In His Line of Sight

Chapter 3

~Darren~

​The hiss of the espresso steam wand was the only thing keeping me awake.

​It was 4:15 PM on a rainy Tuesday. My hands were stained with coffee grounds, my shoulders ached from lugging supply sacks up from the basement, and my apron smelled like sour milk and cheap vanilla syrup.

​Ground Zero was a cramped, neon-lit cafe three blocks off campus. It was chaotic, loud, and entirely unglamorous, the absolute last place on earth you’d expect to find Caspian Vance.

​When the front door’s brass bell chimed, I didn't look up right away. I was wiping down the pastry case, counting down the minutes until my shift ended at five.

​"Darren."

​The voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the din of clanking ceramic and heavy rain like a razor blade. Smooth, low, and terrifyingly calm.

​I froze, wiping rag suspended mid-air, and looked across the counter.

​Caspian stood there looking entirely out of place. He wore a dark charcoal wool coat that cost more than my entire tuition, tailored trousers, and crisp leather shoes that hadn't seen a single speck of mud. His dark hair was slightly damp from the rain, and his silver rimless glasses caught the amber overhead lights.

​"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath.

​Caspian took a slow step forward. "You said you worked at four. I assumed this was the location."

​"I am currently working," I said, leaning on the counter.

"Which means I’m on the clock. What are you doing here, Caspian?"

​"We have a thesis outline due in six days," he replied as if stating the obvious. "Since you cannot come to the library, I brought the library to you." He tapped a pristine leather portfolio against the counter.

​"I'm a barista trying to pay rent, Ken Doll," I hissed, leaning in closer. "You can't just hang out here. People are trying to order."

​"Then take my order," Caspian said, sliding a sleek, matte-black credit card across the counter. "Black coffee. Drip whatever you have brewed."

​I blinked. "Just... black coffee?"

​"I am simple in my tastes when I am working, Darren," he said, his tone deceptively soft. "Is that an issue?"

"No"​I grabbed a paper cup, tapped his card, and poured the dark liquid from the carafe. "It's five dollars. Your rent for the table is paid, go sit in the back booth. My shift ends in twenty minutes."

​Caspian took a sip, his eyes never leaving mine. "A bit acidic, but strong."

​"It's three hours old. Go sit."

​A tiny tilt touched the corner of his mouth before he turned and walked toward the back booth.

​"Who is that?" Roxy whispered, appearing at my elbow with a tray of clean mugs.

​"Nobody," I grunted, picking up my cleaning rag again. "My thesis partner."

"Your thesis partner looks like he owns the bank that owns this coffee shop."

​"He's annoying," I grunted, picking up my cleaning rag again.

​"He's gorgeous," Roxy corrected. "And rich. If he pisses you off, spill milk on his coat. I'll cover for you."

​For the next twenty minutes, I could feel Caspian's eyes on me. He sat in that cramped booth, slowly sipping stale coffee, watching the way I moved, the way I gritted my teeth at rude customers, and the way my arms tensed when lifting heavy buckets. He wasn't looking at me with pity, he was looking at me like a puzzle he couldn't solve.

And I hated how hyper-aware I was of it.

​When five o'clock hit, I ripped off my apron, grabbed my canvas bag, and walked straight over to his booth. "Time's up. I have forty-five minutes before I catch my bus."

​Caspian smoothly closed his portfolio and gestured to the seat opposite him. "Then let us not waste time."

​I dropped into the booth. The space was tiny, and my knees accidentally brushed against his under the table. A sharp, electric jolt shot up my leg. I pulled back instantly, but Caspian didn't flinch.

​"Here," I grunted, slapping my dog-eared notebook onto the table. "I wrote the market analysis structure last night. I took lower-income housing data from district four, since your family's firm probably doesn't acknowledge district four exists."

​Caspian pulled the notebook closer, his long fingers trailing over my messy handwriting. "District four. Interesting choice. Most students would pick the commercial district."

​"Because most students pick easy data," I retorted, crossing my arms. "District four shows the real impact of corporate deregulation. But real people aren't in the Vance-Vane business model."

​I expected him to get defensive or pull rank. Instead, Caspian raised his eyes to mine.

​"You think I don't know what happens in district four, Darren?" he asked softly.

​"I know you don't live there."

​"No," Caspian agreed, leaning forward until I could smell cedarwood and rain on his collar. "I don't. But I know every land acquisition, tax break, and structural failure my father's company executed there over the last decade."

​I paused. "What?"

​"My father builds cages, Darren," Caspian whispered, his dark eyes burning with intensity. "He calls them assets, but they are cages. You look at me and see a prince."

​"I see a Ken Doll," I corrected, though my voice lost its edge.

​"Same thing," Caspian murmured. "A decorative object in a display case. But if we are going to win this thesis... I don't want my father's sanitized data. I want yours."

​I stared at him. For three years, everyone treated Caspian Vance like an untouchable entity. But sitting across from him in this dingy booth, I saw a man suffocating under the weight of his own name. And an unexpected heat flared in my chest at the thought of being the one to strip that composure away.

​"Your handwriting is terrible, by the way," Caspian added smoothly, shattering the heavy moment with his usual dry composure. "I can barely read your yield projections."

The brief moment of raw vulnerability vanished, instantly replaced by his cool, arrogant composure.

​I let out a harsh laugh. "My handwriting is fine. You're just used to gold-leaf memo paper."

​"I will transcribe your notes into our shared file," Caspian said, pulling out a tablet. "Dictate them to me so I don't misinterpret your scribbles."

​"Dictate?" I smirked. "Who do you think you're talking to, Boss?"

​"My partner," Caspian said, locking his gaze with mine. "Unless you prefer to fail?"

​I gritted my teeth, pulling my seat an inch closer. "Page one. Read closely, Golden Boy, because I'm only saying it once..."

​Outside, the rain beat against the window, but inside, the boundaries between us were rapidly disintegrating.