The Lawyer's Curvy Addiction (A Silver Lake Instalove Romance #6)

Chapter 1

one

. . .

Hannah Reed

I glance up anyway, I can't help it.

He's standing just inside the doorway, one hand sliding his phone into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

Today it's charcoal gray, fitted across his shoulders in a way that probably cost more than my rent.

His dark hair is neat, professional, with just enough length on top that I've spent an embarrassing amount of time wondering what it would look like messed up.

His jaw is clean-shaven, sharp enough to cut glass, and those blue eyes are already scanning the menu board even though he orders the same thing every single time.

Black coffee. One sugar.

I've had it memorized since my second week working here.

"Hannah, you're staring again."

I jump, nearly fumbling the portafilter in my hand. My coworker and best friend Mara is grinning at me from the register.

"I'm not staring," I mutter, turning back to the espresso machine and focusing very hard on tamping down the grounds.

"You're totally staring. You do it every morning. It's like clockwork. He walks in, you get that look on your face, and then you pretend you weren't just mentally undressing Mr. Tall, Dark, and Expensive Suit over there."

"I was not!” I hiss, but she's already laughing and turning toward the register as Bennett approaches.

"Good morning," Mara says brightly. "What can I get started for you?"

"Black coffee, one sugar." His voice is deep, smooth, professional. The kind of voice that probably wins arguments in courtrooms without even trying. "Large."

"You got it. Name?"

"Bennett."

Mara scribbles his name on the cup with a Sharpie and rings him up.

He pays with a card without even looking at the screen, adds a generous tip to the screen, and steps aside.

His phone is back in his hand before he's taken a full step.

He's scrolling through emails, case files, whatever high-powered attorneys obsess over at eight in the morning. His eyes never leave the screen.

He doesn't look at me. I mean, sure, sometimes our eyes meet when I call his name and slide his coffee across the pickup counter. He'll nod, say thanks, and that's it. But it's not looking. It's just... acknowledging. Like I'm part of the furniture. Part of the routine.

Which is fine. Totally fine. I'm just the barista who makes his coffee. There's no reason he'd notice me beyond that. Except I've been noticing him for six months.

I finish pulling the espresso shots for the order ahead of Bennett's and start steaming milk, trying not to glance over at him again.

It's ridiculous, this crush. I know it is.

He's clearly out of my league, successful, polished, probably dating someone equally successful and polished.

Meanwhile, I'm twenty-four, working at a coffee shop, still figuring out what I want to do with my life beyond "not this forever. "

But God, he's beautiful.

And I don't just mean the suit or the jawline or the way his hands look when he's holding his phone, long fingers scrolling with easy confidence. There's something about the way he carries himself. Calm. Steady. Like nothing rattles him.

I wonder what he's like outside of this.

Does he laugh? Does he have friends he meets for drinks after work? Does he go home to someone, or is he alone in some pristine apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake?

Does he ever let himself relax, or is he always this focused?

"Hannah."

I blink. Mara is holding up Bennett's cup, eyebrows raised.

Right.

I take the cup from her and move to the drip coffee station, filling it with our dark roast. The steam curls up, warm and familiar. I add one sugar, snap the lid on, and set it on the pickup counter.

"Bennett," I call out.

He looks up from his phone, tucks it away, and walks over. Our eyes meet for half a second, blue, sharp, distracted, and then he's reaching for the cup.

"Thanks," he says.

"You're welcome."

And that's it.

He turns and heads for the door, already pulling his phone back out, already moving on to the next thing.

The bell chimes as he leaves.

I watch him cross the street toward the building that houses Cross & Cross, the law firm he co-owns with his business partner. The sign is visible from here, gold lettering on dark wood, elegant and understated. He disappears inside, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"You are so gone for him," Mara says, leaning against the counter beside me.

"Shut up."

"I'm serious. You should just ask him out."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Yeah, right. Because that would go so well. 'Hey, Bennett, I know you've never actually looked at me for more than two seconds, but do you want to grab dinner sometime?'"

"Why not? Worst he can say is no."

"Or he could look at me like I've lost my mind and then never come back here again, which would be mortifying."

Mara shrugs. "Your loss. But for the record, I think he'd say yes."

"You're delusional."

"And you're a coward."

I flip her off, but I'm smiling as I turn back to the espresso machine. She's not wrong. I am a coward. But some risks aren't worth taking, and asking out a man who barely knows I exist definitely falls into that category.

A few days later the morning rush is in full swing when he walks in at 8:15. I'm in the middle of making a complicated oat milk latte with extra foam and a double shot when I see him approach the register. Mara takes his order, and he steps aside to wait.

I finish the latte, call out the name, and start on Bennett's coffee.

Black coffee. One sugar.

Simple. Easy.

I pour the coffee, add the sugar, snap the lid on.

And then I make a decision.

Instead of setting it on the pickup counter and calling his name, I walk around the counter.

I don't know what I'm doing.

I don't have a plan.

I just know I'm tired of watching him leave every morning without ever really talking to him. Without ever knowing if there's even a chance he might see me the way I see him.

So I walk over, the cup warm in my hands, and I'm halfway to him when someone steps backward from the condiment station.

I don't see them until it's too late.

They bump into me, hard, and the cup flies out of my hands.

It happens in slow motion.

The lid pops off.

The coffee arcs through the air, hot and dark.

And it lands all over Bennett's white shirt.

All over his expensive suit jacket.

All over him.

I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth. "Oh my God. Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

Bennett looks down at himself, at the coffee dripping down his shirt, staining the crisp white fabric brown. His tie is soaked. His jacket is ruined.

I'm going to die right here in the middle of Brewed Awakening because I just dumped an entire cup of coffee on the most beautiful man I've ever seen.

"I'm so sorry," I say again, grabbing napkins from the nearest table and rushing over to him.

"I didn't see them, and they bumped into me, and I, oh God, your suit. I'm so sorry."

I'm dabbing at his shirt with the napkins, which is doing absolutely nothing, and I'm talking too fast, my words tripping over each other. "I'll pay for the dry cleaning. Or, or I'll buy you a new shirt. I don't know how much suits cost, but I'll figure it out. I'm so, so sorry."

My hands are shaking as I work, pressing the napkins against the spreading stain. I'm so focused on trying to fix the unfixable that I don't notice him watching me until his hand covers mine.

The touch stops me cold.

His hand is warm, steady, and it stills my nervous movement completely. I freeze, the napkins crumpled between our palms, and slowly look up at him.

Our eyes meet.

For a moment, there's nothing but that connection, his blue eyes holding mine, something electric passing between us that makes my breath catch. His hand doesn't move from mine. Neither does mine. It's just us, suspended in this moment where the rest of the coffee shop seems to fade away.

Then he laughs.

Actually laughs.

The sound is low and warm, and it breaks the spell, but his hand lingers on mine for just a beat longer before he pulls away.

"It's fine," he says, and his voice is lighter than I've ever heard it. "Really. It's just coffee."

"It's not just coffee. It's your suit. Your really expensive suit."

He glances down at himself, then back at me, and he's still smiling. "I have others."

I stare at him.

He's not mad.

He's not even annoyed.

He's smiling at me like this is the most amusing thing that's happened to him all week.

"I—" I don't know what to say. My brain has completely abandoned me.

He reaches up and loosens his tie, pulling it off and tossing it onto the nearest table.

Then he unbuttons his suit jacket and shrugs it off, leaving him in just the coffee-stained white shirt.

Even like this, rumpled and stained, he's unfairly attractive.

I swear to all that is hole if he unbuttons his shirt I'm going to die right here on this spot.

"What's your name?" he asks.

I blink. "What?"

"Your name."

My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "Hannah," I say. "My name is Hannah."

"Hannah." He says it slowly, like he's testing it out. Like he's committing it to memory. "How long have you worked here?"

"Six months."

"Six months." He shakes his head, and there's something in his expression I can't quite read. "And how long have you lived in Silver Lake?"

"A few years."

"A few years?" He's looking at me now, really looking at me, and I feel like I'm standing under a spotlight. "I can't believe you've been right across the street from me this whole time. I was so busy staring at my phone and thinking about work that I never even noticed."

I don't know what to say to that.

He glances at his watch, then back at me. "What time do you get off work?"

My breath catches. "What?"

"Your shift. What time does it end?"

“I…um. Two. I get off at two."

He nods, like this is important information. Like he's filing it away.

"I'll be back at two," he says.

I stare at him. "For another coffee?"

His smile shifts into something warmer, something that makes my stomach flip.

"No," he says. "I'm coming back for you."

And then he picks up his ruined jacket and tie, gives me one last look, and walks out the door.

I stand there, frozen, the napkins still in my hand.

Mara appears beside me, her eyes wide. "Did that just happen?"

"I don't know," I whisper.

"Oh my God, Hannah." Mara grabs my shoulders, grinning so wide I'm worried her face might split. "Bennett Cross just asked you out. I told you. I told you he was into you."

"I didn't even ask him anything. I just dumped coffee all over him."

"And he laughed. Hannah, that man laughed. And then he asked what time you get off work." She's practically bouncing now. "This is exactly what you told me happened yesterday. Except now it's actually real and he's actually coming back."

"What if he changes his mind?"

"He won't." She squeezes my shoulders. "Did you see the way he looked at you? That wasn't a guy who's going to change his mind. That was a guy who just realized what he's been missing."

I shake my head, my heart still racing. "That's not possible."

"Why not? You're amazing, Hannah. You're funny and kind and beautiful. Why wouldn't he want to come back for you?"

"Because, because he's him. And I'm me. And he's never even looked at me before today."

"Well, he's looking now." She releases me and grins. "And he's coming back at two. So you better figure out what you're going to say to him."

I glance at the door, half expecting him to walk back in and tell me it was all a joke.

But he doesn't.

The morning rush continues around me. Orders are called out. The espresso machine hisses. Customers come and go.

And I stand there, replaying the last five minutes over and over in my head. I'm coming back for you.