I work until my coffee’s nearly cold. Once I take a drink, I remember that I asked for the wrong thing. It’s not appealing to me. Still, I sip on it and work because my Ivy made it for me.
Every ten minutes, I find my eyes seeking out the complication and her sinfully black hair. It drives me nuts the way she’s pulled me from my task at hand to watch her, which has never happened in my entire life.
I spend another hour working on the project and my other daily tasks. Once I’ve had enough of this torture and have controlled my raging hard-on, I pack up my things, place the change on the counter, and rush out the door before she can refuse my money.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I mutter as I slide into my Mercedes. I don’t know if I’m trying to stave off the need to go back in there, or to pump myself up for another day of a sensual tease almost unbearable.
Before heading out on the road, I shoot my brother a text that I will need a few more days to be sure. I should say a week or two, but that’s just fucking stupid to torture myself. I’m not a fucking masochist. As I reach a red light, I shake off this excitable energy and then drive toward the office where I know I can’t be distracted.
Ivy has messed up my head more than she understands, so much so that I hear beeping behind me when I linger at the next green light. What a fucking fool. I manage to make it to my office without missing another light or without another thought about the dangerous girl, and get back on track. Since I won’t have the data for my brother back until tomorrow, I won’t even bother giving him a call. Instead, I hunker down and sink into the ever-growing stack of billing and reimbursement.
Thankfully, I finish the day with little to no interruptions, keeping me on task, and all thoughts of Ivy have faded. It’s been twelve hours since I saw her and she’s a distant memory, or so I believe.
The second I enter my lavish penthouse condo, a strange ache builds in my chest. Something no longer feels right. I pull out my gun, sensing a shift in the air, but after a full sweep of the place, I know it’s not that anyone’s here; it’s that no one, in particular a dark-haired beauty, is here.
Chapter Two
Ivy
I’m at the coffee shop as always, from five in the morning to six at night, seven days a week. It’s my job, my hobby, my business. Okay, I only own half, although I wish I hadn’t been talked into taking out a massive loan to keep this place afloat. I’m a hundred thousand dollars in debt, but my credit’s only hanging by a thread and so is my sanity.
This isn’t how I expected my life to turn out. Even worse, I think my dad has been lying to me, but I’m too busy, too tired, and too out of my element to find out the truth. A business degree would have been helpful instead of a basic high school diploma, but that wasn’t in the cards for me.
The place is busy with to-go orders, although the tables are getting full as well. We offer both services so that we drive our tips and the ratings online. I’ve come out with a tray of muffins when I see him.
He’s back.
Yesterday, the sexiest man I’ve ever seen came in, and I nearly tripped over myself to get a better look. Six feet tall with light-colored eyes, dark-rimmed glasses, and a three-piece suit, owning it like it was made for his build. I moaned quietly several times as I watched him steal glances in my direction.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, taking my attention away, and I head to the back and into my office to handle it. There are only two calls I get these days: someone selling me fake shit, or someone I owe money to.
On the last ring, I answer with a dreaded, “Hello.”
“This is Shelly at Wells Fargo. May I speak with Mr.—?” God, they all sound the same.
I cut her off because I already know the spiel she’s going to give me. “He’s not here. I’ll let him know you called.”
“When will he be available?” I roll my eyes because I don’t need this at the moment. I want to see the mystery guy before he disappears. Yesterday he stayed, but he could be just snagging a coffee and running.
“I don’t know. Excuse me, but I’m extremely busy.” I end the call and toss my phone onto my desk. Hurrying out to the floor, I see him sitting at his table and typing away. As if hearing me come out of the back, his head lifts. His eyes focus on me, trained like he’s studying me, but then my employee goes over there and takes his order. I could scream, but I maintain my composure. Straightening my apron, I take the next several customers in the line, and yet, I feel his gaze on me.