Chapter 10 #2
I gave him a razor-sharp grin. “Too bad your wife isn’t in this room right now.
” I leaned back in my chair, enjoying the growing suspicion on his face, and began ticking off the instructions on my fingers.
“I’ll have a venti cup with four ristretto shots.
Two pumps of sugar-free vanilla, one pump of caramel sauce—not syrup, the sauce.
Add oat milk to about halfway, just enough to take the edge off the espresso, then top it with extra-dry steamed oat-milk foam.
I want the foam thick enough to hold its shape, but don’t scorch it.
Around one hundred and forty degrees is fine. ”
I paused, watching his expression deteriorate. “Then a very thin layer of coconut-milk foam on top. Unsweetened. No coconut syrup. I want the coconut flavor to come from the milk.”
His brows drew together.
I smiled wider.
“Finish it with a light dusting of cacao powder, not cocoa mix. And three Ethiopian coffee beans on top. Not four. Three. And make sure the cup has a recycled, unbleached sleeve. Okay. Thank you.”
I turned to my computer screen, my fingers already dancing across the keyboard as if he had vanished into thin air.
The room fell into silence.
I looked up to find him staring at me, utterly frozen, his eyes blinking rapidly as he struggled to process the monstrosity I had just asked for.
“What, is that too much for you?” I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’ll just—”
“No!” he practically yelped. “I’ll get it. I’m getting it.” He nodded, though he looked utterly lost. Then, after a hesitant pause, he asked, “Could you… maybe… repeat that?”
I let out a long sigh. “Sue me for thinking you were actually listening.”
“I was listening,” he defended, a desperate edge to his voice.
“I have it written down,” Naija interjected smoothly, not looking up from her tablet. “I just sent it to you.”
Cassian fumbled for his device, giving her a grateful nod. “Thank you.”
I sank deeper into my chair and released another heavy, theatrical sigh. “If only I could get my coffee just by wishing for it.”
“I’m on it,” he said, and practically fled the room.
“You don’t feel bad for him, do you?” I asked, not looking up from my screen.
Naija was silent for a moment. “You don’t remember your marriage, but I do.” She paused, choosing her words with care. “I do feel things for him. None of them are pity. Or anything positive.”
A slow smile touched my lips. “Good.”
I walked back into my office after the team meeting, the strain of pretending my memory was intact weighing heavily on me. It had taken everything I had to keep up the performance without slipping. I never could have managed it without Naija.
Cassian was slumped on the sofa when I entered, his head tipped back against the cushions, one hand wrapped around a cup holder. The moment he spotted me, he jolted upright and hurried over.
“Here’s your—”
“It took you an hour to get a drink?” I cut him off without slowing down, heading straight for my desk.
He trailed after me, scrambling to explain himself.
“There was a huge line at the café. Then, when I got back, there was nowhere to park. I had to drive around, leave the car three blocks away, and walk all the way here. By the time I finally made it upstairs, you were already in a meeting, so I had no choice but to wait.”
I dropped into my chair and woke my computer, refusing to spare him a glance. “My God, do you ever stop with the excuses?” I held out my hand impatiently. “Just give me my tea and leave.”
Nothing touched my palm.
I waited.
Still nothing.
I glanced over and found him staring at me, utterly bewildered, the drink frozen halfway between us.
“Coffee,” he murmured, staring at the cup.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop mumbling?”
He cleared his throat, the sound strained with nerves. “You asked for coffee.”
My brows drew together. “Are you fucking with me right now?”
His head shook in a frantic, almost panicked denial.
“I asked for tea, Cassian. Tea. Not coffee. How did you possibly hear coffee when I said tea? Too much coffee is bad for me, and you watched me finish a cup already. So why would you bring me another one?” I gestured toward the offending cup.
“Do you actively want my health to deteriorate? Is that it?”
“What? No! Of course not!” Panic climbed into his voice as he looked down at the coffee, then back at me, his brow furrowing helplessly. “I—I made a mistake. I’ll get your tea right now.”
He turned toward the door, only to halt after two steps and whirl back around, his face stricken.
“How do you take it?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you telling me that after two years of marriage, you don’t know how I take my tea?”
His eyes widened in horror. “I do know—”
“I’ll have ginger tea. Thank you.” I picked up my phone, dismissing him with a glance. “Can you manage that, or should I write down the instructions?”
He nodded so quickly I almost expected whiplash. “Yes. Ginger tea. Ten minutes.”
He practically bolted from the room.
Three hours later, I was leaning against Naija’s desk when the stairwell door creaked open and Cassian stumbled through it. He was drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead, his shirt clinging to his back.
I gave him an appreciative whistle. “You look like you’ve had quite a day.”
He stopped in front of me, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. “Here’s your—”
I glanced pointedly at my wrist. “Three hours.” I raised an eyebrow. “What’s the excuse this time?”
He took a deep, steadying breath, his eyes locking onto the glass of water on Naija’s desk. He snatched it without asking and emptied it in one desperate gulp before slamming the glass back down and dragging a hand through his soaked hair.
“After I left, I found out my car had been towed. I hailed a cab back to the café, only to find the entire staff in meltdown because one employee was cheating on another… with the manager. So I went to a different café. Another massive line. Finally got my order, and just as I was about to leave, I got a call from the towing company. The police had found illegal substances in the car they’d towed and wanted me at the station immediately. ”
He dragged a hand over his face, looking thoroughly exhausted. “Turns out, they had the wrong car. Same make, same model, same color. The license plate had been entered incorrectly, and somehow my car got flagged instead. So I had to go down to the station, explain the whole thing.”
He let out a humorless breath. “Then I tried to get my car back, but the towing company said they couldn’t release it until the police cleared the mistake and sent over the paperwork.
So I said, ‘Fuck it,’ and took another cab here, only to find the elevators were under emergency maintenance.
” His mouth twisted into a miserable line.
“Twelve floors, Alessia. I just ran up twelve flights of stairs.”
I pressed my lips together, fighting the smile threatening to escape. “You know, you should really write a book on excuses. I’m sure it would be a bestseller.” I held out my hand and wiggled my fingers impatiently. “But forget that. My croissant.”
He stared at me, his face caught between genuine anguish and complete bewilderment. He blinked several times, his brow furrowing deeper with each one, then swallowed before managing to speak.
“You…” His voice faltered. “You asked for tea, Alessia.”
I frowned. “Why on earth would I ask for tea? Look at the time. I’m starving. I sent you for a snack. Specifically, a croissant. Was getting one little treat really too complicated for you?”
“But you—”