Chapter 3
three
. . .
Alexander
The café looks different in the morning light—smaller, shabbier than I remembered. I arrive ten minutes after opening, when the early rush has faded but before the lunch crowd descends. Through the window, I see her moving between tables, a coffeepot in hand. My pulse quickens like I'm some lovesick teenager, not a man who's crushed competitors and built empires with the same hands now wrapped around my car keys.
I straighten my tie—Armani, worth more than a month of her wages—and push through the door. The bell jingles, announcing me like a herald. Several patrons look up, then back to their phones and newspapers. But not Alice. Alice freezes, coffeepot suspended mid-pour, her eyes finding mine across the room.
Recognition. Shock. Fear? Something else flickering behind those wide eyes.
I select the same table as before, the corner one with the view of the entire café. Power position. I don't smile as I take my seat, just maintain eye contact with her until she drops her gaze, cheeks flushing that delicate pink I've been picturing for days.
She finishes pouring coffee for an elderly man who doesn't even thank her, then hesitates, coffeepot clutched to her chest like a shield. I watch her gather herself, shoulders squaring under her worn uniform before she approaches my table.
"Good morning, sir," she says, her voice soft but steady. Professional. Distant. "Just coffee again today?"
"Alexander," I correct her. "My name is Alexander Grant."
Her eyes widen further, and I know my name has registered. It would be difficult not to recognize it in this city—on buildings, in headlines, whispered with equal parts admiration and fear.
"Mr. Grant," she amends, swallowing visibly. "What can I get you?"
"Coffee to start. Then a conversation."
She blinks rapidly, her knuckles white around the coffeepot handle. "I—I'm working."
"When's your break?" I lean back, crossing one leg over the other, making it clear I'm prepared to wait.
"Not for another two hours, and it's only fifteen minutes." She glances nervously toward the counter where an older woman—the manager, based on the way she's glaring at our interaction—is watching.
"When do you finish your shift?"
"Three o'clock, but then I have to get home to—" She stops herself, and I fill in the blank. Her mother. Her brother. The responsibilities that weigh her down.
"I'll wait." I open the newspaper I brought as a prop, dismissing her. "Coffee, Alice."
She retreats, and I pretend to read financial news I already know while tracking her every movement through the café. The way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The slight limp in her step—aching feet from hours of standing. The genuine smile she offers a young mother struggling with a fussy toddler.
When she brings my coffee, her hand trembles just like before. Our fingers brush as I accept the mug, and a jolt passes between us—static from the dry air, perhaps, but it makes her gasp, her eyes darting to mine for a split second. In that moment, I see it. The attraction isn't one-sided. Interesting.
"Thank you," I say, letting my voice drop lower, watching her reaction. The quickened breath, the dilated pupils. Oh yes, very interesting indeed.
"Can I get you anything else?" Her voice wavers slightly.
"Just your time. Later."
She nods once, sharply, then hurries away to serve other customers. I sip the mediocre coffee and bide my time. The elderly man leaves. The mother with the toddler departs. New customers arrive. I order lunch I don't want—a bland sandwich that costs less than the bottled water in my office fridge—and leave another hundred-dollar tip that makes Alice's hands shake when she clears my plate.
The café gradually empties as the afternoon drags on. I answer emails on my phone, take one critical call, and reschedule everything else. Rachel will be managing the fallout, earning every penny of that bonus. By two-thirty, only two other customers remain, and Alice keeps shooting nervous glances my way as she wipes down tables with methodical precision.
At five minutes to three, she disappears into the back room, returning in a worn jacket over jeans and a simple t-shirt, her hair released from its ponytail to fall in gentle waves around her face. She says something to the manager, who nods curtly, eyes still darting suspiciously toward me.
Alice approaches my table with visible reluctance, clutching her small purse like it might protect her.
"Mr. Grant," she begins, her voice low. "I don't know what you want from me, and I’m so sorry again about the spill, but I need to get home. My mother?—"
"Your mother needs her medication. The expensive one that insurance barely covers. And your brother has a calculus test tomorrow that you promised to help him study for."
She recoils like I've slapped her, her face draining of color. "How do you?—"
"Sit down, Alice." I gesture to the chair across from me. Not a request.
She sits, perched on the edge of the seat like a bird ready for flight. "Are you...stalking me?" A tremor in her voice, but there's steel underneath. Not just afraid—angry.
"I'm interested in you. I had you looked into." I keep my voice matter-of-fact. "It's what I do when something catches my attention."
"I'm not a 'something,'" she says, that steel showing through more clearly now. "I'm a person, with a private life that's none of your business."
"You're in debt," I continue, ignoring her protest. "Your mother's medical bills total just over $147,000. Your apartment building is scheduled for renovation next month, which means your rent will increase by thirty percent. Your brother wants to apply to Columbia, but even with scholarships, it would be impossible on your current income."
She stares at me, lips parted in shock, fear battling with something else in her expression. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I can help you." I lean forward, lowering my voice. "And because I want something from you in return."
A bitter laugh escapes her. "Of course you do. Let me guess—it involves a bedroom and me taking off my clothes."
"Yes," I admit, enjoying her startled expression at my honesty. "But that's only part of it. I want thirty days, Alice. Thirty days where you belong to me completely."
Her breath catches. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"It means you live in my home. Sleep in my bed. Accompany me where I ask. For one month." I hold her gaze, letting her see the desire I've been controlling since I first laid eyes on her. "In exchange, I'll pay off your mother's medical debt. All of it. I'll secure you an affordable apartment in a better neighborhood, near good medical facilities. And I'll establish a college fund for your brother that will cover any school he can get into."
She's shaking her head before I finish speaking. "That's—that's crazy. You don't even know me."
"I know enough." I reach across the table, not touching her, but letting my hand rest near hers. "I know you're drowning under responsibilities that shouldn't be yours alone. I know you're exhausted from working three jobs. I know you deserve a respite."
"A respite where I prostitute myself to you?" Her voice is sharp, but there's a waver underneath.
"A respite where you're taken care of, for once." I correct her gently. "Where you're the priority, not everyone else."
Something flickers in her eyes—longing, quickly suppressed. "Why me? You could have anyone."
"Yes," I agree simply. "I could. But none of them are you."
"You don't know what makes me different. You've spoken to me twice."
"Some things don't require lengthy investigation." I allow myself a small smile. "When you know, you know."
She looks down at her hands, twisted together in her lap. "This is insane."
"It's a business proposition. One that benefits us both."
"It benefits you a whole lot more than me," she mutters, but her resistance is weakening. I can sense the calculations happening behind those expressive eyes—the weight of her family's needs against her own discomfort.
"Does it?" I challenge softly. "Financial freedom for your family. Security for your future. And in return, you spend thirty days being pampered, protected, and yes, pleasured. Repeatedly." I let that word hang between us, watching the flush crawl up her neck. "Many would consider that a fair trade."
"I'm not 'many.'" She meets my eyes again, defiant despite her blush. "And what happens after thirty days?"
"That depends." I run my finger along the rim of my empty coffee mug. "On how we feel at the end."
She bites her lip, and I have to restrain myself from reaching across the table to free it from her teeth. To taste her. She's close to yielding, I can feel it, but something's holding her back.
"What if..." she starts, then stops. Tries again. "What if I'm not...experienced enough for someone like you?"
Ah. There it is. I feel a surge of possessive pleasure at the implication.
"Are you telling me you’re a virgin, Alice?" My voice roughens despite my control.
Her blush deepens and she nods.
My hands grip the table. I’m suddenly fighting the urge to throw her across the table and deflower her right here and now. Mine. She’ll only ever be mine.
"What if I say no?" she asks.
"Then I walk away,” I lie. There’s no way in hell I’m letting her get away, but I need her to believe the choice is hers. “Your life continues as it is. Your mother's debt remains. Your brother's future stays uncertain." I keep my tone neutral, stating facts rather than threats. "But I don't think you will say no."
"You seem very confident," she says, a hint of bitterness coloring her words.
"I am. Not because I underestimate your principles, but because I can see your practical nature. This is a solution to problems that have no other immediate answer."
She's quiet for a long moment, staring at her hands. "I need to think about it."
Not the answer I wanted, but not a refusal either. Progress. I reach into my jacket and withdraw a card—not my standard business card, but a special one with my private number, the one less than ten people in the world possess.
"My number," I say, placing it on the table between us. "Call me with your decision. But don't take too long, Alice. This offer has an expiration date."
"How long?" She doesn't touch the card yet.
"Until tomorrow night. After that, I'll assume your answer is no."
She inhales sharply. "That's not much time."
"I'm not a patient man." I stand, buttoning my jacket. "And some decisions are better made quickly, before doubt and fear cloud your judgment."
She remains seated, looking up at me with those wide eyes. "And if I say yes? When would this...arrangement start?"
"Immediately." I allow myself to reach out then, just a brief touch, my fingertips grazing her cheek. Her skin is as soft as I'd imagined, and she doesn't pull away.
A visible shiver runs through her at my touch. Not fear—desire. It takes everything in me not to pull her from the chair and into my arms right there.
Instead, I step back, giving her space. "Think carefully, Alice. But remember—this opportunity won't come again."
I turn and walk toward the door, feeling her eyes on me. Just before exiting, I glance back. She's still sitting there, my card now in her hand, her expression a complex mixture of anxiety, calculation, and something that looks remarkably like hope.
I don't wait for her to notice my gaze. I push through the door and step into the afternoon sunlight, a smile tugging at my lips. She'll call. Her practical nature won't allow any other outcome.
And when she does, when she finally belongs to me, even if only for thirty days—I'll make sure she never wants to leave.