4. Chapter Damian
I t’s not often a person impresses me, but Aria Petrov? The exception of the fucking rule.
It has been a week since we first met, and I can't get her out of my head. Two reasons are responsible for this: first, she hasn't responded to any of my endless emails regarding my job offer, and second, the fact that she had the audacity to challenge me and flat-out call me a dick makes me strangely attracted to her.
The second reason is driving me nuts.
Here's my confession: I may or may not have spent the past few days trying to run into her just to have an excuse to talk to her. I meant what I said—I’m not taking no for an answer .
I’ve stalked her Instagram enough to figure out she has a daily routine of visiting the same coffee shop at around the same time, so I’ve decided to be proactive. Take matters into my own hands.
The café staff seems to know her well, because as soon as I say her name, they know who I’m talking about. I opt to pay for her usual coffee order, plus a caramel crumble muffin because the color of it reminds me of her hair. Fucking weird, I know. I find a seat far enough from the counter so she won’t spot me right away and take a seat to enjoy my coffee, patiently waiting for her to walk through those doors.
My gaze instantly finds her as she walks in, immediately sucking the air out of my lungs. She looks painfully beautiful with her hair in a messy bun and light makeup that highlights her soft freckles, but what instantly catches my attention is those damn fucking lips . She has that deep, inviting red from the other day that instantly makes me wonder how her lips would feel on top of mine. Probably warm, and soft. She wears that big smile of hers as she orders her usual, and when she goes to pay, the cashier says something and points toward me. When she turns and realizes it's me, her hazel eyes darken with annoyance. She marches over to my table, and I hide my smirk behind my coffee cup, casually taking a sip.
Let the fun begin .
“Are you following me?” she asks, her voice a frustrated whisper-shout.
I shrug nonchalantly. “You're not answering my emails.”
She lets out an exasperated breath. “Oh. My. God. You are following me! How did you even know I was going to be here?”
Popping my arm on the coffee table, I lazily rest my chin on my hand, a subtle sense of amusement creeping over me. “Instagram is a remarkable tool.”
“You’re stalking me?” She gapes at me, dumbfounded.
“Desperate times, desperate measures,” I deadpan.
She rolls her eyes, her shoulders tensing. I can't deny I'm enjoying seeing her flustered and annoyed by my presence. It feels like a win in my book. She rummages in her purse, takes out five dollars, and places it on my table.
I pick up the money lazily and ask, “What's this?”
“For my coffee. I don't need anything from you, except the muffin, because I’ll never turn down anything caramel-flavored. Now, stop following me,” she shoots back, turning to walk away.
I stand up and catch her by the arm. “Then have dinner with me.”
“Mr. Romano, you've sent me over twenty emails, which I’ve taken the liberty to ignore. Take the hint,” she retorts.
I raise an eyebrow. “I 'm nothing if not persistent. I'll keep trying,” I reply as I release her and swiftly drop the five dollars in her purse without her noticing.
She picks up her coffee and muffin from the counter and flips me off as she walks out of the coffee shop.
A light and amused feeling bubbles in my chest; one I can’t resist. I throw my head back and burst into a genuine, hearty laugh. It echoes through the coffee shop, drawing curious glances from people around me. Maybe I’m losing my mind. All I'm sure of is that Aria, with her challenging presence, is nothing less than a mountain I want—or perhaps need—to conquer.
The next day, I wait for her right at the entrance of the coffee shop instead of hiding inside. Scanning the surroundings, I spot her heading my way. With earbuds in, she's nodding along to the rhythm of whatever's playing. Today, she's rocking some paint-stained overalls with a black sweater and white Converse. Her messy bun is held together by... chopsticks?
I frown in confusion.
Is she an artist? Those are definitely oil paint stains all over her overalls.
She still hasn't noticed my presence, so I casually walk up until I'm next to her, grabbing one of her earbuds and placing it in my ear, catching her by surprise. ‘ You Give Love A Bad Name ’ by Bon Jovi plays, and a laugh escapes me.
Who knew she was a classic rock fan? Definitely doesn’t look the type.
She snaps her gaze to me, attempting to grab her earbud back. Being taller than her, I swiftly move, preventing her from taking it back.
“Who knew you were a Bon Jovi fan? What are you? Sixty years old?” I tease with an amused tone.
She stops the music, extending her hand for me to give her the earpiece. After a moment of resistance, I finally cave and hand it over.
“Not that it's any of your business, but yes. I am a classic rock fan,” she admits.
I nod. “I can respect that.”
“What are you doing here?” she asks, a hint of annoyance in her tone.
I hold the door of the coffee shop open for her, and as we both walk inside, I shrug. “I told you I'm not taking no for an answer.”
She rolls her eyes and mutters, “God help me.”
I bite the inside of my cheek trying to contain my laugh. I’ve looked forward to this encounter since yesterday, because Aria’s definitely unpredictable and very much unapologetically herself. You don’t find people like that these days.
“Sorry, I can’t help you,” I say with a cocky grin.
“Did you just compare yourself to God!? Talk about a walking red flag.”
“I can accept I have a few red flags, but that’s half the charm, darling.” I wink. “So, how about dinner?”
She keeps her eyes on me for a moment like I’m growing a third head or something similar. I’ve never begged so much in my life, but I have a feeling the woman before me is about to change yet another rule I’ve carefully perfected over the years.
“See, Mr. Romano—”
“Call me Damian.”
She shoots me a quick glare with fire in her eyes. “Like I was saying, Mr. Romano ,” she emphasizes. “This cocky attitude of yours doesn’t do it for me. So the answer is still no.”
She walks away to go order her coffee, which I already paid for before she came in.
“We’ll see!” I shout.
Without looking at me, she flips me off.
A grin escapes my lips, wondering what the hell I got myself into. This new amused feeling is addicting, and I simply can’t wait to see her again and get a rise out of her. I’ll wear her out eventually. Two can play at this game, but I will always come on top.