Wrong Order

Chapter 1

One

Sophie

Joseph’s was a dump.

The floors were permanently stained two shades too dark, the windows smudged, and mixed-up orders ran amok.

But being fast and cheap in New York City overrode the fact the place served mediocre coffee akin to brown dishwater. And since it sat only a few blocks from Sophie’s job, it counted her amongst its hodge-podge of regulars.

As the assistant to Marilyn Covey, the CEO of a boutique PR firm in Manhattan, Sophie was expected to attend almost every meeting her boss did. The company only had five employees besides them, although Marilyn had growth plans.

Sophie certainly didn’t have time to wait around for her correct order. But she was gunning for a promotion, and that sure as hell wasn’t happening without caffeine in her system.

Checking her phone for the time, she pursed her lips.

There was a nine o’clock briefing she needed to get to on the Shasta campaign, but Marilyn would understand if Sophie ran a few minutes late.

Hopefully.

Low pop music filtered through Sophie’s earbuds and she gritted her teeth, sidestepping a Wet Floor sign.

Their current account director was stepping into retirement next month, and Sophie determined that when she took the position at Covey, the first thing she was going to do was convince Marilyn to build in a ten-minute leeway period for meetings.

The barista called her name and set a cup amongst the crowd of others squatting on the counter beside the dinged espresso machine. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She reached for the cup, and the rose-gold bracelet her mom had gifted her slid down her wrist.

“This was the bracelet I bought when I first moved to the U.S,” her mom had confessed as she slipped the accessory on Sophie’s wrist. “I was somewhere new and strange, and yes, your grandparents were with me, but I was still scared. But this bracelet … whenever I saw it on myself, it was a reminder to stay brave. And later with your father … I needed it again. But now, it’s a reminder for you. ”

She had kissed Sophie’s cheeks and continued, “Never back down, XiǎoDān.”

And look at me now.

Rearing for a huge promotion after only five years.

Sophie reached for the iced coffee, but before she swooped up the drink, a large hand closed around it. The condensation on the plastic cup formed water droplets that ran over long fingers.

“What—hey! That’s mine.” She whipped her head toward the person who took her coffee and marched straight into a hurricane.

Something close to recognition seared through her, but that couldn’t be right. Maybe she just recognized the type of aura emanating from him.

Power, bright and alarming, rolled off broad shoulders. It was hard to put her finger on it, but he wore a distinct elegance that screamed of generational wealth.

The man pulled his earbud from his ear and took his phone from his pocket before saying something in German. Frowning, he hit a button. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Sophie bristled. She didn’t care how much money he had; he was still being a dick. “I said that’s my coffee. They had to remake it.”

He raised a dark brow and glanced at the cup in the dim light. “Your name’s Sofa?”

Glaring at the man, she tipped her chin up. “Sophie.”

She met his gaze despite his impressive height and sucked in a breath.

Dark brown eyes lay under a pair of shockingly perfect, sculpted eyebrows, and his black hair, slicked up with pomade, lent an even more polished countenance. His face narrowed to a point at his chin, but he boasted a strong jawline and high cheekbones, which rounded out his look.

Full lips quirked. “Well. It says otherwise here.”

Sophie sighed, crossing her arms, and a flash caught her eye.

A shining, silver Rolex glinted against the man’s inky black designer suit.

Her gaze traveled to where his sleeves cuffed at his elbows, revealing a gorgeous tattoo that snaked over veiny forearms.

A large compass lay under a bouquet of roses, formed from playing cards. Waves and climbing vines filled the spaces in between, ducking around his wrist and elbow. Anything higher than the roses disappeared into the cuff of his suit jacket, leaving no uncertainty behind it was a full sleeve.

He shifted, and the dark tips poking out from his shirt collar, connecting to something unseen, pulled with the movement.

She cleared her throat, looking away. If she met him before, she certainly didn’t remember when or where.

“I … look,” she stammered. “Just give me my coffee.”

The man glanced at the murky, brown, iced contraption in his hand before brandishing the cup at her. “Right. Well. Here’s your coffee, Sofa.”

Sparks of unwarranted tension sizzled in the air, flashing in her vision.

Her lip curled, but she took the drink from him. She didn’t have time to argue.

Muttering a thanks, she turned on her heel and strode toward the entrance.

She felt his eyes on her, a heavy weight that didn’t seem to lessen with the distance, but she didn’t dare turn around.

“You’re sure it wasn’t a celebrity?” Chloe asked.

Sophie grabbed her plastic cup of iced coffee from the wrought iron table. “Why would he be a celebrity?”

She fanned herself with her hand.

Mid-August in Manhattan always brought boiling breezes, sunny, melting days, and a cloying scent of rotting garbage. Altogether, she wanted to claw her skin off and get a Rhinoplasty.

The cold drink was a welcome relief, though Sophie was the type only to drink iced coffee, year-round.

“You said he was hot and rich, which I know doesn’t equal celebrity, but still.” Her friend re-propped her cane against the table.

“Uh, no,” Sophie corrected. “I said he was well-off. I mean, he had on a designer suit, for God’s sake!”

“So what if he did?” Chloe asked. “That doesn’t imply well-off.

He could’ve picked it up for ten bucks at a thrift store.

Also, New York City gets its fair share of oddities.

You know, I saw a woman wearing a fur coat on the subway the other day, like one of those, ‘I just murdered my husband for his life insurance policy’ coats. And it’s August!”

Sophie chuckled. “Okay, fair point. However, he also wore a Rolex. I mean, come on.”

Chloe sipped her iced matcha latte. “Maybe he’s really committing to the bit.”

“Chloe.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll admit that’s not something someone would wear at a place like Joseph’s.”

“Thank you!”

Her dark eyes widened. “Oh, my God, you don’t think it was part of a bet, do you? You know, to make him seem more down to Earth? Because you said you’d never seen him there before, right?”

Sophie sighed and set down her coffee only to reach back and readjust her long, dark ponytail with damp hands.

Summer days under the blazing sun were when she hated having black hair.

“Or maybe— and hear me out: he just likes it.”

“Who in their right mind “just likes” Joseph’s?” Chloe demanded. “Especially when they could afford whatever coffee they wanted?”

Unlike Sophie, Chloe’s hair was down in a dark cloud around her shoulders. She didn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat.

Sophie adjusted her shirt, smoothing it out so no wrinkles covered the cute, cartoon cat. “Okay, true.”

Maybe Chloe was right, and that man was doing it for the paparazzi.

But Joseph’s occasionally had rats, and she didn’t think even a

D-Lister would stoop that low.

“Did you get his name?” Chloe chewed on her straw and angled her body toward Sophie. “You should look him up.”

“I didn’t,” Sophie responded. “I don’t know, I feel like I’ve seen him before, but …”

Was he one of Covey’s previous clients?

She rarely forgot anyone who entered their offices, but the possibility wasn’t zero.

“Whatever. I’m sure it’ll come to me,” she said. “Oh, we had this case that came through the other day. I can’t go into details, but it’s pretty big. And it’s making me think Marilyn is definitely going to promote me.”

Chloe scoffed. “Uh, duh? It’s about time she saw your potential. You’ve been working for Covey since you moved here, and you’ve been fantastic at it. I mean, who willingly puts in so much overtime, or goes in early?”

Sophie shrugged. “I just want to make sure she gets the materials she needs on time.”

“Exactly, and you’ve got a pretty good relationship with your coworkers.” Chloe shook her head. “But is Marilyn promoting you? No. You work too damn much to keep going unappreciated like that.”

“Chlo,” Sophie muttered. “You know why I work so much.”

“I know.” Chloe sighed and gave a wry smile. “I still can’t believe you’ve been like this since before I even met you.”

Sophie snorted and chewed on her dilapidated straw. Believe me, I don’t want to be.

But what choice did she have?

Her dad walked out on their family when she was far too young, and her mom nearly broke herself trying to glue things back together.

It wasn’t Sophie’s job to fix things, but she couldn’t help trying.

She didn’t just deserve the account director position; she earned it.

With all her hard work, making account director should've been a piece of cake. But Marilyn posed an unforeseen obstacle.

Sophie walked into Joseph’s on Monday to find the usual short line and the familiar smell of burnt coffee beans in the air.

She pulled out her phone while she waited to order, the memory of her last visit flooding her mind. Today, she prayed she could get in and out of Joseph's without any weird encounters with strangers stealing her coffee, even if that particular stranger had been easy on the eyes.

She dipped her attention to the group chat with her friends.

It wasn’t even eight thirty in the morning yet, but sixteen unread messages from Oliver and Chloe, exclusively in Korean, sat in their group chat.

“I’ll do a medium coffee, no cream, one sugar, and a blueberry muffin.”

Her head lurched up, and she glanced at the glass display case. There was only one left before, please let them have restocked … NO.