Chapter 013
637 Words
HARRIET'S POV
My first day at The Golden Spoon started normally enough. The café smelled like fresh coffee and warm pastries, its elegant interior all polished wood and soft lighting. A far cry from Marco's world of dark leather and whiskey.
"You'll mainly handle the morning rush," my manager, James, explained. He was a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses who seemed perpetually nervous. "Our clientele expects perfection."
I nodded, tying my apron. After dealing with Don Marco Sanchez, how hard could serving coffee be?
The answer came two hours later when I was juggling three different drink orders and trying not to drop a tray of scones. The café had filled with suits and designer dresses, everyone speaking in hushed, important tones about meetings and mergers.
"Miss?" A man in an expensive suit caught my attention. "This isn't what I ordered."
I turned, ready to apologize, and froze. The man wasn't alone. Sitting across from him was Edward Luciano, Sierra's husband and Marco's right hand. He met my eyes briefly before looking away, as if he didn't know me.
My hands shook as I fixed the wrong order. This was just a coincidence. It had to be. But then I noticed other familiar faces scattered throughout the café – men I'd seen at Marco's estate, now dressed in business casual and pretending to read newspapers.
"Everything okay?" James appeared beside me, making me jump. "You look pale."
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just first-day nerves."
But as the day wore on, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The café's customers were too polished, too quiet. They left generous tips and spoke in careful whispers. When I went to the back to get more cups, I caught James on the phone: "Yes, sir. She's adjusting well. No incidents to report."
I felt sick. Sierra's warning echoed in my head: Normal isn't always what it seems.
That evening, I practically ran to my car. The parking lot was dark, and I fumbled with my keys. A shadow moved behind me.
"Need help with that?"
I spun around. Marco stood there, looking devastating in a black suit, his dark eyes unreadable. My heart did that stupid flutter it always did around him.
"You bought the café," I said. It wasn't a question.
He stepped closer. "I prefer to keep my investments close."
"I'm not your investment." I backed away until I hit my car. "The contract is over. You got what you wanted."
"Did I?" His voice was soft, dangerous. He placed one hand on my car, effectively trapping me. "What if what I want has changed?"
The parking lot suddenly felt very small. Very private. His cologne wrapped around me, familiar and intoxicating.
"I have a normal job now," I whispered. "A normal life."
"Normal is overrated." His other hand came up to brush my cheek. "And you're lying to yourself if you think that's what you want."
"You don't know what I want."
"No?" He leaned in, his lips nearly touching mine. "Then why is your heart racing?"
Before I could answer, a car's headlights swept across the parking lot. Marco stepped back smoothly, and the spell broke.
"The café opens at nine," he said, straightening his jacket. "Don't be late tomorrow."
He walked away, leaving me breathless and angry. Angry at him for interfering in my life, angry at myself for still wanting him.
I got in my car and gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. I had choices. I could quit, find another job. Move to another city even.
But as I started the engine, I knew I was lying to myself again. The truth was, part of me had been waiting for this. Waiting for him to pull me back into his world.
And that terrified me more than anything.
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