who left his cell phone because he can’t seem to keep his shit together in front of a beautiful woman.
I turn to catch a glimpse through the window, just to see if she’s actually taken the table I abandoned. And there she is, one eyebrow cocked in amusement, holding my phone against the glass. I chuckle and she shrugs. Here goes nothing...
“Your wife called. She’s leaving you for the pool guy,” she says, flatly as she casually sips her nonfat latte. Oh, she’s got jokes? Her shift in demeanor throws me off-kilter for a moment, but I catch up straightaway.
“Dammit. That’s the third one this year.” I hang my head and decide to play along. I’ll take lighthearted banter over nervous smiles all day long.
“Maybe you should stop buying houses with pools,” she says, almost apologetically, over the white plastic lid of her cup. Her bottom lip rests on the wide rim, leaving a slight part between it and her top one. Her mouth forms a slight “o” as she softly blows into the tiny hole to cool the liquid before taking another sip. The entire presentation is positively sensual, and I can’t take my eyes off it. I immediately imagine her on her knees, those same lips, parted, gently blowing against the tip of my cock. Right before her tongue snakes out for a taste.
The room suddenly begins to shrink. The background noise fades away. And all that’s left is the two of us. This woman, in a matter of minutes, has managed to mesmerize me completely. She looks up at me beneath long lashes, waiting for a response. “Or I could just learn to clean them myself,” I say, with a chuckle. I have to laugh. It’s the only thing keeping me from looking like a total creep right now. Jesus, what is happening to me?
She places her cup on the table and starts to remove the lid. There’s a creamy froth on the surface and I have no doubt the moment she takes another sip, it will leave its mark on her lip. She’ll, in turn, lick it off. And I will come undone. I’ve just played the entire make-believe scene out in my filthy, twisted mind as if it were actually unfolding before me. I need to get a grip. Nothing good can come from this.
“Ah, a do-it-yourselfer,” she almost sings, a mischievous glint in her eye. “A woman’s dream.” She’s flirting. She’s fucking flirting. Time to go.
I reach to take my phone from the table just as she reaches out to hand it to me. My hand lands on top of hers, and her eyes fall to our connection. Her skin is so soft, so delicate. I bet her touch feels like heaven. Fuck. This is insane. I don’t even know her. I slip my hand from hers and glance at my phone screen before stuffing it in my pocket. There’s nothing there, but I need an out. “Needy clients. I gotta go. Thank you, though.” My words are choppy, rushed. Her smile fades, and I instantly regret them, hoping she hasn’t taken offense. “See ya,” I add, knowing I probably never will.
“See ya,” she says, waggling her fingers as she dips her delicious mouth into the milky froth. I walk away before I see anything more. Because this woman is a flame. And I am a spellbound moth. And we all know the fate of the moth.
Emma
The minute the handsome stranger walks out of the door my phone rings, as if Bastian has a guy-dar app installed on my home screen letting him know there has recently been a penis within five feet of me.
“Hey, baby.”
It’s a romantic gesture, but there’s nothing endearing behind the term. It’s a right of possession, proof of ownership. I think carefully before I respond. If I just say, “Hello,” he will assume I’m irritated he called. If I sound too sweet, he will presume I’m hiding something. No, I have to play this exactly right to avoid an argument. That’s too much thinking, Emma. Don’t take too long.
“Hi, honey,” I say, sweetly, but not excessively so.
Bastian thinks I’m running errands for his car dealership. If he knew I stopped for coffee, I’d probably be lectured on how “time is money, babe.” I just spent two hours at the DMV dropping off paperwork and picking up tags. Surely, I’ve earned a cup of coffee.
“How was the DMV? You get everything done?”
Now, in any normal relationship, a girl could happily answer with a “Yes, I stopped to grab a cup of coffee. Want me to bring you back anything?” But ours isn’t a normal relationship, and the thought of him knowing I’ve spent $4 on a cup of coffee terrifies me. Because it’s $4 he worked for, and I didn’t. Answer carefully. “Everything went great. I’ll be back at the dealership in a few. Do you need anything?”
“Some coffee would be great.”
He knows. Of course, he knows. I carelessly used a debit card, and I’m dating the man who checks his bank account app more than a frat boy checks Tinder. I force a smile, hoping he can hear it in my voice. “I thought you might, and I’m already on it,” I lie.
“That’s my girl,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s actually proud of me or if the compliment is a cleverly veiled reprimand.
Shit. Now to pray I have enough change in my car for another cup of coffee.
It’s only seven blocks back to the dealership from the cafe, and the entire drive there my mind is locked on brown eyes and unruly curls. I’ve never so much as thought about speaking to another man in the five years I’ve been with Bastain. I’ve caused him enough pain. I’d never intentionally do any more damage than has already been done. Just the thought of it makes my stomach drop. I owe him more than I can ever repay. Yet here I was flirting with a stranger, wishing he hadn’t left. Hoping he didn’t have someone waiting on him, someone loving him. I know that’s selfish, since I do have someone waiting on me. It’s not fair of me to hope. This man made me feel… wanted. He made me feel special, like I was the only woman in the cafe. He actually laughed at me. Well, it was more of a chuckle, but it’s proof he thinks I’m funny. Me. Funny. Ha. Something about that sheds light in a part of my heart I was certain was destined for darkness. I don’t even have to close my eyes to remember every detail about him, the way his charcoal trousers hugged his thighs tight, and the loosened knot of his matching tie like he’d just had a long morning at the office. I imagine how lucky the woman who’d get to help him relax after a day like that would be. The moment he stopped me in the doorway, his voice wrapped around me like smooth velvet, and his eyes swept me away to a make-believe land where people meet in coffee shops and fall in love. From his seductive five o’clock shadow to the smell of his cologne, he screamed sex. And without explanation or reason I ache for him, all of him.