Chapter 2: Coffee, Black. Like Your Soul
1679 Words
Monday came too fast.
7 AM sharp.
Blackwood Tower was already alive. Men and women in tailored suits moved like they were being chased. The lobby smelled like coffee, anxiety, and money.
I was sitting on one of the white leather chairs with my folder clutched to my chest like a shield. My thrifted blazer suddenly felt even cheaper.
“Miss Bennett?”
The secretary from Friday. Sharp pantsuit. Sharper eyes.
“Mr. Blackwood is expecting you. 43rd floor.”
Same elevator. Same gold walls. Same knot in my stomach.
The doors opened and the 43rd floor hit me with noise. Phones. Keyboards. People walking fast like their lives depended on it.
And at the end of the hall, his doors were already open.
Adrian Blackwood was at his desk. Same black suit. Same messy dark hair. Coffee in one hand, phone in the other. He looked like he owned the world. Because he did.
He didn’t look up.
“Close the door,” he said.
Click.
“Sit.”
I sat.
For half a minute the only sound was his keyboard. Then he slid a tablet across the marble desk.
“My schedule. You have until 9 to memorize it.”
I picked it up. My eyes widened.
7:00 AM – 8:30 AM: Morning briefings
8:30 AM – 11:00 AM: Tokyo merger calls
11:00 AM – 1:00 PM: Board prep
1:00 PM – 3:00 PM: Lunch with investors
3:00 PM – 7:00 PM: Product launch
7:00 PM – 9:00 PM: Gala
“And that’s just Monday,” he said, finally looking at me. Gray eyes. Cold. Assessing. “Questions?”
“A lot,” I said before I could stop myself. “When do you sleep?”
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “I don’t. Not much. Your problem?”
“No, Mr. Blackwood.”
“Adrian. When we’re alone.” He stood and adjusted his cufflinks. “And we will be alone. A lot.”
My cheeks burned. “Understood.”
“Good.” He grabbed his jacket. “First task. Coffee.”
I blinked. “Coffee?”
“Black. No sugar. From the place on 5th and Madison. Not the garbage downstairs.” He checked his watch. “You have 15 minutes. Go.”
“It’s 7:05.”
“Then you’d better run.” He walked past me. “Oh, and Ava? If it’s cold, you’re fired.”
The door closed.
I had 14 minutes and 30 seconds.
I ran.
In heels. Through morning traffic. Into the overpriced coffee shop where people paid $8 for a cup.
“Black coffee! To go! Fast!”
The barista didn’t even blink. New York.
I ran back. Sweating. Hair falling out of my bun. Holding two cups because I was terrified of spilling.
7:21 AM. I burst through the doors of Blackwood Tower.
The elevator took 40 years.
7:23 AM. I knocked and entered.
Adrian was on a call. He looked at the coffee. Looked at the clock. 7:24.
He held out his hand.
I gave him the cup.
He took a sip. Set it down.
“Next time, don’t run,” he said into the phone. “You sloshed it.”
He hung up. Pushed the cup away.
“Get me another one.”
I stared. “That was a 20 minute trip.”
“14 minutes now.” He smiled. It wasn’t nice. “Clock’s ticking, Miss Bennett.”
I grabbed the cup and left.
This was going to be hell.
By 9 AM I’d gotten him coffee four times. By 10 AM I’d rescheduled six meetings and printed a 300-page report. By 11 AM my feet hurt.
By 12 PM I wanted to quit.
By 1 PM I remembered my rent was overdue.
Adrian barely spoke to me. When he did, it was orders. Short. Sharp. “Emails.” “Calendar.” “Car.”
But he watched me. Every mistake. Every time I fumbled with the printer, his eyes flicked up.
At 2 PM he buzzed me.
“Office. Now.”
I walked in.
“Sit.”
I sat.
“You’re terrible at this,” he said without preamble.
“Thank you.”
“I’m serious. You’re slow. You forgot to CC legal on that email. And you spilled coffee on page 47 of my report.”
“I apologized.”
“Three times.” He stood and walked around the desk. Stopped in front of my chair. “Is this because you hate me?”
The directness knocked the air out of me.
“No.”
“Liar.” He crouched down. Eye level. Same as Friday. “You do. And I hate you. So we’re even.”
“Then why hire me?”
“Because firing you would be too easy.” His voice dropped. “This is more fun.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it.
“Board meeting. 3rd floor. You’re coming. Bring a notepad.”
The boardroom was intimidating. 12 old men. All of them looked at me like I was the intern who’d spilled coffee.
“This is Ava Bennett,” Adrian announced. “My new assistant. She’ll be taking notes.”
They nodded. None of them believed it.
The meeting was 90% numbers I didn’t understand. Profits. Shares. Acquisitions.
Then:
“Adrian,” one board member said. “About Tokyo. We’re nervous. After what happened last time…”
He didn’t finish.
Everyone knew what he meant. Me. Three years ago.
Adrian didn’t blink. “The last assistant was incompetent. She won’t make that mistake again.”
His eyes cut to me for half a second.
I wrote it down. My hand shook.
When we left, he leaned down. His voice in my ear.
“You didn’t cry. Good.”
I didn’t answer.
5 PM. I thought I was free.
“Chicago Thursday,” Adrian said, tossing me a folder. “Book flights. First class. Hotel. Four Seasons. Presidential suite.”
“For you?”
“For both of us.”
I froze. “We’re sharing a suite?”
“You’re my assistant. You travel with me. You’re on call.” He looked up. “Issue?”
The issue was my heart was beating too fast and I didn’t know why.
“No issue.”
“Good.” He checked his watch. “You’re dismissed. 7 AM tomorrow.”
I gathered my things. At the door:
“Ava.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be late.”
I went home to no electricity.
Cold ramen. Dark apartment. Phone buzzing.
Mom: _Hospital called. Need payment by Friday or they stop treatment._
$10,000. I didn’t have it. My paycheck was in two weeks.
At 11 PM an email popped up.
From: a.blackwood@blackwoodcorp.com
Subject: Tomorrow
Body: 7 AM. Black coffee. Don’t spill it.
I threw my phone.
Tuesday. Worse.
Wednesday. Worse than that.
By Wednesday night I was running on spite and 3 hours of sleep.
Thursday. 4 AM. Airport.
Adrian was already in first class. Working.
“Sit,” he said, patting the seat.
I sat. Two hours of silence except “Water.”
Chicago. Four Seasons. Massive suite. Two bedrooms.
“This is yours,” he said, pointing. “Mine’s there. Meeting in 30.”
He disappeared.
My phone buzzed.
Mom again. _Please, Ava. Friday._
I sank onto the bed.
Knock.
“5 minutes,” his voice.
“Okay.”
The client meeting went well. Adrian was charming. Smiling. The version of him the public saw.
I sat in the corner and took notes and tried not to think about Friday.
After, the client stopped me. “He’s tough but fair. Just don’t cross him.”
Too late.
9 PM. Back at the hotel.
Room service came. One dinner.
“Eat,” Adrian said, not looking up from his laptop.
I ate alone.
His phone rang.
“Yeah. What? Hospital? Now?” His voice changed. “I’ll be there in 20.”
He stood. “Emergency. My father. Heart attack.”
My stomach dropped. “I’m coming.”
He looked at me. Really looked. “Fine.”
The hospital was chaos. His mother crying. His sister. His uncle.
Adrian looked different. No mask. Just scared.
He didn’t tell me to leave.
Three hours of waiting.
1 AM: “He’s stable. Surgery in the morning.”
Adrian nodded.
His mom hugged him. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m his son.”
We were alone in the hall.
“You should go back,” he said.
“I’m staying.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I whispered. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
He stared at me. Then sat.
I sat next to him.
4 AM. Nurse brought coffee. Black.
“It’s good,” Adrian said quietly.
“First compliment all week.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
But he said it soft.
6 AM. Surgery.
9 AM. Success.
Adrian exhaled. “Thank you,” he said to me.
Two words.
Back at the hotel. 11 AM.
“Take the day,” he said. “Sleep.”
He went to his room.
I collapsed.
Friday morning.
Email from HR.
Subject: Payroll Advance
Body: $10,000 deposited per Mr. Blackwood’s request.
My hands shook.
I knocked on his door.
He was packing.
“You did that,” I said.
“You needed it.”
“How did you know?”
“I know things about my employees.” He zipped his bag. “Especially the ones I hate.”
“I don’t hate you,” I said. “Not anymore.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“I don’t hate you.”
Silence.
Then: “Flight’s in two hours. Let’s go.”
He walked past me. At the door he paused.
“The coffee Monday. It was perfect.”
And he was gone.
I stood there with $10,000 in my account and no idea what just happened.
Hating him was supposed to be my full-time job.
But somewhere between the coffee runs and the hospital, I think I quit.
End of Chapter 2
- Writer
