“You’ve got this,” I mutter to myself. “Smooth and steady.”
The revolving door presents a physics problem I hadn’t fully considered. I pause, analyzing the situation. The door keeps spinning lazily, taunting me with its continuous motion. A security guard watches me with a wary expression.
I take a deep breath and carefully time my entry, sliding into a door segment with as much grace as I can manage. The door whooshes around, and I time my steps until I emerge unscathed into the lobby. Go me!
“Step one, complete!” I say to the people walking past me on their way to the elevators.
I navigate past the security desk, earning a tentative smile from the guard. “Just bringing some coffee for the team!” I explain, holding up my precious cargo. “Don’t worry, everything’s under control!”
Those words, my eternal curse, have barely left my mouth when it happens. I’m so focused on watching my feet that I don’t notice the man stepping out from behind a pillar until it’s too late. Our collision feels like it happens in slow motion, yet somehow too fast to prevent.
“Oh no. Oh no. Craaaap.”
The impact is as spectacular as it is unavoidable. Coffee splashes across the marble floor while cups bounce and roll in every direction.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry! I can fix this! I’ll just—” The words die in my throat as I look up at the victim of my latest catastrophe. My heart stops, then restarts with a painful thud.
He stands there like a statue, towering over me by at leastsix inches. His expensive suit is now decorated with an impressive array of coffee stains. The dark hair, practically a buzz cut on the sides and longer on top, is peppered with a few distinguished silver strands.
His jaw is currently clenched in what I assume is a not-positive feeling, but I would recognize that face anywhere. The stubble darkening his jaw makes his chin dimple more pronounced—that sexy-as-fuck dimple I traced with my fingers in the dim light of that bathroom.
My mystery guy from Noah’s wedding. He must be visiting Lior.
Recognition flashes in his eyes—those same dark eyes that watched me in the mirror as I’d… No. Nope. Not thinking about that right now.
“I…” My voice comes out as a squeak. “Paper towels! I’ll get paper towels!”
I scramble for the security desk, my dress shoes slipping slightly on the coffee-slicked marble. The guard is already heading our way with a roll of paper towels and a wet floor sign.
Returning to the scene of the crime, I begin dabbing ineffectually at the guy’s suit jacket. “I can fix this! I know a great dry cleaner who specializes in coffee-related emergencies. Not that I’ve needed one before. Recently. This week.”
He says nothing at first, then straightens his tie as his eyes dart around the lobby. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, almost gentle, though strained. “It’s…fine. Just be more careful next time.” He brushes at his suit absently, his composed expression wavering for just a moment before a mask slides back into place.
Without a word, he turns and walks toward the elevators, his shoes leaving coffee-colored prints on the marble.
“At least,” I say to the security guard who’s helping memop up the evidence, “at least I didn’t spill coffee on my actual boss.” I manage a weak laugh. “That would be really bad, right?”
“You know what they say,” the security guard says as he hands me another roll of paper towels, “you haven’t really worked at Van Stern until you’ve had a lobby incident.” His kindness catches me off guard. I’m used to people running for cover when I cause disasters, not helping clean them up.
Somehow, in the chaos of the collision, one cup survived completely intact. I reach for it with reverent hands, checking the label: “Extra hot vanilla latte, double foam, dash of cinnamon.” Fiona explained in her very detailed notes how Mr. Dellcourt likes his coffee.
“The special one I ordered for my new boss,” I breathe, cradling the cup. “It survived!”
The security guard eyes the cup skeptically. “Maybe take that as a sign?”
“Exactly!” My optimism, briefly dampened by coffee and embarrassment, resurges with typical force. “This is the universe telling me the day can still be saved! One perfect coffee, delivered to my new boss, and everything will be fine!”
“Thank you for your help!” I call over my shoulder to the security guard as I head for the elevators, holding the surviving coffee like a precious treasure.
The mirrors inside the elevator show that my suit, while not exactly coffee-soaked, has definitely seen better days. My tie hangs at an angle that suggests it’s trying to escape. My hair… Well, my hair has always had its own agenda.
“Okay, Meatball,” I tell my reflection as the elevator begins its ascent, “time for a comeback. You are a professional. You are capable. You are definitely not thinking aboutrunning into the guy who has filled your fantasies every night since you sucked his perfect dick.”
My reflection doesn’t look convinced, while my dick is super happy to have literally bumped into Mister Sexy Silver Fox.
“Focus!” I straighten my tie, only for it to go crooked again. “You have one perfect coffee and zero recent disasters. Well, one recent disaster, but it didn’t involve your actual boss, so it doesn’t count.”
The elevator display ticks upward: 25…26…27…
