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His mouth quirked. “Pretty sure I get something out of it.” The look in his eyes grew hungry, then cold. “For the record,” he added, “I hated watching you touch him like that.”
“He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know.” His words came out clipped and rushed.
I blinked, and he looked away, annoyed with himself. That almost made me smile.
The walk-in door cracked open before either of us moved. Vale’s calm voice drifted in. “Sir.”
He didn’t turn. “What?” Clipped again.
Vale continued, dry as dust, unaffected by the coldness in his voice. “Sir, I am unsure how to make a”—he glanced at a cup label—“Caramel macchiato, light ice in a venti cup with no water, no foam, ten pumps of caramel, add a quad shot of decaf, skinny vanilla oat milk, upside down, with toffee topping.” He sucked in a breath and glanced up. “Also, a customer asked whether the noise from the back was part of the rebrand.”
His mouth twitched. “Tell them yes.”
“No,” I snapped.
Vale paused. “She says no,” he called over his shoulder.
My stalker glanced at the door. “Give us one minute.”
The door closed.
I stared at him. “The rebrand?”
“Not mine.”
“Do not lie to me in a dairy fridge.”
His head angled.
I stepped closer, anger rising now that I had enough energy to hold it. “You bought my coffee shop.”
“I didn’t buy anything.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Lux Corp did.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” His humor faded, and for a second, the mask felt colder.
“I am going to yell about it later,” I said.
“I assumed.”
“There will be a car waiting for you when you get off.”
He moved toward the door, then stopped with one hand on the handle.
“Liv.”
“Yeah.”
“You did nothing wrong.” His voice softened just enough to hurt. “You’re not broken. You’re changing. That’s all.”
My throat tightened. I wanted to believe him. I didn’t trust myself to answer.
