Chapter 4
"This environment pressures central banks toward quantitative tightening, fundamentally reshaping the yield curve and compelling finance professionals to prioritize assets that offer a reliable hedge against the erosion of purchasing power.” He closed his laptop.
“We will begin our discussion on fixed income securities next week. Class dismissed.”
I quietly put my books into my bag, arranging them neatly while Asvika waited beside me.
"Actually, I miss the handsome professor. Too bad he was just a sub for one day," she sighed dramatically.
Turned out the guy wasn't even a real professor, just a stand-in. He'd came and gone like the night’s breeze. No wonder he was so unprofessional.
"Oh well," I muttered as we walked toward the parking lot, where Asvika's white Mercedes was parked. "Can you drop me off at the café?"
"Sure thing."
We drove out of campus, heading into the city. As the tall buildings and flashy store signs blurred past, my eyes caught a sleek black BMW. My thoughts betrayed me, pulling me back to him.
No.
He was gone. Just like we planned.
“Look at my eyes.” Asvika turned my face to her. I took in her brown eyes that looked lighter in the sun, her black long hair always perfectly styled.
“Do I look drunk?”
“Bitch, are you kidding me right now?” I groaned in annoyance turning back to the window and she whined.
"Here we are," Asvika announced, parking in front of Versa Luxe Café with a sigh. I gathered my things, ready to leave.
"Wait! Versace!"
I turned sharply, glaring at her. "Don't call me that, remember?"
"Sorry, Bella," she teased with a smirk. "Can you bring me coffee, bagels, and some croissants on your way home?"
"No. Get them yourself—"
"Thank you! Bye-bye!" she yelled, cutting me off and waving as she pulled into traffic, already yelling at another driver. Chaotic, as always.
Did she look drunk? No.
But I'd never tell her anyway.
Versa Luxe Café.
I pushed open the glass doors, letting the familiar buzz of voices and clinking dishes wash over me. The commotion at the front counter immediately caught my attention.
A customer was yelling, and the staff stood there with their heads bowed.
Other patrons were quietly watching the scene unfold, sipping their drinks with mild curiosity.
I approached the counter, and the staff's eyes lit up at the sight of me. Before I could speak, I felt a hand grab my arm.
"Excuse me? I was speaking to her first! What the hell is wrong with everyone here? Bring me your manager!"
The staff scrambled to fetch the manager, who arrived looking worried.
"What seems to be the problem, ma'am?"
The customer turned her fiery glare toward him. "Your incompetent worker gave me the wrong order. Twice. Then she had the audacity to suggest a refund instead of remaking it!"
"I offered a refund because our products didn't meet her standards," the staff member replied calmly. "I didn't make a mistake, but I thought a refund would resolve the issue."
"Ma'am," the manager began, "please consider taking the refund so we ca—"
I ignored the escalating argument, scrolling through my emails to ensure I hadn't missed anything important.
"Oh, my goodness!" the customer shrieked, loud enough to snap me out of my thoughts. "What is with the wrong staff here? Bring me the owner! I demand to speak to the owner!"
Silence fell like a curtain, blanketing the entire space. Every pair of eyes in the café turned to me. I sighed, tucking my phone away. Slowly, I raised my head.
The customer stared at me, wide-eyed. The staff gave me a pleading look. I trailed forward until I stood directly in front of her.
"Hello, ma'am," I said, extending my hand. "I'm the owner of this establishment. How can I help you?"
A collective gasp rippled through the café.
"You have very incompetent staff," she spat, crossing her arms. "I suggest you start hiring better people."
I chuckled lightly, my gaze steady. "You're right, ma'am. My staff can be incompetent at times."
The employees stiffened, lowering their heads.
"They're incompetent," I continued, "because they don't recognize a mad dog when one walks into a fine establishment like this. And they haven't learned when to call the police."
Whispers ran from every corner of the café. Even the customers upstairs crowded around the staircase to watch.
"Excuse me? Did you just call me a dog?"
"If the shoe fits, ma'am," I replied with a tight smile. "I'd love to resolve this matter, but as you can see, this is the best café in town. People of high calibre and self-respect come here to relax. I'd be an incompetent owner if I didn't sweep out the nuisance."
She was too stunned to respond.
Reaching into my purse, I pulled out cash, enough to refund the two drinks she hadn't even paid for and shoved it into her hand.
"Please leave. I'd hate to call the police. You don't seem like someone who can afford bail."
Her face turned red as the murmurs in the café grew louder.
"Yeah! Get out of here!" one customer yelled.
"Classless!" another chimed in.
With an angry scoff, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Applause erupted throughout the café.
I turned to address everyone. "I'm sorry for the disturbance and any inconvenience caused. This wasn't how I planned to introduce myself as the owner of Versa Luxe, but I promise to always have your best interests at heart."
The applause grew louder, and slowly, the customers returned to their seats.
I turned to the counter staff. "Don't worry, I'll take over for a bit. Go get some rest."
The employee smiled gratefully.
I owned this café, and it was always bustling with customers. Thanks to the steady income it provided. I don't have to worry about university tuition, because I was on scholarship.
The money I earned from the café was split wisely: part of it went into investments, which had already tripled my earnings, and the rest was saved for the future.
It wasn't just a business; it was a safety net I had built for myself. One that allowed me to focus on my studies without financial stress.
“That'll be 14.99. Cash or card?" I asked, sliding the croissant bag across the counter to the next customer.
A voice called out, stopping me mid-motion. "Bella, it's me!"
I glanced up at the sound, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
A guy with dishevelled brown hair stood before me, grinning like he'd won the lottery. He tugged down his face mask, revealing sharp cheekbones and an eager expression.
I certainly did not know who he was.
I blinked at him. "Who?"
His face fell, his grin faltering. "Zach. I sit behind you in most of your lectures. I always say hi."
Ah. The one who breathes heavily behind me during lectures.
"Oh," I said, expression blank. "So, cash or card?"
His jaw dropped slightly, a mix of disbelief and amusement crossing his face. "I can't believe you don't remember me."
"I don't," I replied, voice monotone, moving to help the next customer.
"Fine, whatever. But, uh," he leaned closer, lowering his voice, "would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?"
I turned my head slowly, locking eyes with him. "No."
His grin slipped entirely. "Why not? It's just dinner. We could talk about schoolwork."
"I don't talk about schoolwork outside of school."
"Then we can talk about something else." His tone was hopeful, but I could see the frustration creeping in as I reached for Asvika's bagels.
Rolling my eyes, I began untying my apron. "Rochelle, I'm heading out," I called out to my manager.
Rochelle, always bright and sharp, hurried over. "Boss, are you leaving now?"
I nodded, handing her the apron. "You're doing a great job, Roch. And remember—"
She smiled knowingly. "If there's a mad dog, call the police and the ambulance."
I chuckled, giving her a playful salute as I grabbed my bag.
"Bella, wait!" Zach was still there, trailing after me as I headed toward the parking lot.
I stopped abruptly, spinning around. "What?"
"Let me give you a ride," he offered, looking hopeful.
The beep of my Lamborghini unlocking answered him before I could. His jaw dropped as he stared at the sleek car, the glossy black exterior gleaming under the lights in the parking lot.
"I've got my own ride, thanks," I said, opening the door.
"Wait! Bella, please, just dinner. You can even pick the meals." His voice cracked slightly with desperation.
I sighed, resting my head against the steering wheel for a moment. The thought of running him over crossed my mind, fleeting but satisfying.
I groaned. "Fine."
"Really?" His face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Great! Can I have your number?"
I scowled. "Why?"
"So, you can text me your address."
Reluctantly, I grabbed his phone, punching in my number before giving it back to him. "Don't ever call me. Texting will do. Now move."
I slammed the door shut and sped off, leaving him standing dumbfounded in the lot, his figure shrinking in my rearview mirror.
I should have run him over.