Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
GAbrIEL
If someone had asked me yesterday whether I could have my world upended by a woman, I would have laughed in their face. I don't have time for chaos. But it seems the universe decided to drop chaos right into my lap.
My coffee girl. Blonde, frazzled, and so goddamn stunning I can’t catch my breath when she’s near. I replay our collision this morning in my head, every second looped on high-def repeat. Not because I'm angry, but because I haven't stopped thinking about her since she crashed into me this morning.
And now, twelve frustrating hours later, I'm still replaying it. The clumsy apology. The way her cheeks turned adorably pink. The way she sized me up and held her own. Jesus. Just thinking about it makes my cock twitch.
Most women fall all over themselves trying to impress me, but my coffee girl stood her ground. Fucking adorable. And the way her eyes raked over my body like she was mentally undressing me? It nearly brought me to my knees.
She’s got curves that make my hands itch to touch. Blonde hair, big expressive blue eyes, and a mouth made for sin. She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and I want to get my hands on every inch of her. I need to hear her moaning my name instead of apologizing for ruining my shirt.
I’m dying to know what she looks like when she falls apart just for me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I step into my three-thousand-square-foot penthouse perched above the wealthy, small Texas town and blow out the breath I’ve been holding since she stepped off the goddamn elevator.
Tonight, though, my mind won't quit. All I can see is the flash of pink on her cheeks, the way she looked at me like she was already planning the next round.
I pour myself a scotch and scroll through emails, pretending to care about any of them.
Nothing sticks. No merger, no contract, not even the lawsuit from a disgruntled ex-employee who claims I caused his "emotional distress"—honestly, he should have billed me for the professional development.
I close my laptop and stare out over the lights of Worthington Hills.
The urge to know everything about her is… unsettling. I'm used to curiosity, but this is different. This is hunger.
Enough of this. I take out my phone and tap the direct line for my head of security. It rings once.
“Mr. Mercer,” Armand says, and there’s a ragged edge to the words, clipped and taut, but not cold.
I don’t waste time. “I need everything you can find on one of my neighbors.”
He doesn’t bother with why. There’s just a beat of charged silence. “Which neighbor?”
“I rode the elevator with her tonight. Female, mid-twenties, blonde. Eighth floor. Short, curves for days, and beautiful. She spilled coffee on me this morning in the lobby.”
Another pause, longer this time, like he’s already searching. “You’ll have it in an hour.”
“Half,” I snap. What can I say? I’m an impatient fucker. “And keep this between us.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “As always.”
I hang up and stare at my reflection in the glass for a long minute, trying to make sense of why I'm acting like a horny teenager instead of the CEO of a major corporation. My reflection stares back, impassive, unblinking. If there’s a chink in my armor, I don’t see it.
But I feel it—a hairline fracture, right under the skin, caused by a curvy little blonde with attitude.
My phone buzzes at nine-eighteen, twenty-eight minutes after I made the call.
"Her name's Alice Stone," Max reports, voice tinny through the speaker. "She works for you in the Downtown office. Admin assistant to Jonathon Martin. Hired nine months ago. No criminal history, excellent references, full bio in your inbox."
"Thanks, Armand," I say and hang up.
It’s embarrassing how fast I fucking scroll through the email.
STONE, ALICE. A scanned headshot from her personnel file, not nearly as captivating as the real thing.
A list of her jobs, all service and hospitality while attending college.
A brief note from her supervisor about her "work ethic, quick problem-solving, and infectious positive attitude.
" A local address, right here in the building, apartment 8B.
And at the very bottom, her date of birth. Twenty-five last week.
She’s young but not too young.
I finish my drink and pour another, the scotch going down smoother this time. I let the facts unspool in my mind, pulling at the details until a picture forms. Coffee Girl is trouble with a capital T. And she’s all fucking mine.
Now, I just need to find a way to convince her of that fact.
I wake up before my alarm, wide awake and already hard as stone from thinking about my coffee girl. Alice Stone. The name rolls around in my head, sticky and addictive. I want her. I want to see that blush in person again, hear what adorable thing she says this time.
I call Armand before I dress. “Text me the second she leaves 8B.” No questions. Just a grunt on the other end. That’s why I pay him the big bucks.
At seven-thirty-eight, my phone buzzes.
Armand
She’s in the hallway.
Time to move. I stalk out of my penthouse and punch the elevator button, heart pounding like a jackhammer. Anticipation buzzes through me as the doors part, and there she is, slightly frazzled, clutching her coffee and cursing under her breath.
“Seriously?” she mutters, glaring at the heavens. “Does the universe hate me?”
I smirk, more alive than I’ve felt in ages. “Good morning, Coffee Girl.”
“Morning.” She pastes a fake smile on her face. “How’s your day going?”
I let my eyes drag over her from top to bottom, slow and deliberate. “Better now,” I rumble, not even pretending to play it cool. Hell, I want her flustered. I want her blushing and breathless, thinking about me all damn day.
Her cheeks go pink. Again. Fuck yes. That blush is my new obsession. I want to see her flush like that from my hands, my mouth, my cock buried so deep she won’t remember her own name. But I’ll force myself be patient.
“Good,” she squeaks and reaches down to brush a little bit of lint from her suit jacket.
I lean a little closer, catching that sexy scent of hers. Roses and something sharper. She’s breathing quickly, and I get a rush from knowing I’m the reason she’s flustered.
God, she’s so fucking cute. I want to back her up against the mirrored wall and see just how many ways I can make her blush. Instead, I just let my eyes drag over her again, nice and slow, until she fidgets and pretends to check her phone.
I try to play it cool, but my cock is already rock hard and pressing against my suit pants. Jesus. I haven’t ever had this kind of reaction to a woman.
The elevator slides to a stop, and the doors swish open way too fucking soon.
We step out, and I notice Armand and Tony discreetly stepping around a pillar to follow me as I watch Alice hightail it across the lobby.
As I watch her disappear, I’m already planning my next move.
No matter what it takes, I’m going to win over my coffee girl.