The sky darkens, and the heavens open as I sprint the last block to the coffee shop, where I have arranged to meet Millie. Pushing through the door, I shiver, welcoming the rush of warmth and the rich, familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee. My eyes sweep over the mostly empty tables, but there’s no sign of Millie.
Frowning, I check my phone, expecting a message. Nothing.
With a sigh, I order a latte and sink into one of the well-worn leather sofas, firing off a quick text.
ME
At the coffee shop, everything okay? You said Bittrade Coffee on Park Avenue, right? Cya soon :)
The barista calls my name, and I fetch my coffee, my gaze drifting to the rain-streaked windows. Outside, the skyscrapers blur to gray, their sharp edges softened by the relentlessdownpour. The steady hum of rain against the pavement mingles with the hiss and gurgle of the coffee machines.
It’s not like Millie to be late, especially when she was the one who insisted on meeting here. I stir my coffee absentmindedly. The business district is a bit of an odd choice for a Saturday morning—not exactly our usual spot—but she said it was convenient. Perhaps she’s putting in overtime. I know she’s been busy with a project recently. I’ve decided I will tell her about Chase today, especially since I’m meeting him and Austen’s kids this afternoon, but that’s assuming she even shows. But to be fair, I can’t put it off much longer without hurting her feelings.
I recheck my phone and refresh the screen, but still nothing. My fingers tighten around the device as I exhale sharply, my patience wearing thin. Outside, the rain intensifies, pounding the sidewalk in an unrelenting rhythm. Great. I’ll get drenched on the way home.
As I’m about to give up, the bell above the door jingles, drawing my gaze. My pulse kicks up, hope flickering—but it dies just as quickly when I see a tall figure step inside, dressed all in black. His umbrella obscures his face as he gives it a sharp shake, sending droplets scattering before sliding it into the stand by the door.
Then he looks up.
I do a double-take. Elliot Hargreaves. Knightwell’s fiercest competitor. Chase’s biggest headache. My stomach knots instinctively. I’ve always found him...pleasant enough—friendly, even. Maybe a little too friendly. But I’ve heard the stories. The kind of man who smiles as he buries the knife in your back.
His gaze lands on me immediately, and a wide grin spreads across his face. “Violet,” he drawls, striding toward me with an easy confidence. “What a lovely surprise. What brings you to this side of town?” He shrugs off his expensive jacket, slinging it over the chair across from me like he’s already decided to stay. “Don’ttell me you are finally reconsidering my offer to tour our new offices?” His hand disappears into his pocket, retrieving a sleek Goyard wallet. He flips it open, sliding out a black card. “Let me get you a coffee, Violet.”
I stand, preparing to leave, when my phone buzzes with an incoming message.
MILLIE
Sorry! Got held up, be there in fifteen minutes.
Shoot. Now I don’t have an excuse to leave.
I plaster on a polite smile. “Thank you, Elliot, but I just had a coffee. I’m meeting a friend.” I emphasize the last part, hoping he gets the hint.
If he does, he chooses to ignore it. “Let me get you something else, then?” I hesitate. Leaving now would be rude, and Elliot thrives on pretending we’re all part of one big, happy business family. “Okay,” I relent. “A water would be great, thanks.”
He disappears to the counter and returns moments later—not just with a bottle of water, but with a plate piled high with delicate pastries. A fork rests on either side, as if this is some kind of shared indulgence.
“Youhaveto try the cakes here,” he says, spearing a bite of sponge and waving it under my nose. “They use a classic French recipe—ensures the fluffiest texture.”
I take the fork from him, suppressing a sigh. As pushy as he is, the moment the vanilla sponge and strawberry cream hit my tongue, I nearly moan.
“Oh, my God.” I cover my mouth as I chew. “That’s delicious.”
Elliot smirks, nudging the plate closer. “Told you.”
I let myself take another bite, reasoning that I haven’t had breakfast, and this is too good to resist. As I chew, Elliot watches me, his coffee cup resting against his lips. There’s something unreadable in his expression, like he’s waiting for something.
“What brings you here on a Saturday morning?” He finally asks, setting his cup down.
“I’m waiting for a friend,” I say, glancing at my phone. “But she’s running late.”
“Of course, you already said.” The smirk doesn’t falter. “I work here now. Our new building is just over there.” He gestures behind him to one of the sleek, towering skyscrapers like it’s nothing more than a street sign. It’s easy to tell Elliot grew up steeped in wealth. The confidence of knowing he’ll never want for anything.
I glance at it, impressed despite myself. “It’s incredible.”
“Thank you, Violet; I’m glad you’d like it.” There’s pride in his tone, but also something else—something calculated. “We strive to be the best, and that’s reflected in every area of the company.” He reaches for a napkin and suddenly leans in toward me. I stiffen, realizing he’s aiming to wipe the corner of my mouth. Before he can, I swipe it out of his hand and do it myself.
Where the hell is Millie? This is beginning to piss me off now.
