Chapter 1
ONE
BEAU
It’s raining. Because of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be? The universe is out to get me today. Cosmic karma for something I did in a past life. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s already been a fucking terrible day, and now, the one time I need to leave the office, it’s pouring.
First, my landlord decided to do surprise maintenance this morning, turning off the water heater and forcing me to take a cold shower. Whoever said it was an invigorating way to start the day can go straight to hell. It was the worst three minutes of my week.
Or so I thought. My commute was totally fucked.
The subway train broke down in a tunnel, trapping us for ninety minutes with no cell reception, which means I couldn’t even message someone at work to let them know I’d be late.
And that wasn’t even the terrible part. In the overheated car, several people got sick, which meant I spent half the morning trying to get the smell of vomit out of my nasal passages.
None of which was helped by the massive stack of folders dumped on my desk before I got there, with no order and without comment.
And now, I have to brave the sudden downpour to get those assholes coffee. Do I have an umbrella? Of course not, because when I checked the weather report this morning, it said zero percent chance of rain.
Zero percent, my ass. It looks like I’m in a scene from Hard Rain.
Did I mention that I’m wearing my nicest leather shoes today? The ones I saved up for over a year to afford. There’s no way they’ll survive this.
The higher-ups in the office can’t be expected to drink drip coffee for the afternoon. Not when they have me running down the street and fetching lattes. What do they care if I end up drenched in the process?
I miss my old boss. Matthias was tough and demanding, but he never would’ve made me run out in this weather.
I brought him lunch or coffee frequently, but only because I wanted to.
Most of the time, he ensured I did real work instead.
Actual tasks that helped him use his time more efficiently.
Which, by the way, is my job; not errand boy.
He offered to take me to a new company when he left, but I chose to stay. The exact reason why is hard to remember at the moment.
I stare at the rivulets of water flowing off the building’s overhang and take a deep breath before darting away from the shelter of the building and walking as fast as I can to the coffee shop two blocks away.
Any hope I had of staying medium dry is quickly dashed.
It’s not just raining, it’s a full-on deluge.
Within ten seconds, no part of me’s not sopping wet.
My shoes are filled with water, making it worthless even to try to avoid the massive puddles.
Not that I was doing a good job or that it was even possible.
The street has turned into a river, with streams of water littered with trash and leaves flowing swiftly toward the grates before pooling as the system struggles to keep up.
I make an effort to jump over the worst of it, if only to avoid the germ-infested parts.
If there’s a God somewhere, I’ll be able to save the shoes.
My sweater, on the other hand, is likely done for.
In a few hours, the drying cashmere will make me smell like a farm animal.
Usually, I’d say it’s punishment for everyone else in the office, making me run out for this, but I have a date tonight.
One I desperately want to go well. There’s no chance I’ll make it home to change clothes and then back downtown in time to meet him.
So much for making a good first impression.
I push into the coffee shop, the bells over the door jingling as I enter.
I shake my head a few times, trying to get myself a little drier, or at least get the rain out of my eyes.
None of it works. The employees are going to hate me for walking through the place like this, dripping water on their floor.
I can only hope I’m not the only one. I like this place and would prefer to be allowed back.
Somehow, I doubt an order of six overly complicated drinks is going to make up for it.
If anything, it’s likely to get me banned for life.
I take a couple of steps, then, as I step off the mat and onto the tile, my foot slips, sending my leg out to one side and my body to the other. Despite my best effort to regain my balance, it’s too late. I crumple to the ground, my limbs a tangled mess.
Fucking. Great.
Everyone stares, their conversations put on hold as they gawk at me. Of course, not a single one of them makes a move to see if I’m okay or offers to help me up. Nope, they sit there, drinking their coffee, and pitying me. Fuck. Them. All.
It takes me a minute to rearrange myself and push up. My right ankle is tender and hurts when I put weight on it, but I’ll survive. Someone can add it to the list of reasons why today sucks. I swear, if one more thing goes wrong today, I’m going to explode.
VINCENT
Rainy days always make me crave hot chocolate. Typically, I’m a hardcore tea drinker. Tea, not coffee. My cabinet is stocked with a range of options, featuring a little bit of everything from Jasmine to Earl Grey. What they’re lacking is hot chocolate.
Luckily, I live right above a fantastic coffee shop, Lobelia Latte I just want to share a little bit of space while we each work quietly on our laptops.
It seems like a reasonable request to me.
I stomp my feet a couple of times on the mat to get the worst of the water off.
My toe snags on something, and I look down, trying to figure out what’s going on.
The edge of the mat is snagged on the heel of my boot.
I shake my foot a few times, and, when that doesn’t work, I give it a good yank.
Right as it pulls free, it hits something.
Then everything seems to go wrong all at once. I snap my head up in time to see a guy carrying a tray of cups land on his ass. The tray hits the ground a second later, lids popping off and sending coffee everywhere. And I mean, everywhere, but mostly on said guy.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” I push my hood down and rush toward him, reaching out my hand to try to help him up. “I’ll pay to replace your coffee.” It’s the least I can do. He should’ve been paying better attention, but my boots are the ones that started this.
“Stop.” I freeze in place. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” He holds his hands up in front of himself, defensively, and closes his eyes. “Fuck,” he screams, probably a little too loudly for a public place.
“Are you okay?” I ask timidly, trying to decide if I should ask the staff who’ve gathered near the end of the bar to watch to call 9-1-1.
“Do I look okay?” That’s a tricky question to answer.
If it wasn’t for the coffee stains on his outfit and the fact that his hair is sopping wet—not from coffee—he looks absolutely gorgeous.
He’s what I would consider the dark and handsome type, though not overly tall.
Something tells me now is not the time to mention that.
“Are you hurt?” An employee joins us. “Do you need me to call for an ambulance?”
“No,” the guy on the floor says. “Just…don’t.” His hands go up defensively again, keeping everyone at least a foot away.
At this point, I’m not sure what to do with him. He doesn’t look hurt, but he’s not making any move to get up either. “Hey, what’s your name?” I crouch down next to him. All I get in response is a glance. “I’m Vincent.” I think better of extending my hand, knowing he won’t give me a handshake.
“At least now when I tell this story, I’ll have something besides asshole to call you.”
Well, that seems wildly unnecessary. “I’m sorry you tripped, but I think we both have some blame in that.”
“Oh, and what part of tripping over your ridiculous galoshes is my fault?” He sneers.
I look down at my boots. They’re anything but ridiculous. They’re bright yellow with a bit of orange around the toes and a set of eyes that makes them look like ducks if you squint just right. “Maybe you should’ve been paying more attention to where you were walking?”
“Fuck off.”
I can tell when I’m not wanted somewhere. “I’ll be sitting at a table if you change your mind and want me to buy you some new coffee.”
It takes a bit of resistance for me not to look back.
I mean, he’s right there, still on the floor.
Instead, I ignore the stares from everyone in the café and head for the register.
By the time I finish ordering my hot chocolate—with extra whipped cream—and wait for the barista to make it, the guy is gone.
Whatever, I’m not going to let it ruin my day. I have a few more hours of work to complete, and then I’ll head back to my apartment to get ready for my date.