Chapter Two Gemma
Chapter Two
Gemma
The wind bites at my exposed skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. I bounce on the balls of my feet, alternating between rubbing my gloved hands together and tucking them under my arms to stay warm.
Around me, people dart between the criss-cross pathways of Soho Square Gardens, heads bowed against the cold.
Lance’s Kiosk stands at the edge of the gardens, chipped brown paint peeling from the worn timber and revealing patches of bare wood. The smell of coffee and hot food drifts into the cold air, making my stomach grumble as I step forward to order.
“Morning, lass. How are you?” Lance booms in his thick, northern Scottish accent. I order my usual, double-tapping the button on the side of my phone to pay.
“Ecstatic, thanks, Lance,” I reply, flashing him an exaggerated grin.
He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he slides over my apricot Danish and latte. “Thirteen pounds, love.”
My jaw practically hits the floor. “What the hell, Lance? That’s daylight robbery! It was ten pounds on Friday!”
He sighs, adjusting his woolen rounded cap.
“Council’s hiked up their rates. Sadly, it’s me and my customers taking the hit.
I’ve already lost four regulars, and it’s only Monday.
I was hoping to upgrade my coffee machine and replace the display cabinet, but it doesn’t look like that’ll be happening anytime soon. In fact, it’s all looking a bit grim.”
My shoulders slump in defeat. “Bloody hell, Lance. I’m so sorry.”
Lance’s gaze drops to the ground before returning to meet mine. He forces a small, weak smile. I can barely stand it. He’s the sweetest man.
I’ve been frequenting his stall ever since I started working at Prestige Partners, stopping by for my daily Danish and latte every morning on the way to work. Rain, hail, or shine, Lance has always been here.
“Twenty-five years I’ve run this kiosk. Back then, a coffee was barely a wee two quid.” He removes his hat, scratching his bald spot. “I don’t know how you youngsters do it.”
“Honestly, Lance? Neither do we. Half my pay check’s gone before I’ve even paid rent.”
He nods, leaning in and crossing his arms over the counter. “But we don’t have a choice, eh? Can’t just stop living.”
“Exactly. Bastards.” I gesture to my latte. “Though I might have to start rationing my coffee addiction.”
Lance laughs, but it’s a tired sound. “You’d think with all these clever new gadgets, life would be easier. Cheaper. But it’s just more expensive, and no one’s happier.”
I shoot him a smirk. “I don’t know about that. Your coffee and pastries make me pretty happy.”
He reaches forward, gently holding my hand around my pastry. “As long as I get to see my regulars—well, for now, anyway.”
Pressure builds in my chest. Lance’s Kiosk is a large part of why people visit Soho Square Gardens, and I couldn’t bear seeing it go.
It’s not just the coffee—it’s him. There’s a comfort in knowing that, even if you’re not looking forward to sitting at a desk all day, he’ll be there every morning to greet you with a friendly smile.
The area without him would feel emptier, colder, barren.
“Hang in there,” I say.
He offers a slight shrug. “I’ll fight it as long as I can, lass. But if it’s not meant to be…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to.
I place my coffee on the counter, delicately covering his hand with mine. I can feel him tremor. “You’ll be okay,” I say, squeezing a little tighter.
“Enough of that,” he says, releasing his grip. “How’d that date go then, lass?” Lance changes the subject.
I shake my head. “Disastrous.”
His face splits in a grin. “You don’t have much luck with the fellas, do you?”
I take a tentative sip of my coffee. “Oh, I get lucky plenty, but no, when it comes to finding someone who isn’t a complete tosser? My track record is spectacularly shit.”
He points a finger at me, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t you give up hope yet, lass. There’s a good man out there somewhere for you.”
I scoff. “I’m not looking for a relationship, Lance. I just need someone to shag—someone who can keep up with me. They’re either intimidated by me or completely selfish.”
He laughs. “Aye, you need someone with a backbone. You deserve someone who appreciates that fire in you, not someone trying to put it out.”
I raise my coffee in cheers. “See?” I nod. “You get it.”
He plants his palms on the counter. “Aye. My Everly was just like you back in the day. See, when we were young, we had the sexual appetite of a—”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Christ, Lance! Too much information!” I hold up my hand to stop him. “Right, that’s my cue to exit before you scar me for life. Bye!”
“Aye, but I was just getting to the good bit!” he calls after me, chuckling to himself.
The revolving door opens into the lobby where blasts of heat wrap around me, thawing my cheeks. My heels click against the polished tile floors as I head toward the lift, sipping my latte.
“Morning, Gemma!” Tab, our receptionist, greets me with a bright smile and wave from behind the desk.
“Morning, Tab.” I beam.
I’ve been at Prestige Partners for nine years, starting as a fresh-faced creative intern straight out of London College of Communication.
Henry Matthews, our chief creative officer, saw potential after viewing my grad portfolio and took me under his wing.
Henry and I make a great team. What started as small talk and stiff work conversations quickly turned into after-work vinos and the occasional Sunday brunch.
Henry’s become a real friend, not just a colleague. Miraculously, he’s the first gorgeous man I’ve maintained a purely professional relationship with—though I suspect his boyfriend might have something to do with that.
I’ve never been one to shy away from sexual adventure, especially after my last long-term relationship. I made it my mission to experience everything I missed out on while being tied down to Todd.
The thought of two gorgeous men and me, focused entirely on joint pleasure, is very appealing, but I’d bet good money that if I ever had a crack, I’d be up shit creek without a paddle, and I value my position here far too much to jeopardize it.
I didn’t claw my way from junior intern to associate creative director to throw it away now. I might play around outside these four walls, but at work, I’m strategic about everything.
It wasn’t all glamour at the beginning. I started off managing social media content for smaller boutique hotels and crafting email campaigns for luxury hotel spas.
I spent countless late nights tweaking presentations to ensure my pitch was the best, and it paid off.
Now, at thirty-four, I’m the youngest creative director in the agency’s history, leading our biggest luxury hospitality accounts.
Today, Henry and I are gearing up to pitch our campaign for what’s set to be London’s most talked-about hotel in decades.
Ping.
A notification chimes.
Balancing my pastry and coffee in one hand, I bite down on the finger of my glove, tugging it off before pulling my phone from my pocket.
Declan: You busy tonight?
“Ugh,” I groan, rolling my eyes as soon as I see the name.
Declan was last night’s mistake, courtesy of KinkApp. I used to use the mainstream dating apps but deleted them when I realized most of the men on there are painfully vanilla and actively looking for marriage and babies—so not my vibe.
I matched with Declan last week, drawn in by his silver-fox looks and the promise of experience. Sure, he might be forty-three, but I’ve always had a thing for an age gap. I thought, What could go wrong?
Well, it turns out plenty can go wrong.
He rescheduled the date twice. At first, I suggested coffee and a walk on Sunday morning, but unfortunately, Declan doesn’t “believe in waking up to an alarm,” so he never commits to morning plans.
That should have been my first red flag, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and meet him for dinner instead.
This is when I finally learned that giving someone the benefit of the doubt never benefitted me.
Throughout the entire meal, his eyes never made it north of my tits—which, if I’m honest, I can’t blame him—they are phenomenal. But then came the speech about his journey of “self-discovery” and how after four months of celibacy, he’s “finally ready to honor his body with release.”
That should have been where I drew the line in the sand.
But what can I say? I’m not one to turn down the opportunity for a good shag.
Plus, I was horny and stupidly optimistic—a dangerous cocktail.
I hoped that he might actually be able to put his money where his mouth is and deliver in the bedroom.
So, I went back to his flat, hoping he’d prove me wrong about being a complete waste of my time, and wouldn’t you know it?
He came inside me after two disappointing pumps, then proceeded to tell me that our souls had just intertwined on a higher frequency.
I don’t think I’ve ever dressed and legged it out of a building so quickly. I scrubbed my skin raw as soon as I got home.
I cringe, tapping out of the message. I must remember to unmatch him.
“Ooft.” A deep sound reverberates through the space as I walk straight into something—no, scratch that—someone.
My glove slips from my mouth and the lid pops off my cup, sending coffee splattering all over my victim’s shirt.
My Danish and phone clatter to the floor, both covered in coffee, and the screen cracks on impact.
“Shit!” I say. “I’m so sorry!”
I look up, freezing as I come face-to-face with a pair of familiar crystal blue eyes.
My eyes narrow to slits as they land on the jerk from the train.
“You,” I say, accusatory.
He wipes his hands down the front of his shirt.
Oops, I’ve completely ruined it.
He flicks his fingers and droplets of coffee fly through the air, spattering onto my cream trench.
“You,” he replies, his voice equally low and cutting.
“Perfect,” I say, inspecting the brown dots on my coat. “There goes my bloody breakfast.”
“I know. I’m the lucky prick wearing it.”
I dramatically sweep my eyes over the foyer. “What happened to the pram?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You mean the one I had lodged up my rectum on the Tube?”
I click my tongue. “That’s the one. Did you manage to get it all the way inside this time? I imagine that would have been a difficult feat, considering how tight I’m certain your arse is.”
He releases a deep chuckle.
Shit. Even his laugh is hot.
No, traitorous vagina. You do not have a say in this.
I look up as his gaze drops to his shirt. It strikes me that he’s lost the suit jacket. The damp, stained fabric clings to his flat, taut stomach, accentuating a dusting of dark chest hair beneath.
Out of all the offices in the area, he had to be at mine. Why?
My stupid heart stutters, which is bloody annoying, because this guy is magnetic. It doesn’t happen often, but every now and then you lock eyes with someone and feel that pull—like gravity itself shifted and suddenly you’re the only two people in the room.
That’s exactly what this feels like.
I don’t know him, but he affects me. And I’ve just gone and spilt half my latte all over him. I didn’t get more than a few sips from of it, so I’m also pissed—that latte cost me half of my thirteen-pound breakfast, the rest of it currently swimming in a puddle on the floor.
I never lose my cool in front of a man. If anything, it’s the other way around. I’m confident and go after exactly what I want. And I’ll be damned if this stranger, just because he’s handsome, is the one to throw me.
I squat to collect my phone and soggy Danish. “Fuck,” I mutter, trying to hide the phone cover as I wipe the liquid off the screen, inspecting the damage.
“Is it broken?” he asks.
I angle the phone to show him, and he scrunches his nose when he spots the labyrinth of cracks.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I say, dabbing my sleeve over the coffee stains on my coat as I straighten to full height.
“I’m here on business. I’m assuming you work in this building,” he says, bending down to collect my glove. I snatch it from him, shoving it into my pocket.
“Got it in one, Sherlock,” I reply, my eyes trailing over his frame. “Hope that shirt wasn’t too expensive.”
“Only Tom Ford.”
“Shame.”
“I can tell you’re really cut up about it.” The corner of his lip twitches.
“Naturally.”
Behind him, I see Tab spring into action, grabbing paper towels and cleaning spray from under her desk. She walks toward us.
His brows pinch, eyeing me with way more interest than I’m comfortable with after making a complete tit of myself. “What’s your na—”
“It’s okay, Tab,” I say quickly, interrupting him as I lift a hand to stop her. “I’ll clean it up.”
“No, no. I insist!” Tab says, dropping to her haunches, mopping up the coffee puddle and wiping his shoes.
“Oh,” he starts. “That really isn’t necessary—”
“Exactly, see? He’s happy to clean his own shoes.”
Tab’s cheeks stain pink before she ducks her head and darts back to her desk.
I fix him with a pointed look. “Well, this has been nice. But I have a very important meeting to attend, so if you’ll excuse me.”
Before he can respond, I sidestep him, darting toward the elevator.
“Apologies about the shirt,” I call over my shoulder.
Once I’m inside, I turn back to find the stranger rooted in place, watching with a smirk as I jab at the buttons, willing the doors to close. As they finally shut, I release a deep breath, inspecting my ruined coat. “Damn it.”