Julian clicked his pen incessantly. When he caught himself, he tapped it on his desk instead.

This shouldn’t be bothering him. There were plenty of people on the planet who didn’t know who he was, so why was he so pissed off over this barista not knowing him? Was it because she was local? He thought everyone in this city knew him and knew his name. They should, for all he’d done here.

Or was it because she didn’t seem to care that she didn’t know him? And when she heard his name, it still hadn’t rung any bells? She didn’t give him the treatment he had become accustomed to getting. The other barista, that male, had been a little better when he’d called him “Mr. Kane.” At least he was showing some respect.

Don’t fool yourself, Julian, he thought. You know why.

He pictured her again. Her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, that delicate nose stud sparkling from the side of her perfect nose. Her creamy skin, smooth and so soft looking. Her breasts, threatening to bulge through her shirt. Those red lips, plump and waiting, smiling at him with no regard for his name or money.

Something about the whole encounter turned him on. He could barely walk when he’d gotten back to his office and now, sitting on the top floor of a building he owned, with his name plastered all over the place, staring out his tall windows over the city, he was hard again thinking about her.

He picked up the phone and his assistant answered.

“I need you to research someone,” Julian said. “A barista at Brew House. Leah. Long, dark hair, probably early twenties.”

“Got it.”

Julian hung up the phone. It wouldn’t take long for Aiden to get something on the girl. He wanted to know as much about her as he could. Then he would decide what to do with the information. What to do about her.

Later that afternoon, Aiden walked in with a folder. “Here’s the information you requested.”

“Thanks.” Julian set the folder down and tried to resist looking inside.

It was an exercise in self control, he told himself. She was jus a silly girl. Serving coffee no less. Why should she matter at all to him? She was nothing. And she didn’t even know his name.

He flipped open the folder and looked at the papers inside.

Leah Johns, 22. Just graduated college with a degree in fashion design. He scoffed at that. So not only was she a silly girl serving coffee, she was a silly girl who cared about nothing more than clothes and shopping. She would be the type to attempt to bleed him dry. Of course, he made too much to go broke, but she would try. Though, she did finish with a 4.0, and when he looked up the school, it wasn’t an easy program. Still. Fashion? Might be a huge industry, but it wasn’t one he was interested in.

Other details, like her birthdate, address, and phone number would come in handy someday. For now, he wanted to figure her out. Know more about her. Why was she working at a coffee shop instead of a clothing store? Wouldn’t someone like her, with that degree at least, want to work in a department store or boutique? Had she even tried to get a job in her industry, or had she given up when it became too difficult?

What else was she into? She had to have other hobbies and interests when she left work. Maybe she was the yoga type. She didn’t come off like much of a partier, and with a 4.0 GPA, it would have been difficult to drink her way through school. But, did she drink wine and enjoy wineries? Or did she hang out at bars and let creepy men hit on her? Did she go with them, thinking she wasn’t worth more than that, or did she blow them off and drink alone? Did she have a little dog that she walked every day or a cat that she cuddled with? Did she read often, and what sort of books? Probably romances, he decided.

By the next morning, he couldn’t take it anymore. He never did this, but today he’d make an exception. He packed up his laptop and headed to Brew House. Today, he would work from a coffee shop. Well, work and watch Leah. He wanted some of the questions answered, and he wanted to see more of her.

He walked inside and approached the counter. When she saw him, she stiffened. She forced a smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Kane,” she said.

Nicely done. He gave her a half smile. “Julian is fine.” He wanted to hear her say it, imagined her saying it over and over.

She took a deep breath. “Okay. Julian. What can I get you?”

“Same as yesterday.”

Her eyes widened slightly, then she relaxed as if she’d forgotten and suddenly remembered what he had ordered the day before.

She wrote on a cup and handed it to the man working with her. That same man from yesterday with the too long hair hanging in his eyes, the too tight jeans. He must be one of those millennial hipster types that annoyed him so much. He almost never hired one, unless they could prove that they did actually have a serious work ethic and future ambitions that didn’t focus on being able to “feel the love all the time,” as one former employee had once listed as a goal during review time. That employee had lasted less than a week once Julian was informed. He wanted hard workers, not feel gooders.

After he took his cup and sat down, he positioned himself so that he could see her easily. Partly, he could see behind the counter, too. He watched her wipe the counter and turn back the instant the bell rang announcing a new customer. He watched the man take too long with a customer that was probably his friend, causing a backup. He watched Leah having to tell Caleb—he’d picked it up when she talked to him—what to do.

Caleb, the morning brew is out. Caleb, can you get more milk from the back? Caleb, we have to clean the steamer today.

This proved what he was hoping was true. She was a hard worker. That 4.0 wasn’t the result of sleeping with her professor or some other unethical way to get high grades. She did what she had to.

He listened to her talk to the customers, laughing and joking when she could. One of his favorite moments from the day was when there was a problem. Julian had heard the whole thing. The customer ordered a caramel latte. He’d heard it, Leah had heard it, and she’d told Caleb to make it. The customer then came back a moment later and claimed the drink was wrong. He’d ordered a mocha.

Leah didn’t question it. She asked Caleb to make a new drink. Caleb, in his infinite wisdom, decided to take issue with this. He said, not too quietly, “I made the drink that was ordered. It was a caramel latte.” And he was right. He had every right to be annoyed. Julian would be at such an outright lie. But, that’s now you did business with the public. Leah smiled at the customer, assured him it was no problem, and that she was sorry for the mix up.

When the customer left, Caleb got a little loud.

“You know he ordered a caramel latte. I heard him.”

“I know,” she said, “but I wasn’t going to call him a liar. It’s not a big deal. It’s just one drink.”

“Now he thinks he can just change his mind and get a new drink anytime he wants. How much of it was gone?” Then he went so far as to look for the cup Leah had taken back. Sickening.

“It’s really fine,” she said. She turned from him and faced the door, waiting for the next customer.

That was all Julian needed to know. He wanted her. He would take whatever challenge she presented, and he would make her his.