The Billionaire’s Blind Wife

Chapter 3

Matias

It was 8:14 AM.

I had been sitting in Joe’s coffeehouse a spectacularly damp, aggressively loud establishment in Brooklyn that smelled of burnt beans and damp cardboard for exactly fourteen minutes. My custom tailored Tom Ford suit felt like a neon sign screaming “rob me” against the backdrop of peeling wallpaper and mismatched wooden chairs.My assistant, Marcus, had nearly had a stroke when I told him to clear my morning calendar for a "personal meeting" with my fiancé in Brooklyn.

"Sir, the regional directors from the Tokyo office are expecting us" "Tell them I am conducting a risk assessment on a highly volatile company assets," I had told him.And she was volatile. The bell above the door jingled. Letting the cold morning air rush into the shop, carrying with it the faint and unmistakable scent of jasmine. Juniper walked in. She was wearing an oversized and violently pink faux fur coat that made her look like a very fashionable flamingo, a pair of dark oversized sunglasses, and a pair of black combat boots. In her hand, her cane swept across the floor with practiced ease. Behind her, a burly security guard who looked a little too relieved to hand her off to someone else stood by the door."He's at the corner table, Miss Kensington," the guard murmured."Thank you, Thomas. Go get yourself a pastry that isn't ninety percent trans fats," she said, waving him off. She tapped her cane twice, tracking the path to my table, and slid into the booth across from me with the grace of a cat. She threw her pink coat open, revealing a simple black t shirt that read 'I'm blind, what's your excuse?' in bold white letters.I stared at her. "You're late."

"I told you I would be," she said, propping her elbows on the table and placing her chin in her hands. She tilted her head, her sunglasses slipping down her nose just enough for me to see her amused amber eyes. "And yet, here you are. Waiting. Did you miss me, darling ? Did the silence of your empty penthouse drive you to the brink of despair?"

"I was contemplating the sheer mistake of this merger," I said dryly, though my heart did a strange, completely unnecessary flutter against my ribs. "And what the hell are you wearing?"

"It’s fashion, Matias. Look it up. Though I suppose to a man who wears the corporate equivalent of a straightjacket every day, a little color must look like a threat." She tapped the table. "Well? Aren't you going to order for me? Or are you going to make me guess what's on the menu by smelling the grease on the walls?"

"I don't know what you drink."I’m incredibly particular," she said, leaning in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I need exactly eighteen grams of light roast espresso, extracted over exactly twenty six seconds. If it’s a second over, it’s bitter. If it’s a second under, it’s sour. And I want exactly two ounces of oat milk, steamed to sixty five degrees. No more, no less." I stared at her, dumbfounded. "Are you perhaps a biochemist or just a brat?"

"I am a singer, darling. Caffeine is my fuel, and my throat is a temple," she shot back, a smug grin spreading across her face. "Now go. Order. Show me those legendary CEO negotiation skills. Convince the barista with the nose ring to actually use a thermometer." I stood up, shaking my head. "If I get stabbed in this establishment over oat milk temperature, my lawyers will sue your estate.""I'll make sure to sing a beautiful aria at your funeral," she called after me, waving cheerfully. "I'll even wear black lace!" As I stood at the counter, arguing with a highly unimpressed barista about sixty five degree milk, I glanced back at the booth. Juniper was humming, her fingers tapping a complex rhythm against the scratched wood of the table. She looked entirely out of place, yet completely at home. And for some godforsaken reason, the irritation I usually carried like a shield was completely gone

Juniper

I knew the exact moment Matias returned to the table. His scent of cedarwood, rain, and ridiculously expensive laundry detergent preceded him. Then came the heavy clunk of two cups hitting the table.

"There," Matias said, sliding into the booth. "Eighteen grams. Sixty five degrees milk . I had to threaten to buy the building to get him to cooperate."

"See? I knew you had it in you," I giggled, reaching out my hands to grab my cup. My fingers brushed against his warm skin for a brief second before finding the cardboard sleeve of the cup. I lifted it to my nose, inhaling deeply. "Hmm. Not bad, Stone. He actually timed the extraction." You can tell that by the smell?"

"I can tell a lot of things by their smell and sound," I said, taking a sip. The warmth bloomed in my chest. "For instance, I can tell you're incredibly tense right now. Your shoulders are tight and I can hear the strain in your voice. And you're tapping your foot."

The tapping instantly stopped. I grinned."I am not tense," Matias lied. "I am simply thinking about the three meetings I had to push back to be here."

"Oh, let them wait. The world won't stop spinning if the great Matias Stone takes an hour to breathe." I leaned back, cradling the cup. "Tell me about your penthouse. My father says it’s in Tribeca."

"It is. Double penthouse. Minimalist design. Mostly glass and concrete." Ugh, sounds like a very expensive mausoleum," I shuddered. "Don't worry. When I move in, I’m bringing color. And rugs. Lots of rugs, because if I stub my toe on your minimalist concrete pillar, I will sue you for domestic hazard."

"The penthouse is perfectly safe," he muttered, though I could hear the amusement creeping into his voice. "And what, exactly, do you plan on bringing besides giant pink coats and existential dread?" "My piano, for starters. My music equipment. And my dog." Matias paused. "You have a dog?"

"A guide dog. Well, a retired one. His name is Barney. He’s a golden retriever who realized early on that sleeping on the couch was much more exciting than actually guiding me. Now he’s just a professional freeloader." "A lazy dog. Perfect. He’ll fit right in with your work ethic."

"Excuse me!" I gasped, acting offended. "I work very hard! Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to be this amazingly fabulous? It’s exhausting."

"I’m sure it is," Matias murmured. The tone of his voice changed. It wasn't the sharp, defensive bite he usually used. It was softer. Low. Almost... gentle like. I felt a sudden, unfamiliar warmth in my cheeks that I know had nothing to do with the coffee."What?" I asked, tilting my head. "Why did you stop talking? Are you staring at me? I hate when people stare at me when I can't stare back to assert my dominance."

"I’m not staring," he said, though his voice was closer now, as if he had leaned across the table. "I was just wondering... how a person can have so much to say at eight in the morning."

"It's a gift, darling ," I whispered, flashing him a wicked grin. "And you're going to be stuck with it for the rest of your life."