5. Chapter Aria
F or seven days straight, I walk into my favorite coffee shop, and the first thing I spot is Damian Romano's annoyingly handsome face, wearing that wide, shit-eating grin and exuding what he probably thinks is charm but comes off as cocky.
Here's to another day, and as soon as I walk in, my eyes instinctively search for him. It's become second nature at this point. In fact, it would be strange not to see him. This time, he's seated at the back of the coffee shop with his laptop.
The man is so annoyingly persistent; he's even working from the coffee shop now. And every day, without fail, we have the exact same conversation. And every time, I lie to myself and say I don’t enjoy the banter and that smile of his. It’s become a routine at this point, one I find myself looking forward to more than I’d care to admit.
I approach the counter to order my coffee, and the barista, wearing a wide smile, greets me.
“Aria, twice in one day? What a nice treat!”
I glance behind me, toward Damian's table, hoping he didn't hear that. He locks eyes with me, raises an eyebrow, and flashes his cocky, knowing smile.
Fucking busted.
I look away, hoping he didn't catch me blushing. I swiftly place my coffee order, and unsurprisingly, Damian has already paid for it as per usual.
I've been awake since the crack of dawn, so I headed to the coffee shop as soon as it opened. But, I can't deny I was kind of curious to see if he would show up today, hence my second visit. I have nothing to be ashamed of, after all, he's the one taking over my favorite coffee shop. With nothing to lose, I walk over to his table.
He appears as his usual, impeccably put-together self. My gaze lingers, and honestly, out of all the suits he's worn, this one takes the cake. It’s a deep maroon suit that makes his green eyes pop with color, paired with an off-white turtleneck sweater that accentuates his broad shoulders, and those damn pants that seemed to have been tailored by the gods, hugging his large toned legs. His dark, shiny hair is as immaculate as always; his face with a light, well-kept beard. No one has the right to be that gorgeous. It seriously infuriates me.
He glances up from his computer, and then, with his smug grin, leisurely leans back. I pant as his lingering gaze moves up and down my body, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Fancy meeting you here. I hear it’s your second visit of the day. Missing me already, darling?” He tilts his head, amusement lacing his tone.
“Do I have to change coffee shops? Because I really like this place, and I refuse to let you ruin it for me,” I say, gritting my teeth.
He scrubs his beard with a soft, hearty laugh. “Deflecting, I see.” He shrugs. “Go to dinner with me, and the coffee shop is all yours.”
“Never.”
“Never say never.”
“Well, I’m saying never.”
Our gazes lock, having a silent challenge. I tilt my chin up, raising an eyebrow. Challenging him has quickly become one of my favorite hobbies, only God knows why.
He runs his tongue across his teeth and simply smirks.
The asshole smirked.
He's been having way too much fun with our interactions. It’s like a stupid game to him.
You’ve been enjoying them too, so don’t even try to lie to yourself.
I take a moment to contemplate my options. I could keep saying no, but he's shown resilience, so I don't think he'll be stopping anytime soon. On the other hand, I could say yes, get a free dinner out of him, and turn him down anyway.
I sigh. “Fine,” I say, clenching my teeth.
He rises from his seat with a triumphant smile, picking up his laptop and coffee as if he has all the time in the world. Moving closer to me, he leans down and whispers in his velvety deep voice that makes my body shiver, “Can't wait, darling. I'll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice,” Then, he walks away.
I turn around and ask, “Don’t you need my address?”
He turns and walks backward, winking before replying, “Maybe you can finally reply to one of my many emails with it.”
And with that, he leaves me there standing in the middle of the busy coffee shop.
Fuck.
Sophia walks into my apartment while I throw three bags full of clothes on my couch, sighing in frustration as I'm placing them.
“Well, hello to you too,” she says while sitting on the couch, peeking inside the bags. “What’s this?”
“All the outfits I could come up with on such short notice.” I groan, sitting on the floor since the bags and Sophia has taken all the couch space.
I’m not a fashionista, but I do have some dresses saved in plastic bags for occasions like these. My dating life is the worst—not that this is a date, but knowing Mr. Billionaire he’ll probably take me to a fancy-ass restaurant—so I have to dress up the part.
Excuses. Excuses.
“You look stressed,” Sophia points out.
“Wow, nice deducting skills. You sure you want to be a writer? You’d make a great detective,” I quip.
She punches me jokingly in the shoulder, and we both laugh. “Why are you so stressed, though?”
“ He stresses me out. Being near him with the constant bickering is exhausting. And call me crazy, but I swear he enjoys pissing me off,” I say in an exasperated breath.
Sophia grins mischievously. “Nah, I think he makes you nervous. You are so into him!”
“I am not.” The lie just comes naturally at this point. I’m hoping if I say it enough times, I’ll start believing it.
There’s no denying the man is hot in the sense that I wouldn’t mind if I matched with him on a dating app and had a casual hook-up type of hot. The bantering between us is entertaining, and in a masochistic way, turns me on, especially when he combines that banter with one of his killer smiles that makes him ten times sexier. But on the other side of the coin, his cockiness makes him ten times more annoying. I couldn’t be with someone so insufferable.
She raises an eyebrow. “Ari, we have been best friends for how long now? You know you can’t lie to me like that.”
I pick one of the dresses that is almost falling from the bag and throw it at her. “Whatever.”
Sophia stands up, placing a hand on her hips. “Okay, so what are we working with here?”
When it comes to fashion, Sophia is the gifted one. I tend to dress like a quirky librarian most of the time, so I come to her when I need fashion guidance.
We go through the bags for a good fifteen minutes, until she finally finds something we can work with. A cami flared dress with shoulder knots. It's simple, yet it looks really nice with the right accessories.
As I try it on, Sophia does a circle motion with her finger for me to do a 360-degree turn.
“Perfect! Looks really good,” she squeaks.
“And it has pockets!” I say excitedly while placing my hands in them.
“Please don’t mention that during the date,” Sophia replies with a dry tone.
I furrow my eyebrows. “One, this is not a date,” I say while pointing one finger up. “Two,” I point a second finger up, “I will always be excited about pocket dresses. Leave me be.”
It’s the little things in life, you know?
She bites her lip, trying to hold back her laugh.
I look at the time, and I have about one more hour to finish getting ready. If I'm going to this insufferable dinner, I might as well have fun, so I ask, “Wanna help me get ready?”
“Always,” she says as we both walk to my bedroom.
So we do just that. As I do my makeup, she styles my hair.
She hums mischievously as she straightens my hair. “For not being a date, you sure are putting in a lot of effort.”
I shrug. “I want to look hot when I turn his offer down for the thirtieth time.” I finish my makeup with my signature red lip that I love so much. It makes me feel confident every time I wear it and God knows I could use some of that.
Sophia finishes with my hair and applies some oil to it as she says, “I don't know why you insist on having your hair straight. Your curls are so beautiful.”
I sigh, choosing not to reply.
When I was little, I was so proud of my curls. I always felt like a princess. Until my mom would point out how unprofessional my curls were, always making me straighten them for school and saying, ‘You will thank me one day. You’re not getting bullied at school thanks to me.’
Funny how I felt I was always bullied by her at home, though.
As I kept growing, her comments got to me. I don’t wear my curls unless it’s in a messy bun or I don’t have time to get it styled. I’m all too aware it’s stupid to still care about that to this day and age. Women empowerment and all, but childhood trauma, am I right?
“Okay, you're ready, and you look like a snack.”
“You talk like a 16-year-old sometimes. Has anyone told you that before?” I quip.
She rolls her eyes and replies, “Okay, well, I'm going to head out.”
Just as she's about to leave, my phone rings. I glance at the caller ID, and it's the apartment's front desk.
I answer, “Hello?”
The voice on the other end says, “Yes, Ms. Petrov, I'm calling because you have a visitor. Can I let him up?”
I check the time; he's here ten minutes early. “No. Tell him I'll be downstairs soon.”
The front desk staff sounds nervous. “Ma'am, he's insisting I let him up…”
I sigh and instruct, “Put me on speaker.” Then, I address insufferable Damian, “I will be down there in a minute. Stop terrorizing the poor guy,” and hang up.
Sophia raises an eyebrow. “He's here already?”
I nod. “Yeah, so wait for me. I'll walk out with you.”
We exit my apartment and step into the elevator. While descending, I turn to Sophia and say, “Please behave.”
“Alrighty then!” she exclaims with an exaggerated wink. Sophia has this thing where she likes to quote 90s movies and TV shows. I'm sure she just quoted Ace Aventura because she’s made me see that movie more times that I can count.
My best friend, ladies and gentlemen. Gotta love the woman.
As we approach the lobby, there he is, leaning against a wall in a three-piece black suit that seems like it was tailored by the gods, as always. I wonder if he wears anything else besides a suit? I bet he has suit pajamas . Now that’s a funny picture.
Sophia nudges me with a sly grin, raising both her eyebrows. His eyes lock on me, sweeping them from the top of my head to my toes before finally meeting my eyes and delivering a lazy smirk.
Sophia can't resist the opportunity to tease. “Well, you are definitely hotter in person.”
I shoot her a look of annoyance, whispering, “Stop feeding his ego.”
Damian throws his velvety laugh, sending a shiver down my spine. His laugh is a zip of welcome electricity; a sliver of light.
Sophia winks at me and turns to Damian and says, “Take care of my girl,” placing two fingers on her eyes and then pointing them at him, a clear ' I'm watching you ' gesture.
Damian plays along with a playful tone. “Will do.”
He extends his arm, silently inviting me to interlace mine in his, and asks, “Shall we?”
I roll my eyes and walk past him, muttering, “Let's get this over with.”