Chapter 2
T he downtown café was alive with customers. Steam rose from ceramic mugs, and the rhythmic tapping of laptop keys competed with the whir of the espresso machine. In the corner, I sipped my third coffee, watching the door with eager anticipation. A generous tip to a blabbering receptionist gave me the intel. Right on time, the businessman walked through the door. His gaze slid over the crowd, as if scanning for a threat.
Something slithered through me. It was such an odd way to enter a space. Every other customer, myself included, had entered, glued to their phones, moving with direct purpose to the line for the counter. Not this CEO. No, he paused, looked, and only when his assessment was satisfactory did he venture into the interior of the shop.
It was as if he were looking for danger.
Well…he wouldn’t see me coming. Not that I was a threat to someone of his size. Those broad shoulders, covered in a perfectly tailored grey suit, looked like they were carved from hours spent in the boxing ring—a favorite pastime of the mogul.
With the valuable information at my disposal, I was ready for the staged introduction.
As he placed his order, I slipped to the counter where the drinks were delivered. The barista, whose pockets were a couple Benjamins heavier, gave me a small nod and handed me the businessman’s drink. Fate let the timing work perfectly, when Baldwin stopped to look at a bag of grounds on the display. He wouldn’t suspect that the drink was already made and in my hands.
When he came to wait at the end of the counter, our gaze collided briefly. He looked toward the baristas, but then that heavy black gaze stole a second glance in my direction. That was my cue. I sipped his beverage and made a face.
“This isn’t what I ordered,” I muttered, looking down at the cup.
Who in their right mind drank something so bitter? Brushing that thought away, I read the label on the cup.
“Leonard—ah crap. I grabbed the wrong cup,” I said and rubbed the tip of my burnt tongue on my teeth.
The businessman stepped in front of me.
“I believe that's mine,” he said, his voice deep and smooth like aged whiskey.
I feigned surprise, batting my lashes as if flustered. “Oh! I’m so sorry. The barista just handed it to me, and I didn’t look."
“Did she?” One dark eyebrow arched skeptically. His eyes—those penetrating obsidian pools—swept over my face, lingering a beat too long. “Interesting. I don’t recall seeing you in line ahead of me.”
My heart stuttered. The script I’d rehearsed for days suddenly felt flimsy and transparent. This man didn’t miss details. It was likely what made him the powerful head of a thriving company at the ripe age of twenty-nine. The reputation of being a ruthless cutthroat was easy to see, but it was the cunning strategist that hid under the surface that I would have to tread carefully around.
“I ordered through the app,” I improvised, holding out his drink. Our fingers brushed during the exchange, and I felt a jolt that wasn’t part of the plan. “I’m Anna, by the way.”
“Anna.” He didn’t just repeat the name. His seemed to test it, tongue sliding over the sounds as they formed. “Leonard Baldwin,” he introduced himself, extending his free hand.
I reached to shake, and his fingers engulfed mine. The touch sent an unexpected jolt through me, like static electricity but more...intentional.
“Let me buy you another,” I stammered, a wave of frustration shooting through me.
“No harm done,” Baldwin replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Though I wouldn’t recommend making a habit of drinking strangers’ coffee. Especially in this city.”
Was that a warning? His words carried weight beyond the obvious caution.
I took a deep breath, grounding myself in the purpose of this meeting. “I hope you aren’t inconvenienced by this mishap.”
Amusement flickered through those inky eyes.
Goodness. They were so black. I didn’t think humans could have such black eyes. Demons, maybe, but not men.
“Not at all.”
“Your chia tea latte, Miss Anna,” the barista chimed in, his perfect timing cutting through the moment.
I moved to the counter, gave the employee a subtle wink, and started back to my table.
As planned, the shadow followed me. I stopped by my chair, turned, and feigned surprise.
“What are you working on?” He jerked his chin toward my laptop.
I cocked my head to the side. “Just this and that.”
But his keen gaze already scanned the screen. “Is that a book?”
I faltered again. I thought the other tab was on the screen. The one with the Excel sheet full of fake numbers. Not…the Word document.
“Um, just a pet project,” I hedged.
“Are you an author, Miss Anna?” Baldwin took a sip of that boiling, bitter brew.
“Aspiring.” And already this man knew more about me than even my best friend.
“Well, when you do publish, I’ll pick up a copy.” He took another sip, hiding the teasing smile. “You’ll sign it for me, of course? To make up for stealing my drink?”
“I didn’t steal it!” The rebuttal was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
The outrage made him smirk even harder. “If you say so. It was lovely to meet you, little author.”
“You too,” I breathed.
With a final smirk, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing softly against the pavement. The air seemed to hold its breath as he vanished into the distance, leaving behind a sense of finality and a lingering whisper of what once was.
I stared at the empty doorway, my heart pounding in my chest like a trapped bird. The espresso machine hissed behind me, grounding me back in reality. Baldwin was gone, but the impression of him—those obsidian eyes, the way his voice rumbled like distant thunder—remained imprinted on my senses.
Sinking back into my chair, I closed my laptop with trembling fingers. The screen light winked out, and I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The plan had worked. Our “accidental” meeting had gone off without a major hitch, despite his suspicion about the coffee handoff. I’d established contact, made myself memorable. Phase one: complete.
But what I hadn’t accounted for was the way my skin still tingled where his fingers had brushed mine. The way my name had sounded different somehow when shaped by his mouth. Little author…I liked that too much. It was personal and broached on territory I wasn’t ready to explore.