Chapter 3
RORY
If I stare at these spreadsheets any longer, I’m going to need surgery to fix my brain because I swear it’s melting. I may be the numbers guy, but even I have my limits.
“I’m heading home.” Shutting my laptop, I hop up from the couch in Luke’s office.
I think I spend more time in his office than I do in my own.
While the view I have of the city is astounding, I hate being in there all alone.
Luke is kind enough to let me work in here when the silence becomes too loud.
“Oh?” Luke looks up from the work he’s had his nose buried in for hours, with his black rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
He’s the COO, but he spends more time on the innovative technology side of our business than doing his job. But no complaints here. He’s always coming up with new designs to improve our security systems and new ways to keep our private security clients safer.
Gathering my papers and laptop, I tuck them away in my briefcase. “Yeah, I’m beat. I can’t find anything here that would indicate someone is stealing from us, and my eyeballs feel like they’re going to fall out of my face.”
Luke removes his glasses and rubs his hand over his face. “I’m still sifting through code here, and I’m not sure Hunter has made any headway either. He said we should have some help on Monday.”
His exhausted malachite irises pierce me, like he’s searching for something, but I don’t know what it is he’s trying to find. All I know is that every time he looks at me like that, a tender ache forms in my chest, and I don’t know why.
And just like the times before, I look away.
“I’ll see you at home,” I call over my shoulder as I leave his office.
After a quick stop by my own office, I take the elevator down to the lobby and walk out the doors.
I should wait for my driver, William, especially since it’s so cold outside in the early evening.
The car would be warmer than this, but I’d rather stretch my legs.
If I'm unable to handle the low temperature, I’ll call William.
I only make it a few blocks before I’m ready to cave. Instead of reaching for my cell, I duck into the nearest open business. As I step through the doors, I’m encompassed by warmth and the energizing aroma of coffee beans.
My heavy eyes feel even heavier when I realize just how tired I truly am. Good thing a great source of caffeine is just a few steps away.
The café has a homey feel and seems to attract a sizable crowd if the few empty seats are anything to go by.
The earthy aroma of brewing coffee beans injects some life into me.
The concrete walls and exposed brick give the shop an industrial feel, but the colorful couches, plush chairs, and snuggly pillows make it feel cozy.
The large windows look as if they let in plenty of natural light on dim mornings.
A bar with tall stools lines one of the windows, and small tables with a few chairs are scattered over the rest of the space.
Unbuttoning my cashmere coat, I feel the heat of the café warming my bones. I stalk to the counter and wait while the only two employees on shift scurry around filling orders. My stomach rumbles when I find a display case with mouthwatering pastries.
As I mull over what I want to order, an employee finally meets me at the register. I’m staring at the menu above her head, but I couldn’t ignore her presence if I tried. I can feel her there.
It’s like standing in front of the North Star. She shines brighter than everyone else. She’s the constant light that helps those who are lost navigate their way.
When I finally muster up the courage to look directly at her, I’m rendered speechless.
The espresso tresses of her hair are pulled back into a loose braid that rests on one side over her shoulder.
The caramel tone of her skin brings out the mocha hue of her eyes.
Her outfit is plain, but it fails to hide the curves of her body and the roundness of her hips.
My mind immediately generates ideas that would allow me to get my hands on her, but none of them are honest. Women like her deserve an honest man, a good man. But fuck, I want her.
She’s what men dream of finding in their lives.
The perfect Dream Girl.
“H—” She finally looks up from the register and cuts herself off when our eyes meet. Her plump lips part slightly as her eyes scan my frame.
A smug smile pulls at my lips, knowing she’s at a loss for words. Teasingly, I prompt, “Yes?”
“Um. Right.” She clears her throat but won’t look at me again. “Hi, welcome to Mocha Lisa. What can I get for you?”
“Medium hot macchiato,” I answer.
“You got it,” she replies as she presses buttons on her screen. She turns away to begin making the drink.
“Wait.” I wave my hand at her. When she faces me, I ask, “Don’t I need to pay for it?”
An embarrassed titter slips from her mouth as blush colors her cheeks. “Right.”
After I pay, she scampers away, joining another employee who is busy at the espresso machines. I step back and watch from a few feet away.
She calls out other people’s names, handing them their drinks in white paper travel mugs as I patiently wait for my own.
There are a million other things I should be doing while I wait, but the sexy barista has my full attention. With her back to me, I have an unobstructed view of her luscious ass in tight blue jeans.
The things I would do to her…
When my drink is done, I watch as she opens her mouth to call my name, but realizes that she never asked for it.
I put her out of her misery with a wave of my hand at her. “Rory.”
Her shoulders relax as she moves around the counter to bring me my macchiato, something she didn’t do for anyone else. I’m taking that as a good sign.
I move to meet her halfway, but her focus is on the floor, so she doesn’t see me coming. We bump into each other as the lid of the cup pops off, and the cup falls to the floor, spilling hot coffee all over my front. The temperature isn’t too bad, but it’s still a shock to my system.
“Oh my God!” she exclaims, mortified.
I lean forward slightly to keep my wet dress shirt and coat from touching my skin.
“I’m so sorry!” She moves her hands like she’s going to brush off the brown liquid.
My hands encircle her wrists, stopping her. “No need to burn yourself.”
My Dream Girl may not be touching me willingly, but the contact is too much and not enough at the same time.
I need more.
I realize she feels it too when her eyes connect with mine, and I find raw vulnerability.
Blinking, she retreats away from me. “I’ll be right back.” Then she bolts through a door behind the counter and returns just as quickly with a bucket and some rags.
She sets the bucket down and reaches for me with a dry cloth, and it dawns on me that if I let her, she’ll wipe away something important, something I don’t want to forget.
I grab her wrist again. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you sure? That shirt looks expensive. I can pay to have it dry cleaned.”
“It’s okay,” I assure her.
She looks skeptical but pulls away from my hold and drops to her knees to clean the puddle on the floor. I crouch down with her, grab a rag, and help her clean the mess.
My Dream Girl stops cleaning and scrunches her brows. “What’re you doing?”
“Helping.”
“But I’m the one who works here.” She says it slowly with a perplexed look on her face.
“Does that mean I can’t clean up my mess?” I give her an impish grin.
She frowns. “No, but again, I’m the one who works here.”
“You said that already,” I point out.
Her lips pinch, trying to hide her smile. “You’re a strange man.”
My head tilts slightly. “I’ve been called worse.”
She shakes her head, and we finish cleaning the spilled coffee together. When it’s done, she takes the rag from me, placing hers and mine in the bucket, and stands. I rise with her, and she shifts her weight back and forth on her feet.
“I’ll go make you another.” She says it enthusiastically, like she’s happy she came up with something to say.
I don’t want this to end. I need her to stay with me as long as possible.
“Have a cup with me,” I blurt out.
She rolls her eyes at me, exasperated, but the corner of her lip turns up. “I don’t think you’re getting it. I work here.” She emphasizes each word of the last sentence as if I don’t know what she’s saying.
Rearing my head back, I play along. “You do? I didn’t notice.” My words are drenched in sarcasm.
Her mouth curves into a full smile, and I’m hit again by how beautiful she is.
“Don’t make me drink alone,” I push further.
She shakes her head at me, but her smile is still firmly in place. “Okay. My shift is over in a few minutes.” She walks away, back behind the counter, and I can’t help but stare at her backside.
Fuck me.
My dick hardens in my slacks, and I have to button my coat back up to hide it.
I claim a spot for us on a bright green couch, and my Dream Girl joins me a few minutes later. Her white tee and jeans are like a second skin, and without her apron, I’m able to get an eyeful of every inch of her body.
She sets her purse and thick coat on the coffee table in front of us and hands me my drink. Her lips push together, and she lifts her own drink and sips. I stare at her throat as she swallows, entranced by her smooth skin.
Shifting my weight on the couch, I turn so I’m facing her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I spilled your coffee.” She bends a knee and maneuvers, so her leg is on the cushion between us, and her body is pointed toward me.
I cue her with, “And the name of the woman who spilled my coffee is…?”
“Savannah.”
“Savannah. It’s nice to meet you.” Instinctively, I want to shake her hand, but that’s too formal. I settle for a simple smile and nod.
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Rory.”
Setting my coffee down, I clasp my hands together in front of me to prevent myself from pulling her into my lap. “Tell me something about yourself, Dream Girl.”
Lift a brow, she questions teasingly, “Dream Girl? Use that one a lot?”